Protecting Reilly
Frank is invited to an art opening by an old friend of his wife and attends out of obligation. He soon finds himself taken hostage by a group intent on getting a mob leader out of prison a finds himself protecting the young artist he met only minutes before. As he they work together to escape, he begins to wonder who is protecting whom.
When you read, if you could please leave a review, that would be great. I just want to know if this is worth finishing.
Frank/OC Action.
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Frank adjusted his bow-tie and smoothed the vest to his suit before pulling the black jacket over it. The tux came out of his closet a lot more than he would have liked since he took the job of Police Commissioner, but tonight, he didn't mind as much. Edna Barnett had made the invitation personally and because she had been a friend of his wife, Mary, he felt obligated to say yes.
At the bottom of the stairs stood his date for the evening, granddaughter Nikki, dressed to the nines and looking very much like her mother. "Thanks for going to this thing with me kiddo," Frank said when he reached the bottom.
"I know mom would have liked to go," Nikki said as Frank pulled on his coat. "But this case she's working on is of international significance." She shrugged. "Plus, I think she wants me to start doing this kind of stuff anyway."
"If I have anything to say about it," Frank began. "We won't be there long."
"Long enough to meet Mrs. Barnett, I hope," Nikki stated as Frank opened the door. On the other side stood one member of his security detail with an open umbrella to protect them from the rain.
Jim Nucifero held the umbrella over their heads until they got to the SUV where he opened the door for them to get in, closing it behind them. Wordlessly, he shut the umbrella and got into the front seat next to the driver.
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Reilly paced in the private room as Mrs. Barnett looked out the window. "I think I'm going to be sick," she said.
She was dressed in an elegant gown and uncomfortable heels. As a tomboy all her life, she had never worn such a gown and her feet were used to flip flops and tennis shoes. Every few steps she would stumble, catching herself before she could fall.
"You have no reason to be sick," Mrs. Barnett told her. "This is the Whitney. Not the Guggenheim or the Met."
"Still nervous," Reilly said as she held up a finger then stumbled again. "And I wish you had let me get the flats."
"These make you look graceful and elegant," the older woman told her as she reached up to touch her cheek.
The diminutive Mrs. Edna Barnett had been widowed more than 25 years before and left with a fortune so massive that she could never spend it all. Instead, she spent it on people who needed it and who, like Reilly, had talent. She had sponsored writers, musicians, actors and artists in the ensuing years. Now, she was assisting and encouraging Reilly in her endeavors. The younger woman was in her early forties but was a rare gifted artist and writer who had not yet been brought into the public light. After a successful show in her hometown of Billings, Montana, Edna was sure she would light the world on fire in New York.
Reilly, on the other hand, had always hated her work. As a photographer, she could never put enough realism into her paintings to be happy with them, never showing or selling them on a scale larger than the local craft fairs. But the insurmountable Edna Barnett had encouraged her to do landscapes in abstract and people, where she had more strength, in a more realistic manner. It had worked and although still unhappy with her art, she was more satisfied with the results.
The door opened and the show curator, Donald Morton leaned in. "It's time, Miss Phelan," he said with a charming smile.
Reilly took a deep breath and smoothed the deep purple dress she wore. Reilly was the opposite of Mrs. Barnett, tall and built, but still slim. She towered over most women and, in the heels she wore, some men, too. Her reddish-brown hair fell to a place somewhere in the middle of her back and was held back by two amethyst jeweled barrettes. Over her shoulder hanging from a strong silver chain was a purple velvet purse large enough to hold a couple of snacks and a bottle of water- and the tinted lip-gloss that Mrs. Barnett had insisted upon. The dress was silk of a royal purple but in a basic cut and with the straps that would hide the brassiere she needed to keep her ample bust from escaping the low cut dress.
She took a second deep breath, squared her shoulders and followed Mrs. Barnett from the room.
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"I've never been to anything like this before," Nikki said as she walked off the elevator on her grandfather's arm. "It's so elegant."
Frank smiled. "I don't usually like going to these things," he admitted. "But getting to see it through the eyes of someone who has never been is making it more fun."
Nikki grinned up at him. "I'm glad I could help," she said.
At the end of the room, empty save for numerous art pieces on the wall and several benches in places conducive to viewing the art, near where they stood the curator stepped forward. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I have you attention please!"
As the room quieted of chatter and looked his way, he began. "I hope you are enjoying the unusual artwork," he said. "The woman who created these colorful abstract landscapes has been recently discovered by philanthropist and art sponsor, Mrs. Edna Barnett." He waved his hand to the older woman behind him. "Mrs. Barnett." He turned the audience over to her.
"I discovered this artist on a visit to the mountains of Montana," she began. "On a chance trip to a craft fair in Billings, I came across a booth full of artwork so wonderful I couldn't decide which piece I wanted to buy. So I bought them all," she said as she waved her hands in the air to a laugh from the crowd. "Upon meeting the artist," she went on after the laughter had died. "I knew she would be the next to be sponsored by the Barnett Guild. Ladies and gentlemen," she waved her hand to the woman behind her. "Reilly Sue Phelan."
Nikki could tell that the woman was uncomfortable as she stepped forward. "Thank you," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm…um… honored to be here to show my artwork." She paused to look at the floor then back to the crowd. "Thank you for your … uh, attendance." She smiled a tight-lipped smile and nodded. As the room began to applaud she looked like she wanted to hide.
"She looks like she's not having a good time at all," Nikki commented.
"No she doesn't," Frank agreed. "You want to go see if we can cheer her up?"
"Why not?" Nikki replied.
Together, they made their way over to where she was exchanging pleasantries with a patron. The man shook her hand with a nod and moved off to examine the artwork behind her.
