“You look like the cat who ate the canary,” Chris said, startling me. “Who was on the phone?”
“Dimples,” I answered. “They didn’t arrest Mercer because he’s nowhere to be found. But I think I just solved that problem.”
“Tell me,” Chris said.
I explained what I was thinking, and Chris listened with calm detachment. I tried to probe his thoughts, but he had sealed them up tight. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but I knew right now he needed the space. When I was done, he nodded his acceptance of the plan.
“I think that’s our best option,” he agreed. “I don’t want to get back on Manetto’s payroll, but your plan just might work. In the meantime, I’m going to sleep with this under my pillow.” He held up his gun with a flourish, and stuffed it away.
“Really?” I wondered how well Chris could sleep with a gun under his pillow. He didn’t toss and turn like a lot of people, so maybe it would be all right. But what if he accidentally pushed the trigger somehow. I didn’t think I could sleep next to a loaded gun.
“How about if you put it on the night stand instead?” He pursed his lips in annoyance. “I just don’t want to get my head blown off,” I said in defense.
“All right,” he relented, and put it on the night table.
“Thanks,” I said, relieved. “And make sure if you hear anything, like footsteps or something, you turn the light on before you shoot. I don’t want to get shot because I had to go to the bathroom.”
He huffed, but didn’t answer.
“Oh, and one more thing,” I continued. “If you hear someone out in the hall, make sure it’s not one of our kids getting up to use the bathroom either.”
“Are you done?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m sure I can think of something else.”
“Okay, I get it. I’ll put the gun in the drawer.” He slipped it inside. “How’s that?”
“Better,” I said, and got into bed. I fluffed up my pillow until he got under the covers and turned off his light. “Are you going to sleep now?” I asked.
He sighed. “I don’t think so.”
“Good,” I smiled, turning toward him. “Because…” I kissed his lips, and his neck, and nibbled on his ear. “I don’t think…I can sleep…yet.”
His low growl was music to my ears, and much later, I was able to drift off to sleep with the panic and fear of the day tucked harmlessly away.
Chapter 9
The next day dawned cloudy with a chance of rain. During the course of the morning, I checked the street several times to see if the FBI surveillance car was still there. It was. It looked like as long as I stayed home, I was pretty safe from everyone that might be after me.
I still wanted to talk to Ramos, and as soon as everyone was gone, I checked the recent calls on my phone until I found his number and called him.
“Yes?” His low voice was barely above a whisper.
“Ramos…it’s Shelby,” I said, equally quiet. “I wonder if you have some time to talk today? I need your help.”
“Would you like to meet about noon?”
“Well,” I hedged. “I would, but I’m kind of stuck here.”
“What do you mean?” he asked
“After yesterday, the FBI put a surveillance team to watch my house in case any of those guys came back.”
“I see,” he said. “Then you should be okay for a while. What is it you wanted to tell me?”
“Just that those guys are not the only ones after me. There’s this guy, Mercer, who wants to kill me too. I was hoping that maybe with Uncle Joey’s influence, he would be willing to back off. Do you know the guy I’m talking about?”
Ramos was silent for a moment. “Yes. I’ve heard of him. Why does he want to kill you?
“Let’s just say I was involved with his first arrest, but they let him go because of lack of evidence. After that, I helped the police find the evidence to charge him for murder, but when they went back to arrest him he was gone.”
“How do you know he intends to kill you?” Ramos asked.
“After he got out the first time, he found me in front of Chris’ office and threatened me. Ricky was there. You could ask him.”
“I will,” Ramos said. He was silent for a while, and I crossed my fingers, willing him to help me.
“I think I know what to do,” he said. “But I’ll need your help.”
“Sure,” I agreed, my pulse fluttering. “Anything.”
“Hmm…” he grunted. “You may be sorry you said that. This could be dangerous.”
“Not any more dangerous than it is already,” I answered. “Considering I’ve got three different people after me.”
“You’ve got a point there,” he said. “Let me figure out the details and I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, stay put.”
“Okay.” He disconnected and I closed my phone. Staying put was the easy part. It gave me lots of time to worry about what he wanted me to do to get out of this mess. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed so easily. In fact, I should have insisted he take care of it without me, since this was all Uncle Joey’s fault in the first place.
Except for Mercer. I did that all on my own. Okay, so maybe I could forgive Uncle Joey as long as he got rid of Mercer for me. That would make us even, as far as I was concerned. It was a good trade-off. Hopefully, he would think so too.
Today was my day to go to the gym, but that probably wasn’t a good idea, so I did a few push-ups and crunches. After running up and down the stairs a few times, I called it good and hit the shower. I applied a little make-up, and with nowhere to go, pulled on my standard jeans and a t-shirt.
For breakfast, I poured some cereal into my bowl and glanced out my window to check on the surveillance car. It was gone, and my stomach clenched. I scanned up and down the street, but couldn’t find it anywhere. Before the panic set in, I tried to reason it out. Maybe they just needed a potty break. And food was important. They could have left to grab something to eat.
Both of those explanations made sense, but I still couldn’t shake the dread in the pit of my stomach. Without taking a bite, I dumped my cereal down the disposal, too upset to eat.
