CrissCross (Crossroads Book 1)

by Mandie Tepe

  “No. So, you mentioned children. Do want some of those?”

  “I believe I do. You?”

  “I could see it happening. How many are you thinking you want?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. At least two and possibly up to three or four.”

  “Boys or girls?” he asked.

  “A mixed assortment ideally, but I’ll take whatever God gives me. You probably want an entire SEAL squad of boys.”

  “Uh . . . no. That’s six-to-eight—or maybe a dozen—little bodies full of testosterone. Unless you have some mission in which to direct that, it’s not a good situation for anyone.”

  “Aww . . . are you saying you want girls?”

  “I grew up with a brother and spent the past decade-plus with a bunch of guys and both those scenarios could get pretty gnarly. I think having girls in the mix to soften things up would only be an improvement,” he snickered.

  She was quiet for a long moment. “How many?”

  “How many girls?”

  “No, just how many kids?”

  Chance said softly, “A mixed assortment of at least two and possibly up to three or four.”

  Just as Jimi was about to repeat the words he’d ended their conversation with that morning to him her door popped open and Nova came bursting through.

  “Hey, Jimi baby!” she exclaimed.

  Jimi looked over her shoulder from where she still stood at the sink, her hands in the soapy water. “Hey, Mama. Before you say anything embarrassing, Chance is on speaker phone,” she nodded to where her cell sat on the countertop beside her.

  “Oh hey, Chance,” Nova greeted him.

  “Hey, Nova. How’s it goin’?”

  “Going like it does. How was your flight?” she asked.

  “Good.”

  Jimi interjected to Nova, “Where’s Pops?”

  “He stopped over at Axel’s to drop off a refurbished fuel pump. Axel’s bike engine’s running rough.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that the other day,” Jimi responded.

  Nova continued, “I’m sure Jock and Axel will go on and on about the bike, so I thought I’d pop in to ask if you’d wanna go over to Huckleberry’s for burgers with us once he drags himself away.”

  “I already ate,” Jimi informed her. “I went by the store and picked up a harvest salad. You were already gone for the day, I guess.”

  “I took the day off,” Nova informed her. “Spent the day recovering from Halloween partying last night.”

  “I thought the Vagabonds’ party was last Saturday night. Axel and Coco left our party to go.”

  “The official one was Saturday. Last night’s was unofficial.”

  Chance’s voice came through the phone speaker. “What constitutes an unofficial Vagabonds party?”

  “Oh, Chance!” Jimi said. “I’m so sorry. We’re just gabbing away and being rude.”

  “Sorry, Chance,” Nova said sheepishly.

  “No problem. I should go anyway. I need to get some sleep. Four o’clock in the morning will come pretty quick.”

  “Okay, honey,” Jimi agreed. “Stay safe. Let me know when you get back on American soil.”

  “I will. Bye, peaches.”

  When she disconnected, Jimi was disappointed that she’d missed her chance to reciprocate his “love you.” She wasn’t ready for that conversation to end, but she focused on visiting with her mama and finishing the dishes.

  Eventually Axel had to leave for his Friday night plans of meeting up with friends, so Pops came to retrieve his wife. Jimi waved them off and locked the door behind them before going back to the weaving room with a mug of chai tea.

  Isla was hanging out at Aaron’s restaurant while he worked the bustling Friday night crowd. She had invited Jimi along, but she preferred to spend a quiet evening working on her father’s tartan that she’d restarted instead. Some might think she was wallowing in missing Chance, but that was not what she was doing. After their conversation, she was daydreaming about where they might be heading. At least where she hoped they were.

  She put on her Chris Stapleton playlist and—to the sound of the first acoustic guitar chords and his bluesy voice launching into Broken Halos—she took her seat on the bench and simultaneously wove her pop’s tartan and her dreams late into the evening.

