(I use New Zealand/Australian spelling of English)
Something dropped with a bang. The sound echoed around the supermarket, bouncing off the high walls and ceiling. The object made a soft rumble until it stopped moments later. Not in the wine department. Glass has a sharp, cracking sound. I finger the nightstick hanging on my belt and wish I had a gun Not that I’d ever use it, didn’t have any bullets, but I could wave it around and pretend it was loaded.
My hear-beat drums in my ears. My uniform seems to cling closer, and an intense heat swamps me. Hopefully it just fear and apprehension—doing their thing in my system and not the onset of Covid.
I listen for footsteps but hear none. Then I run, skirting around the long aisles, looking down each one – nothing, except for a single can in the middle of aisle ten beneath the beans and spaghetti shelves. Next, I check in the checkouts. No one hiding in them and no broken glass along the shop front. Glass frontage intact. Besides, if they’d come in that way, I’d have heard them.
My footsteps slap on the linoleum floor as I slow my search and stride toward the back storeroom. Whoever dropped that can of beans must now be out the back.
At the entrance I pause in front of the wide plastic strips covering the doorway. I take several long slow breathes to slow my pulse. This is what I’ve trained for. Follow the plan and don’t panic. I raise my baton and slip around the edge of the door jamb then stretched to the light switches, finding them with my fingertips, never taking my gaze from the dark space before me.
Flick!
I scan the area now bathed in light. Boxes of produce stand stacked high, the chiller doors are closed. I look around the cavernous space, including the walls and the ceiling. Nothing appears out of place since my last patrol, an hour ago.
One fallen can of beans doesn’t give me much of a clue as to the number of people involved. I doubt a rat could shift a can that heavy; it has to be a two-legged variety of vermin.
The forklifts stand unmoved from their previous positions. I would have heard their motors if I’d ben started. Someone has padded quietly into the bean and spaghetti aisle, and they have to be here somewhere. I move to the chillers and open the doors, one after the other, swing them wide, careful to stand where I can’t be pushed in, from behind. The beam of my torch skips around each interior. All clear. Not the sort of place anyone would want to hide in for any length of time, even if you were silly enough to break into a supermarket after hours.
Where else could an intruder hide? Then I remember the office where the tally clerk checks goods in and out. Checking around the stacks of goods as I go, I stride the length of the storage area to the small room just inside the wide roller doors. I wave the torch’s beam over the dim interior in a slow caress, coming to rest in the space under the desk. Its light cathces the heel of a highly polished shoe.
Gotcha! Nice shoes, patterned socks. Classy footwear for a burglar. Trainers are the usual gear for thieves, nice and quiet to creep around in.
“Okay, mate, time to come out of there.” I aim the beam of light at his head. By keeping his vision impaired I hope to hide my height. Being five foot two causes enough hilarity with the security firm I work for. I don’t need a burglar thinking he can probably pick me up and toss me aside. A few idiots have tried but years of judo training means nobody ever does it twice.
“Fair catch,” A muffled, male voice says in a cultured accent. The man backs out from under the desk and turns to face me, remaining on all fours.
Not your usual crim’. His thick thatch of hair shines under the torch’s glare above his smooth shaven face; and far too well-dressed. He wears dress slacks, a pastel blue shirt and a navy blazer. A total hunk. Best looking burglar I’ve ever caught. From the length of his limbs, he will be tall when he stands. Tall men make my heart race.
He puts his arm up to his face, “Could you please lower the light?”
“No. Turn around.” I bang the night stick against the door jamb and he flinches.
“Okay, okay. Truly this is not what you think. I have a right to be here.”
“Yeah, and I’m Mrs Santa Claus.” My voice squeaks and I clear my throat and make an effort to lower it. “I’m going to handcuff you. The police will be here shortly.” Damn, I’ve forgotten to ring them. “Turn around. Stay on your knees, hands behind your back.”
As soon as he has his back to me, I drop the torch and grab his wrists, locking them together with a quick flick of the handcuffs. Finally, the hours of practice on my younger brother are paying off. I also tie his ankles together before he gets stroppy. Luckily, he seems still in shock, and I have a couple of zip ties in my uniform pocket.
My first live burglar; caught without a struggle. I give the air above my head, a quick punch.
“Now, move slowly. I’m watching you.’ I grab my torch off the flood I raise my nightstick. “You can get off your knees and sit back against the wall. The police are on their way. Any trouble and I’ll clock you on the head.”
He smirks and shakes his head, “I might have a key to get out.” The forelock falling over his face looks appealing and the urge to lean forward and brush it out of his eyes almost overwhelms me.
Instead, I remember my training and step back in case he lunges at me. “I wouldn’t scoff if I were you.” With that I turn on my heel, walk out the door and stand well away so my next conversation can’t be overheard.
A few deep breaths calm my racing heart before I unclip my phone and ring the police station.
“Hi Harry, Kelly Harris speaking, from Nightlight Security. I’m at the Supercheap Food-market. Can you send a car around? I have an intruder, cuffed. You can charge him with breaking and entering.”
“Will do, Miss Harris How did he get in?”
I have no idea. “Not sure. I can’t find a forced entry…yet.”
“Are you safe?” Harry’s concern is touching, but I know it’s protocol.
“Yep. Thanks for asking. I’ll open the front doors for you.”