I probably should call someone, but whom? The FBI? The CIA? Ramos? Chris? Dimples? I knew all the doors in my house were locked, but suddenly, it felt more like a trap than a safe haven. Like a target was painted on my roof pointing out to everyone that “hey, here I am, come get me.” All Mercer, or anyone else, would have to do was break a window or kick in the door, and bam…they were in.
I practically flew into the bedroom and grabbed my stun flashlight. Thankfully, it was re-charged and ready to go. I hesitated over the drawer that held the gun. Should I take it? Was I ready to use it? I didn’t know if I could actually shoot someone, but if it was them or me, I probably could.
I got it out, checked the safety, and found an extra purse to put it in. The kidnappers still had my favorite one in their van. I ran back to the window and glanced out, realizing that all of this preparation was probably just me being paranoid, and they’d be sitting there like usual.
Nope, they were still gone. But it had only been five minutes since I’d discovered it. I could give them some more time, and while I was waiting, I’d call Agent Bristow. His card was around here somewhere. The kitchen counter was where everything seemed to end up, so I started there. Moving junk mail, bills, and a magazine, I gave a little victory yelp when I finally found it. I grabbed the phone and put the call through.
“Bristow,” he answered.
I let out my breath, relieved to reach him. “Agent Bristow, this is Shelby Nichols. The FBI guys are gone. Do you know anything about that? Were they only staying until this morning? I would have called them, but they didn’t give me their card like you did,” I rushed to explain.
“Um…they’re probably just gone for a break or something.”
“Oh. So I shouldn’t be worried?”
“No. I’m sure they’ll be back.” When I didn?
??t say anything, he continued. “But why don’t you call me if they’re not back in an hour.”
“Okay,” I said, disappointed.
“You haven’t heard from the Mexicans again have you?” he asked.
“Nope.”
“You should be fine,” he said, dismissively. “I don’t think they’ll involve you anymore, and I have a feeling Manetto will take care of them for us.”
I thanked him and disconnected. He didn’t seem too concerned, but then he didn’t know about Mercer either. Trying to decide who to call next, my phone rang, startling me. I checked the caller ID and it said Thrasher Development. Was Uncle Joey back? Why didn’t Ramos tell me?
I’d better answer it. “Hello?”
“Shelby, it’s Jackie. I’m supposed to call and tell you not to worry about Mercer anymore. It’s been taken care of.”
Surprise shot through me. “Really? When I talked to Ramos this morning, he said he’d get to work on it, but I didn’t think it would be so fast. What happened?” She hesitated and I wondered what was going on. Too bad I couldn’t read minds over the phone.
“Mr. Manetto got involved. He’s back, and he took care of it.”
“That’s great,” I said, not really feeling so great about it, knowing he was probably going to want something from me. “When did he get back?”
“He’d like to talk to you soon,” she continued, ignoring my question. “But don’t worry, as long as you still have the money, everything should be fine. You still have it don’t you?”
“Well, I didn’t give it to the Mexicans, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I said, a tiny bit offended.
“Then there’s nothing to worry about.”
The way she said it gave me the creeps. Like I should start worrying. “Good,” I managed to say.
“When can you come in?” she asked. “Ramos did tell you Mr. Manetto wanted the money back, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but now’s not really the best time,” I hedged. I really needed to talk to Ramos about this. “I have the FBI watching the house because of the problem yesterday with the Mexicans. I think I’d better wait a few days until they’re not watching my every move. The FBI would probably wonder why I was talking to a crime boss.”
“Oh,” she said. “All right. I’ll let Mr. Manetto know, and see what we can set up for later.”
She disconnected before I could say another word. What was up with her? Uncle Joey usually called me himself when he wanted something. Was she serious about Mercer? Was he really out of the picture? How had Uncle Joey taken care of him? Something didn’t add up, and I wasn’t about to let down my guard.
I checked out the window again, and there they were. The FBI was back. I guess Bristow was right, and they were only gone for a break. I sank onto the couch, relieved and yet still anxious.
The only person who could help me feel better was Ramos, so I dialed his number. It went straight to voice mail, dashing my hopes. I left him a quick message to call me and hung up. I hated when that happened. Now I had to wait and worry. Which wasn’t good for my digestive system, especially on an empty stomach. A piece of toast was about all I could handle, but it should help the queasiness go away.
I thought about calling Chris, but I didn’t want him to worry. As long as the FBI was watching, I should just try and chill. I could tell him all about it when he got home. I spent the next few hours doing laundry with the phone never far from my side. Three o’clock came and went, with no calls from anyone. Was Ramos all right?
At five o’clock, I was grateful it was my turn to pick up Savannah from dance class. It meant I could finally leave the house. Just opening the door gave me that euphoric feeling of freedom. I backed the car out of my driveway and gave a little wave to the FBI agents. They didn’t wave back, but started their car and followed me.
I was halfway to class when my phone rang. My heart skipped a beat to see it was Ramos. Quickly pulling over to the curb, I answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey,” Ramos said. “I’ve got things worked out. I’m on my way to pick you up.”