  CHAPTER 16

  Axel came awake with a start on his sofa. It was the wee hours of Sunday morning and he’d come in just a couple of hours earlier from a poker game at his brother’s. He hadn’t felt very tired at the time so he’d turned on the TV, channel surfed until he happened upon a Clint Eastwood western, grabbed a glass of ice water and settled in. He must have been more tired than he realized because he didn’t remember seeing much of the movie before he passed out.

  What had awakened him? The television was still on—now broadcasting an infomercial—with the volume turned low, but he’d left the lights out so the flickering of the TV was all that lit the room. As he debated whether to get up and go to bed or just turn off the TV and roll over and remain sleeping on the sofa, he registered what it was that had disturbed him. He reached out and tagged the mute button on the remote in order to focus on the bump and shuffling sounds coming from somewhere.

  Next door. There was the sound of movement coming through the other side of his living room wall from Chance’s apartment. He knew that his neighbor was out of town. Since he’d only been gone less than forty-eight hours, Axel was certain that whatever was causing the noises he heard was not copacetic.

  He went immediately on alert. Since his and Jimi’s break-ins, everyone in the building was on edge. His blood pressure rose with anger. As he rolled off the couch, scooped up his cell and headed for the door. He quietly turned the lock and eased out into the hallway, creeping on silent bare feet toward Chance’s door. That door had been left cracked open and he moved toward it to peer inside.

  He saw more than one shadow moving around at the entertainment center in Chance’s dark living room and heard whispers, although he was unable to make out what was being said. His anger rose even higher.

  Putting his hand flat against the door, Axel took a deep breath while he keyed 911 into his phone and hit send. When dispatch picked up, he whispered that his neighbor’s apartment had been broken into and the intruders were still inside. He thought he was being quiet enough, but a sudden flurry of hushed voices inside the apartment alerted him that he must not have been as careful as he thought he was.

  The shadows separated and began dashing around in the dark. He realized more shadows came from the direction of the bedrooms in the back of the apartment. He sensed the dispatcher communicating something to him, but his mind was too busy figuring out how he could stop the intruders from escaping until the cops arrived. Several bodies came rushing the door and he fell back, quickly moving to block the stairs to impede their get-away.

  “Hey!” he yelled as the dark-clothed figures came at him.

  Axel saw the tallest figure’s arm come up exposing a gun aimed at him. He dropped his phone and raised his hands out in front of him.

  “Whoa,” he barked, his eyes glued to that gun. His gun. He recognized it as the Glock 19 that had been stolen during his burglary.

  The hand holding it was shaking a bit and Axel knew that was a bad sign.

  “Move,” the masked gunman hissed.

  The dispatcher’s voice could be heard calling out, “Sir? Sir? Are you there? Officers are in route. Please stay on the line,” from the phone lying at Axel’s feet.

  Panic practically oozed off the four figures poised for flight, but Axel remained there blocking their escape.

  The smallest of the masked intruders bit out, “If he won’t move, you move him, man,” to the tall figure with the gun.

  It was like putting a match to a fuse. The gunman fired off four rapid shots. Three of them hit Axel and dropped him to the floor.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Axel hadn’t been t
he only one who had crashed on their sofa that night. After a long Saturday of girly activities with Isla—mani/pedis, lunch, shopping, dinner out, and lots of girl talk—Jimi had done the same.

  She bolted upright at the sound of a loud pop-pop-pop-pop. Her first thought was that Axel’s bike was not only still backfiring, but it was getting worse. Then she realized that she’d seen him out in the parking lot changing out the fuel pump that morning when she left to meet up with Isla.

  Now she heard yelling coming from outside her door. Someone was roaring in pain and several other voices were barking out orders. Jimi didn’t know what was going on out there, but it was obvious someone needed help.

  She jumped up and took off at a run to the door and flipped the lock, threw the bolt and jerked the door open in time to see one of four dark-clothed figures rush her cousin who was covered in blood and lying on the floor. Jimi opened her mouth to scream Axel’s name, but nothing came out. He writhed and moaned in pain and she was relieved at the realization that he was still alive. The figure looming over him kicked a booted foot out, rolling Axel down the stairs and out of the way.

