Concealed Carry Read online

  Concealed Carry

  Hildie McQueen

  Pink Door Publishing

  Cover Artist: Michaela Strong

  Editor: Kathy Riehl

  Copyright Hildie McQueen 2013

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-939356-10-9

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader.

  If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to your retailer and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to Lisa Frost, who inspired me with her hilarious stories and her wonderful sense of humor and joy filled attitude. Love you dear friend.

  "We be shuffling!"

  Chapter One

  Lisa Pasqualone knew very little about guns. She was pretty sure the one pointing at her at the moment was real. She tried to scream, but instead of a scream, what she uttered sounded more like a squeak. Her throat seized in panic at her imminent death.

  "Where is Albert Hitchcock!" the perpetrator demanded. She almost giggled at both of the ridiculous occurrences. First, the name of the person he asked for, and second, the fact that she thought of him as a perp. Hell she'd watched enough CSI shows to know that's what the cops were going to call him after he killed her.

  She stood next to her car in the parking lot in front of her apartment building. After leaving work and a quick stop at the gym her plans had consisted of reheated leftovers and a hot bath. She gripped her purse and a jammed packed tote in front of her chest, to shield her body as much as possible. If only she'd stayed at the gym and worked out, this scenario would not be happening. Yes she'd stopped by the gym. Not to work out, but to run in and get her favorite sneakers out of her locker. Tomorrow was dress down day at the office and she planned to wear her lime green t-shirt, which matched her sneakers perfectly. Of course if she died, that was a moot matter.

  Although it was barely six in the evening, the sun was already low on the horizon making the area dark enough for an assault.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about." Her body shook when she lifted her shoulders. "Isn't Alfred Hitchcock dead?"

  The perp had the gall to look incredulous. "Lady I know what I saw. You stole him right out of my Jeep, You took the cat. It took me two days to find you. Thanks to your ugly ride, you were easy to spot."

  “Cat?” Oh God, the tabby she'd rescued from black Jeep. Her eyes rounded and she gulped nodding. "It was a hot day. He could have died of heat exhaustion. I only took him because you abandoned him in the Jeep," she finished weakly.

  The tall solidly built criminal didn't reply, instead he used the gun to push up his baseball cap. He seemed to realize what he did and lowered it back. At least he stopped pointing the huge weapon at her. "It was cloudy and...just give me my cat."

  Although Lisa was a tall woman standing five foot ten, he seemed larger than life. All right so maybe he was only a couple of inches taller than her. But she figured being armed made him look taller. Lisa straightened her shoulders. "My car is not ugly." She scrutinized his weapon and his dark eyes narrowed at her inspection

  Just then a door across the parking lot opened. A woman with heavily made up eyes stuck her head out and scanned the street, looking at them only for a second. It was her apartment manager, Norma Starkly. Lisa opened her mouth to call when the woman ducked back inside and slammed the door. Obviously Norma had the instincts of a brick.

  "My cat?" The perp insisted.

  "Fine, you stay here. I'll go up to my apartment and get him." Lisa motioned for him to stay where he was. She turned and prepared to run only to freeze when his hand wrapped around her upper arm.

  "Why don't I go with you?" He'd read her mind. She had no intention of returning to the parking lot. As a matter of fact she'd been reciting 9-1-1 over and over in her mind since he'd appeared.

  As they walked to her apartment door, she visualized her death. They'd find her laid out on the floor in a pool of blood. Hopefully he'd shoot her someplace other than her face. She'd just had her eyebrows and upper lip waxed. It reassured her to know that her corpse would look good. At least that was one positive.

  Her hands shook but she managed to get the key into the lock. The perp reached around her and threw the door open. At that precise moment, the cat ran between their legs racing toward the street.

  The perp dropped the gun. Lisa dove for it and grabbed it with both hands. She rolled on to her back and somehow managed to fire a round, which hit the perp right in the crack of his butt.

  A huge red stain oozed between his ass cheeks, and down the center of his legs. When he turned to face her, Lisa screamed and shot him a second time, this time right above his groin.

  "Ouch." His hands covered his private area and his eyes rounded at her. "Don't shoot me again."

  "A paintball gun?" Lisa shrieked. "You assaulted me with a paintball gun?" She scrambled to her feet and stalked toward him. When she slapped him, the sound of her palm against his face was louder than the paintball shot. "You could have given me a heart attack!"

  The perp kept one hand on his crotch and lifted the other to the newly affected area. She almost felt bad at the angry red mark she'd left on his cheek.

  "I was holding it when I got out of the car, I didn't point it at you." He insisted and backed up toward the door.

  "Yes you did," Lisa insisted. "Now, you lost the cat."

  His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Before she could react, he grabbed the paintball gun from her hand. "If the cat gets run over, it will be your fault for stealing him in the first place."

  "I didn't steal him," Lisa snapped, "I rescued him from certain death."

  She raced after him back to the parking lot. For such a bulky guy, carrying a weapon, he moved fast. When he dropped to the ground, she followed suit. She wasn’t sure if someone else had mistaken the paintball gun for a real one and was about to shoot at them.