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Mrs. Barnett grasped Reilly's elbow. "Someone I want you to meet," she said as she turned her toward an approaching man with a much younger woman on his arm.
The man was just under a head taller that her so she had to lift her head to look in his sparkling brown eyes. Besides the bushy mustache, he was ruggedly handsome and looked as if he would be as comfortable camping in the mountains as he seemed to be in the classy art museum opening.
The girl on his arm was very young, but the sparkle in her eyes was so much like his that Reilly was sure she was related to him. Daughter or, maybe, granddaughter.
"Frank!" Mrs. Barnett said as she spread her arms wide for a hug. "It's been forever!"
Frank bent down to hug the much shorter woman. "That it has," he said. "Have you met my granddaughter, Nikki?"
"I haven't had the pleasure," Mrs. Barnett replied and turned to shake Nikki's hand. "You're Erin's daughter, aren't you?"
"Guilty," Nikki replied with a smile.
"Nikki, this is Edna Barnett," Frank introduced. "But everybody calls her Mrs. Barnett out of respect."
"Respect for your husband?" Nikki queried.
"Respect for the fact that Edna is a horrible name," she said conspiratorially. She hooked Nikki's arm into her own and pulled her toward the woman standing a few paces behind her who looked like she wanted to do nothing more than escape. "Reilly," Mrs. Barnett began. She waved towards Frank. "This is Police Commissioner Frank Reagan and his charming granddaughter, Nikki."
"Nice to meet you, Commissioner, Nikki," she said as she shook each hand in turn.
"Call me Frank," he said as she placed her hand in his for a firm but gentle handshake.
"I love your work," Nikki told her. "It's not what I expected when I heard abstract landscape."
Reilly shrugged. "I'm glad you like it." She looked around at the people enjoying her work. "I never thought so many people would enjoy it."
"It's different," Nikki replied.
"What about you, Commissioner?" Reilly asked. "Do you like it?"
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Frank looked around at the pieces nearest the small group. "They aren't exactly my style," he said. "But I can tell what they are supposed to be."
Reilly nodded as if she almost agreed with him. "I suppose they are realistic enough for people who don't care much for art to enjoy," she said. "Yet abstract enough for art lovers to take their time and try to discover a meaning behind why I drew or painted it that way."
Mrs. Barnett suddenly grasped Nikki's hand. "Let me show you my favorite." She pulled the girl away as she smiled back at her grandfather.
Frank turned back to Reilly. "Is there a meaning behind your work?"
"I love the mountains and the rolling hills," she replied then groaned and put her head in her head. "Oh hell," she moaned. "Now I'm talking in song lyrics from my childhood."
Frank chuckled. "I hear there's an open bar," he said. "If you'll point me in that direction, or better lead me there, maybe we can take a bit of the edge off."
"I'm not much of a drinker," she replied. "But a glass of wine would be nice right about now." She took the offered arm. "It's upstairs." She began to lead him in that direction when she noticed Jim following them. "What's with the tail?"
Frank glance back to see Jim looking slightly amused but still with an unsmiling exspression fall in step behind them. "That would be my security detail," he said. "Does that make you nervous?"
"Now that I know he isn't stalking either of us," she said. "No."
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"Now don't they make a lovely couple?" Mrs. Barnett asked Nikki.
Nikki looked up from her examination of a pastel piece labeled 'Indian Paintbrush at Heart Mountain' to look in the direction that the older woman was facing to find that her grandfather had taken Reilly's arm and they were making their way through the crowd toward the elevator.
"You're right, they do," Nikki said with a smile. "Where are they going?"
"Probably to the bar upstairs," Mrs. Barnett replied. "What say we join them?"
Nikki nodded. "Sure," she replied as Mrs. Barnett once again hooked her arm into Nikki's. Together, they turned to head toward the elevator.
In the distance, they could see the elevator open to admit Frank and Reilly and the couple stepped on as Nikki and Mrs. Barnett stepped up the pace hoping to ride up with them. Jim moved to follow them only to be pushed violently to the floor, the door closing before he could get up and stop whatever was happening.
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Gentleman that he was, Frank stopped to allow Reilly to get on first then followed her into the lift with a hand at the small of her back. It was then that he noticed the two armed men. He grasped Reilly's arm to yank her back out but was pushed forward into the car by one man while the other hit Jim, knocking him back and onto the floor. The man that had forced him into the car hit the close door button and the door closed between the group and the party.
Frank put himself between the armed men, both of whom had their guns trained at them, and Reilly as someone on the other side of the door began pounding. The man who had closed the door now pushed the button that would take them down to the basement. He could feel her grip the back of his tuxedo jacket and heard a soft frightened moan escape her lips.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
Neither man said a word, but gestured them out when the elevator came to a stop and opened its doors to the noise of the museum basement. He felt Reilly release his jacket and grip his right hand with both of hers as he tried to keep himself between her and the two guns.
When they didn't immediately move forward one jabbed his gun into Frank's side. "Move!" he demanded.
Slowly, Frank moved forward, keeping himself between the woman behind him and the guns held by the two men.
Out of the elevator car, now held on this floor by the emergency stop button, the men urged them quickly forward and into the loading dock where a dark cargo van waited for them. One opened the sliding door while the other roughly grabbed Reilly's arm.
"No," she began as Frank held her hands tighter and vocalized a gruff, "Don't."
The man with her arm shoved her forward. "Get in the van," he said. "Ladies first."
Reilly looked up at Frank and he nodded her forward.
"Now you," he said as he gestured with his gun.
Afraid more of what they had planned for her than what they had planned for him, he did as he was told and sat on the floor next to the artist. Once he was settled, the man closed the door behind them.
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