LITMIR.BIZ

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of Los Angeles, the teenager he’d taught everything he knew, the woman he loved like a daughter.

      Cassie could smell the scent of cooked breakfast sausage before she reached his door. The savory scent brought back memories. The first meal Max had ever cooked for her had been sausage and eggs.

      She’d been almost fourteen and after three years of living on fruit swiped from an open market and whatever could be found in Dumpsters and trash cans, those eggs and sausage had seemed like a gift from a God she’d begun to think had forgotten her.

      She rapped on the door twice, then turned the knob as Max’s deep voice boomed a welcome. She found him in the kitchen pulling a tray of golden-brown biscuits from the oven.

      “Juice is in the fridge, coffee’s made and breakfast will be ready in another ten minutes or so.”

      “And good morning to you, too.” Cassie walked over to him and bent to plant a kiss on the top of his head.

      He grinned at her. “It will be a good morning if this new egg casserole recipe lives up to its ingredients.”

      Cassie poured herself a tall glass of orange juice then sat at the small oak table and watched him finish the breakfast preparations.

      Max Monroe, known as “Mad Max” in his Hollywood stuntman days was still handsome at almost seventy years old. His hair, so black and shiny when she’d first met him, now sported shiny strands of silver. His features were ruggedly handsome and his brown eyes snapped with the gift of laughter and an exuberant love of life.

      Too many movie stunts had put him in a wheelchair. Although he wasn’t paralyzed, crushed and shattered discs in his back caused him excruciating pain when he tried to stand on his feet. A yearlong bout with a whiskey bottle had made him nearly lose his mind.

      He’d always said that finding Cassie had saved his life, but she knew the truth. If it hadn’t been for Max Monroe Cassie would have probably been in jail, or on drugs, or a prostitute…or dead.

      Although Cassie had continued to live on the streets of L.A. until she was seventeen, Max had taken her under his wing. He’d taught her everything he knew about physical strength and skill, about martial arts and achieving death-defying feats.

      He’d also educated her so that she could get her GED and build something of her life. He’d been her savior and she would die for him.

      They didn’t speak until breakfast was ready and Max had wheeled himself to the table opposite where she sat. “You got that look,” he observed as he passed her the plate of biscuits.

      “What look?”

      “You know, the one where you look like you want to tear somebody’s head off and spit down their neck. Old Ralph giving you a hard time again?” he guessed correctly.

      Cassie laughed, already feeling her foul mood transforming into something more positive. “The man is relentless.” She pulled apart a biscuit and began to slather each half with butter. “Out of all the neighborhoods in Kansas City, out of all the people I could live next to, I get Mr. Rogers with an attitude.”

      Max laughed and shoved the plate of sausage patties closer to her. “You take the man too seriously.”

      “Too seriously? He wants me to cut down that beautiful tree in my backyard. Now this morning he asked me what I was going to do about one of the bushes by my front porch.”

      “You mean that dead bush?”

      “It’s dormant, not dead.”

      Max raised an eyebrow and eyed her wryly. “He’s a lonely old man.”

      “Maybe he wouldn’t be so lonely if he wasn’t such a pain in the neck,” she retorted.

      The last of her irritation faded as they began to eat and indulged in small talk. Max told her about his lady friends and the most recent social activities he’d attended and she talked about her plans to redecorate her living room.

      It was the kind of benign chatter between two old friends that was comforting in its utter banality.

      It wasn’t until they were clearing the table that Cassie decided it was time to move out of the small talk arena and into what was really on her mind. “I had a late-night visitor last night.”

      Max made no reply. He knew her well enough to know she’d tell him what she wanted him to know in her own time.

      “I thought it was a burglar and almost took his nose off with my knife, but it was Kane.” Even just saying his name aloud caused a wistful regret to sweep through her.

      “Been a long time,” Max said.

      “Yes, it has.” She sighed. “The agency wants me back.”

      Max motioned toward the coffeepot. “Pour us each a cup and let’s go into the living room and you can tell me all about it.” He disappeared out of the small kitchen.

      Cassie poured the two cups of coffee and followed Max into the bright, airy living room. One entire wall held an entertainment system that contained a huge television set and Max’s movie collection.

      In the sixties and seventies Max had worked as a stuntman in over a hundred action-adventure and Western films. No matter how small or large his part, he owned a copy of every movie he’d ever been in.

      The little old ladies who lived in the complex loved movie night when they all gathered in a great room and watched one of Max’s movies as he narrated his part in the film.

      Cassie set his coffee cup on the tray next to where he sat, then placed her own on the coffee table. But she didn’t sit. Talking about Kane, talking about the agency made her far too restless.

      “Tell me,” Max said as she paced back and forth before him. “What do they want from you?”

      Briefly she told Max what Kane had told her the night before, about Adam Mercer, his suspected plans and his deadly drug called Blue. It sounded just as crazy now as it had when Kane had explained it to her the night before. It sounded so crazy it had a terrifying ring of truth to it.

      Max listened without expression, occasionally taking a sip of his coffee and nodding his head. “So what exactly do they want from you?” he asked when she’d finished.

      “They want me to go undercover, get close to Adam Mercer and find out when and where the tainted drug shipment is to arrive.” She flopped down on the sofa.

      Max finished the last sip of coffee and set his cup down. “I wish you were still doing stunt work. I’d worry much less about you.”

      She smiled at him affectionately. “You know I just did those movies to pay for college. I never really wanted to be a movie stuntwoman,” she replied. Between her eighteenth and her twenty-first birthday, Cassie had done stunt work in a number of movies thanks to Max’s training. “You know my goal was always to be a cop.”

      “I know, but you would have been one of the best stuntwomen in the business.” Max shook his head, his eyes filled with reflections of the past. “I’ll never forget that first time I saw you. I’d heard about you for weeks. All the security guards were talking about the kid who kept sneaking onto the lot.”

      Cassie smiled at the memory. Max had been working as a stunt coordinator on a movie on the Embassy Pictures studio lot where Cassie had been hanging out.

      She loved the lot, where magic abounded in warehouses filled with furniture and scene backdrops, old costumes and various props. Although security was tight around the lot, Cassie always managed to find a way inside.

      She’d watch the action as the various movie scenes were shot, join the lunch lines for the hearty fare served in the cafeteria and pretend to be one of the extras until somebody caught on to her. Then she’d scamper like a rat, afraid that if she were caught, afraid that if somebody found out she had no parents, no home, she’d be sent to a foster home. She had heard too many horror stories about foster care from other kids living on the

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