I can hear him issuing instructions to a patrol car before he clicks off.
I wander back to the tally office to view my catch. He’s turned around and now sits leaning against the office wall, his hands behind his back, his long legs outstretched.
“Comfortable?” I asked.
“Not really. I’m getting my trousers dirty. I’ll make a note that the floor needs cleaning.”
“Yes, do that. Next time you break in somewhere remember to wear old clothes.” I try to remain professional, but a giggle rises and escapes. I turn away and cough into my hand, then ask, “How did you get in?”
“I’ve tried to tell you I have a key and every right to be here. You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Excuse me?” Indignation stiffens my stance and I point at him. “I’m not the one handcuffed. If you have the right to be here why were you hiding under a desk?” I shook my head. “Not very bright are you?”
“This is an undercover exercise.” He smiles, his brown eyes sparkle with mischief and I have to fight hard to control the wave of attraction that threatens to undo all my professional training. I check my watch, anything not to be caught by his amused gaze as he scans me up and down, perhaps thinking I looked small enough to overpower?
“I’m testing the security of the building.” He winks, “Truly, I am.”
Is he flirting with me? Surely not? I huff out a breath, “That’s a lame excuse. You’re not going to talk your way out of this lot.” I close the office door with more force than necessary and lock him in, securing my prize. If he does get out he might be able to hop, but he can’t hop far.
The police car pulls up as I unlock the front doors. Relief sweeps over me and a weight lifts from my shoulders. I didn’t realise how tense I’d been. Imagine if I’d had to guard the burglar for an hour or more? What if he’d decided he needed a comfort stop? He might have demanded a drink of water or suggest I break open a wine. He had enough cheek to do any of those things. Now he’s someone else’s problem.
“Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Lucky we weren’t ten miles out on patrol. Where’s this intruder?”
“He’s in the back.” I lead the way, commenting over my shoulder, “He keeps trying to tell me he’s innocent.”
“Don’t they all?” one of the policemen says. “We get that all the time.”
“Says he used a key, so technically he hasn’t ‘broken in’ but he certainly ‘entered’ and I found him hiding under a desk. Not sure what you can charge him with but I’m sure you guys will sort him out.” I pause by the office door, “I’ll leave an instruction for all the locks to be changed. An absolute hassle for the owners but I presume someone has taken a copy and slipped it to him. I can’t find a forced entry anywhere.”
I unlocked the office door and opened it with a flourish. “He’s all yours,” I state with a little pride, and then move well away. I don’t want to be caught in his seductive gaze. This time I might relent, un-cuff him and tell the police to go away – and what would my career be worth then?
***
Several weeks later, tired from a day shift of trying to catch shoplifters the thought of a pizza for dinner has me calling into the local shopping centre. The four-deep line of customers waiting in front of the counter creates a forest of bodies. It might be quicker to go home and bake my own. Everyone moves aside to allow someone out of the press of bodies; a large flat box held aloft. I gasp, because right in front of me stands my burglar – still tall, still handsome and impeccably dressed. A grin spreads across his face and his dreamy eyes flash in recognition.
“Well, if it isn’t ‘Miss Catch-em and Cuff-em’.”
I straighten my spine, wish my career required the wearing heels instead of sensible work shoes, and I stare him down. “Are you out on bail?”
He looms over me. His after-shave smells great which distracts my attention, and he is able to tuck a hand under my elbow. Being off duty I’m not in my usual ‘high alert and resistance at being manhandled’ mode, and he eases me from the crush to the doorway. “How about we sit down and sort this out.” He pulls me toward an outside table, its faded red umbrella waving in the evening breeze. Still stunned at his audacity and unable to refuse, for some weird reason, I sit on the wooden bench trying to collect my skittering thoughts.
When I go to speak he puts his finger to his lips and slides the opened box towards me.
“Have a piece. You obviously came to buy something to eat and there’s too much here for me.”
I sniff, trying to ignore my skipping heart. “I don’t usually eat with criminals.”
“Eat,” he commands. My stomach rumbles in anticipation. The pizza smelts delicious. I weaken and take a slice.
“When we last met,” he says, “I was running a security check. You passed with flying colors. The cost of the new locks was a small price to pay to confirm the security firm I use has top-flight employees.”
Questions race around my mind. I open my mouth, but he holds up his palm in a universal stop sign.
“Wait...I told you I had a key and yes, I know the police took me away, but I’d already told them of my plan. Why do you think they came so quickly? They played along to make it real.”
Embarrassment heats my neck and face. Now who’s the fool? “But you were hiding under the desk!”
“To see if a thorough inspection followed me dropping a can of beans.”
His enticing eyes hold my gaze from under that forelock of dark brown hair. Delight fizzes up my spine and I can’t help smiling, “So you really do own the store?”
“I do and I’d be delighted if after this pizza you’d let me take you out for an evening of dancing. As much as a woman in uniform excites me, I think you might prefer to wear some high heels; otherwise, I’ll have to sit down every time I want to kiss you.”
At last, my chosen profession is blessing me with some reward. I don’t bother to smother the grin that bends my cheeks, and I reach to wipe a smudge of tomato sauce off the tip of his nose.
“Sounds delightful. I happen to have the evening free. Should I bring my handcuffs?”
His chuckle turned my spine to jelly.
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Nice Deryn.
What a cute little heart warming story. Love it!!! Great read :)