  "Hey Alfred Hitchcock. Come here boy," the perp's soft high-pitched voice sounded ridiculous.

  Lisa shuffled to where his paint stained butt stuck up in the air and looked under the van with him and lowered to all fours. The yellow cat sat under the vehicle, one leg up licking his naughty bits ignoring them. "Here kitty cat," Lisa cooed and stretched out her hand toward the cat. "Come here pretty boy."

  Perp boy rolled his eyes. "Seriously, would you just go away?" He snatched the cat's leg and dragged the hissing animal toward him. He grabbed the now frantic cat by the scruff of his neck and stalked back to his black Jeep. Before Lisa could catch up to him, he'd stashed the cat into the carrier. Its sad meows told of Mr. Hitchcock's annoyance at being locked up again.

  "Was that necessary?" Lisa stood before him with her fists on her hips. "You could have injured him."

  After a loud exhale, he met her eyes and for the first time she noticed how handsome the perp was. His long-lashed dark brown eyes narrowed as he looked down his perfect nose at her. "Look, it's my baby sister's cat. She's in the hospital and insisted I take the cat home with me to look after. She's pretty sick, so the last thing I want to do is lose her
cat." He looked toward the Jeep when Mr. Hitchcock let out an angry growl. "She demands pictures every so often just to make sure I am taking good care of him."

  "Oh." Lisa's ire was completely gone at his words. The combination of him putting the paint gun into his Jeep and giving her a view of his well-formed butt didn't hurt either. "Well, I can see why you were upset." She eyed his Jeep and realized that the back was open; the cat was never in any danger of overheating. Her cheeks however, did.

  She stuck out her hand. "My name is Lisa Pasqualone. Would you like to come in for a beer? It's the least I can do for putting you through all this."

  "Max Collins," he replied and shook her hand. She gave him what she hoped was her most genuine smile. Surely he wouldn't notice the drool that formed when he lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

  Holy six-pack Batman!

  Chapter Two

  Maxwell Collins wasn't sure why he agreed to have a beer with the cat-napper. It was probably morbid curiosity. She led him into her small kitchen and opened up her refrigerator. She came to the counter with two beers. He accepted one and opened it. He watched her struggle to open hers, then reached for it and twisted the cap off before handing it back.

  They both took a sip and she motioned to a stool. "Would you like to sit?"

  He pointed at his painted crotch with his left hand while taking a long drink from his beer. After a swallow he stated the obvious. "I don't think my butt is dry yet."

  She blushed and took another swallow of beer before speaking. "You're probably right. I can put a towel down." She was a cute girl, with bouncy dark brown waves that touched her shoulders. Tall and athletic, he couldn't help but sneak glances at her body, especially her chest. She was definitely a looker.

  With one last draw he emptied the contents of the bottle. It was time for him to make a clean getaway. "I better go. I need to take the cat home and call my sister."

  "Oh, of course," Lisa replied. "I hope your sister gets better."

  Once at the doorway, he thanked her for the beer and made a bee-line to his vehicle.

  Thankfully the cat was quiet when he arrived. Max climbed in and as soon as he cranked the engine, Mr. Hitchcock began to meow.

  The cat meowed all the way to his house.

  His cell phone rang just as he got out of the shower that night. If it was his sister Tina calling again, he decided not to answer. Yes, she was sick and having dialysis. Yes, he was giving her a kidney, but the woman needed to stop fretting over the damn cat. He eyed the number display. It was a number he didn’t recognize.

  "Max Collins? The female had an accent he couldn't place. "Is this Mr. Collins?"

  "Yes, speaking," he replied wondering if she would jump into a sales pitch now. "What can I do for you?"

  "Oh goodness, I just realized the hour. I'm so sorry for calling so late. I’m Mr. Well’s secretary, and since you haven’t confirmed…I need to know if your company will be at Wells Enterprises tomorrow, to begin the landscaping project. “ He had completely forgotten to confirm the time. After spotting Lisa Pasqualone's lime green Pinto, he'd spent the afternoon following her and then confronting her about the cat. "I'm sorry Miss, I was tied up this afternoon with a family...er… incident. I will be there with my crew first thing in the morning. What time would work best for you?"

  He hung up after setting up a time and began calling his crew to ensure they would all be present at Wells Enterprises at seven the next morning. None of his men grumbled, thanks to the fact that he'd managed to recruit a winning team. All of his work staff was hardworking and trustworthy.

  The laugh track from the sitcom he’d never seen got his attention for a few seconds before he switched it to the news channel. Once the hum of the newscaster began, Max walked away. The cat ran ahead of him toward the kitchen and stood next to his new bowl. "Dinner for you Hitchcock and then I'm hitting the hay. You better not make a peep all night," he warned. Max poured dry vittles into the bowl while Mr. Hitchcock wound around his ankles in a perfect figure eight and began to purr.

  His celled chimed again, he eyed the display and he cursed under his breath. He considered turning the damn thing off. He would have, if it weren't for his sister or his younger brother's penchant for getting into trouble.

  "What is it Dean?" He answered the phone and prepared for another of his brother's tales of woe.