“Um…I just left to pick up Savannah from dance class. But it won’t take me more than about twenty minutes to get back.”
“You left the house?” He sounded worried.
“Don’t worry, the FBI agents are following me, so I should be all right.”
A loud pounding sounded on my window, and I jumped. One of the FBI agents stood by my door, giving me a clear view of his white shirt and tie. “Just a minute,” I said to Ramos. I rolled down my window to explain where I was going, and the agent leaned down.
The words stuck in my throat. It was the guy who’d kidnapped me! Before I could react, he poked a gun in my face and told me to move over. I scrambled to the other side, thinking I could get out of the car before he got in. I pulled on the handle, but his accomplice was there, and pushed it shut.
He leaned down to stare at me. His eyes squinted to tiny slits, and his jaw thrust out with anger. I was so screwed. The cold barrel of a gun poked into my ribs and I gasped. “Okay, you got me.” I slid the phone to the area by my feet, hoping Ramos was still listening, and raised my hands in surrender. “What happened to the FBI guys?” I asked, a little loud.
The second man jumped into the back seat, signaling for the car to take off. “Where are we going?” I practically shouted.
“Silencio!” the driver hissed. He pulled into traffic and turned several times getting on the main street that would take us west. Several miles later, he pulled behind a building that had a big ‘for lease’ sign on it. We parked next to the white van.
I had to let Ramos know where I was. “My daughter’s dance class isn’t far from…ouch!” The driver shoved the gun back in my ribs. He glared at me and I closed my mouth.
“Get out,” he said. The other guy opened my door and I slowly reached down for my purse. “What are you doing?” he said.
“I need my purse, it’s got all my bank account numbers in it. Don’t you want the money? Isn’t that what this is about?”
“All right,” he said. “But don’t make any sudden moves.”
I grabbed my purse, and pushed the phone under the seat with my foot. I got out of the car, and stood, the man in the back seat right behind me. The driver led the way to the door and unlocked it. He ushered me inside, and the other man jerked my purse out of my hands.
“Hey!” I made a grab for my purse, but the driver put the gun in my face.
“This way,” he said. Ushering me down a hallway and into a large room. It was dark inside, but light from a desk lamp sitting on a table cut through the dimness. Other than that, the place was empty. He marched me to the desk and opened the laptop that was set up there. After powering it on, he typed in his password. Turning toward me with a satisfied smile, he pulled out the chair in an invitation for me to sit.
“Now,” he began. “We will begin the money transfer from your account to mine.”
“Okay,” I said meekly. “I need the account numbers. They’re in my purse.” If I could get to my gun, I might have a chance out of here.
The guy with my purse opened it up and his eyes widened. From the string of Spanish words in his mind, I knew he’d found my gun. “What is this?” he asked, pulling the gun from the bag. He put it in his pocket, and rummaged through my purse some more. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t take the flashlight too. He pulled something shiny out, and my heart sank.
He examined it, and I realized he was the one I’d used it on. He realized it at the same time, and a glint of something dark flashed in his eyes. Oh great! Now I was going be tortured before they killed me.
He handed me my purse, which was basically empty, and brushed the flashlight against the back of my neck. Shivers ran down my spine and I cringed. He smiled with a hint of anticipation, and my stomach clenched. My mouth went dry, and my head tingled like I was going to faint or something.
I started to slump, and the other guy grabbed my arm, hold
ing me up. He spoke rapidly in Spanish, and jerked me back into a sitting position. Kneeling down in front of me, he roughly patted my cheeks. Next he handed me a bottle of water. “Drink this,” he commanded. I eagerly took it, and gulped down a few swallows.
“That’s enough.” He grabbed the bottle from my hands and gestured toward the computer. “I have it all set up. Just put your bank account numbers in this area, and the transfer will be complete.”
He had his account numbers already in the ‘transfer to’ field, but unfortunately, I had lied. I didn’t know what my account number was and it wasn’t in my purse. Besides that, the money wasn’t just in one account. It was in several.
I rummaged through my purse and tried to think of what to do next. Should I try putting in some fake numbers? No, that didn’t seem too smart. Then it hit me. “You know what? This is the wrong purse. The account numbers are in my other purse. The one I left in your van yesterday.”
Some swearing in Spanish came from his mind. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Or we would have found it when we did a thorough search.”
“Oh,” I said. “Okay, the truth is, I don’t know the account numbers.” The gunman tensed, raising his gun to my head. “But I can get them from my bank account. I just need to log-in on the Internet to my bank.”
His teeth clenched and he spoke loudly in Spanish. Getting control, he took a deep breath and lowered the gun. “Fine. Open another window and do it.”
I took my time finding the bank on the Internet. Once there, I logged in, hoping I had the right password. I was so rattled I wasn’t sure what one I’d used before. It said ‘incorrect password’ and kicked me out. The gunman beside me groaned. “I’m trying to remember the right password,” I said. “Just give me a minute.”
He huffed out a breath. “Sure. But if you don’t get it right, we start hurting you. Maybe that will help jog your memory.”
I felt the blood drain from my head, and my hands started to shake. “Okay. I get it. I’m doing the best I can.” What was the stupid password? I tried another one, and it still didn’t work.