  "I'm in trouble Max," his brother started and Max closed his eyes and sank into a nearby chair. "I need some money."

  "No."

  "It's serious stuff Max. I'll pay you back," Dean began to breathe hard into the phone as if losing his breath. "This is the last time. I swear to you, I promise I’ve learned my lesson."

  "I've never heard that one before," Max replied dryly. "How much do you need this time? What did you do?"

  "A grand," Dean replied in a low voice. "It was a sure bet. I swear Max. Something went wrong. I was supposed to win big. I…well…I borrowed the money from my boss' petty cash."

  "You stole the money. The answer is still no." Max hit the 'End' key and turned his phone off.

  If Dean ended up in jail for a couple weeks, it was for the best. As long as Max kept bailing him out of trouble, his brother would never learn his lesson.

  Max's business was going well and he could easily afford to give his brother the money. He'd done so many times before. Had actually lost count of how much he'd loaned Dean.

  Max contemplated calling his father to warn him of Dean's phone call. No doubt his brother would call him next. No, it wasn't necessary. His dad was hard on both of them. He probably wouldn’t loan Dean the money either.

  A loud crash made him jump and he turned to see the cat careening around the corner, to hide in the bedroom. "What the hell did you just knock over cat?"

  *****

  Early the next morning, Lisa and the her coworker, Angel Gomez, stood outside in the parking lot of her office building, while her boss stood next to the new golf cart. His hands stretched out, gesturing to the cart, like a middle-aged balding Vanna White. "This will be how we will get back and forth from the warehouse from now on. There will be no more using your cars and putting unnecessary mileage on them and no more mileage expense reports. In a matter of weeks the personnel transporter will pay for itself." His overly enthusiastic smile made her grin in return in spite of the fact that she knew he just wanted a new toy. The expense report remark was for the sake of his wife who stood beside him eyeballing the cart with narrowed eyes. Neither she nor Angel ever submitted expense reports. For the most part they walked to the warehouse, which was less than a block away. As far as she could remember, Mr. Wells never went to the warehouse.

  "Thank you Mr. Wells," Angel gushed and walked around the personnel transporter letting out a long whistle, as if he was checking out a Lamborghini. "Sweet ride."

  Mr. Wells straightened and gave his wife a smug look. "Yes, well only the best for my employees." He looked to Lisa for her reaction.

  "I've never driven a golf, um...personnel transporter before," she said her eyes trained on Mrs. Wells. "Can I try it?"

  "Yes, of course." Her boss took her elbow and for some reason he decided she needed help to climb into the cart. "Just turn the key." He did it for her. "Then step on the pedal."

  She pressed on the pedal and the vehicle eased forward. "Don't be timid, you can't break it," Mr. Wells encouraged her.

  "Okay," she said eyeing Angel, who took it as a queue to jump onboard. Lisa pressed down harder and they rolled a few feet. "Wow this is pretty neat." Lisa turned to Angel. "I wonder if we'll really get to use it every day."

  "Well let's give it a whirl around the block while we can," Angel said with wide eyes. This is gonna be the highlight of the day. Lisa figured he didn't have much of a life, if he considered a ride in a golf cart a highlight.

  He gave her a grave look. "We have all those inventory cheets to review, so let's put that off as long as possible." Angel had trouble pronouncing his sh's and ch's. His misp
ronunciations always brought a smile to Lisa’s face.

  "Let's roll!" Lisa shouted and pushed the pedal down harder. The golf cart jerked forward, and off they rode. They relished in the temporary respite from work and she turned away from where the Wells stood toward the front of the building. Suddenly, the cart's speed began accelerating at an alarming speed. "Oh shit."

  "Slow down!" Angel cried grabbing for a side bar. "What are you doing?"

  "My sandal…it's stuck!" She gripped the steering wheel and attempted to turn the cart back toward parking lot. At the same time she kicked at the twisted sandal.

  The tires skidded and they bounced rather wildly. "Oh my God!" Lisa screamed. "I can't get my damn sandal loose." She turned the wheel again to keep from hitting the side of the building. Relief was short lived when it slid sideways toward the front of the building where the landscapers worked.

  "Wash out!" Angel screamed waving his arms at two men who dropped a young tree into a hole. "We're out of control!"

  The men scrambled out of the direct path of the cart, but unfortunately they left the tree behind. Lisa heard Mr. Wells screaming to stop and another, deeper voice saying something along the lines of "What the hell?"

  They hit the tree so hard, both she and Angel were propelled through the front opening of the cart onto the lawn. Her leg hit the tree and she screamed when it cut into her leg. Angel cursed in Spanish and then all was quiet.

  The silence didn't last. Everyone was talking at once. From where she lay sprawled on the ground, Lisa lifted her head to see that several people, including Angel had crowded around the banged up golf cart. Mr. Wells shook his head and grumbled while his wife glared at him. Two other men, wearing lime green Collin's Landscaping t-shirts were lifting the broken tree and carrying it back to their truck.

  "Hello?" She said. "Has anyone seen my right shoe?" Only one person came to her, with her sandal in his right hand.