  “Axel!” Jimi screamed in horror.

  The masked figures turned to see her standing in her doorway. Jimi vaguely registered the sounds of Roscoe’s door opening and footsteps pounding onto the bottom section of stairs. Her eyes swung toward Roscoe, then to the stairs, then to Mrs. Wilson’s door as that opened as well. The intruders’ eyes had made the same rounds as hers. When the pounding footsteps neared the top of the bottom flight of stairs, whoever was on their way up must have sighted Axel lying on the landing because they let out a cry.

  Before Jimi registered what was happening, the four dark figures rushed her, shoved her backwards into her apartment and slammed the door shut. They secured the door with both locks, locking themselves inside with her.

  Two of the intruders started pacing and babbling in simultaneous panic.

  “We gotta get outta here!”

  “What are we supposed to do now?!”

  This was when Jimi realized at least one of them was female. She wasn’t sure about the smallest one that was stalking back and forth in silent agitation with their arms curled up over their head.

  The tall slender one still held the gun and barked at the others, “Shut up! Gimme a minute to think.” This came from a deeper male voice . . . but a young one.

  Jimi—keeping her eyes on the gun dangling from his hand—sidled backwards in pursuit of her cell phone lying on the coffee table. Her movement caught the obvious gang leader’s attention because she watched the gun rise in her direction.

  “Yo! Stop right there!” he demanded. He jerked the gun toward the near end of the sofa. “Sit. And don’t move from that spot, or I’ll shoot you like I did your neighbor.”

  “I-I-I . . . Listen—” Jimi began.

  “Shut up. I don’t want to hear a word from you unless I ask you a question.”

  She started shaking and thought it was just as well because, although she wanted to reason with them, she had no clue what she could say to get out of this.

  The leader jerked his head at the masked girl. “Grab her phone. Don’t want her to get any ideas about calling for help.”

  Jimi could hear sirens approaching outside and feel the panic building inside the room. This was bad. These were just kids. Their agitation had caused them to shoot Axel and to take her hostage. What would they be driven to next? She didn’t know what to do except to start praying and do it unceasingly.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Almost half-an-hour later Shad was standing alone under a large maple on the front lawn watching the chaos in shock and horror. The phone in his pocket began buzzing and vibrating again. It had been happening almost non-stop since he was awakened by the sound of gunshots, pounding feet, and loud cries and yells from upstairs. He wasn’t bothering to check the display anymore. He knew it was Jonny. He wasn’t listening to the frantic voice mails either. Those were from Jonny alternately frantically begging and demanding he do something to help them get out of the building. The threats had already begun.

  They’d brought a gun. Shad knew they’d stolen one from Axel during the burglary of his place, but Jonny was supposed to have sold it to start the fund they were saving up to head out west. Yet again, Jonny didn’t do what he was supposed to do. He was the dictator in their twisted little gang and the six others in the crew let him get away with that every time.

  Shad watched a young uniformed officer leading the elderly residents from upstairs—Roscoe and Mrs. Wilson—around the corner to the front lawn. He’d overheard his father tell the officers how to gain access to the fire escape up to Mrs. Wilson’s apartment in hopes of evacuating them. He looked for Jimi, but she wasn’t with them. Everyone’s fears were confirmed. They must be holding her hostage inside her apartment.

  Shad dropped to the ground, slumping against the tree trunk. He thought about how Jimi had chased him down on Friday morning to make things right with him. Not many adults would have cared enough. His respect for her had sparked to life after that. Now she was in danger and it was his fault.

  A burst of activity at the building’s entrance caught his attention and he saw two police officers carrying Axel out the door. A team of paramedics hustled to meet them where they laid him on the leaf-littered grass behind some hedges. The cops had deemed the situation too dangerous to let the medics inside, so they’d had to sneak up to the landing and bring him out. Even though there was a chance they might cause more damage to him, the fear of him lying there and bleeding out wasn’t a risk they were willing to take.

  Shad stood and walked around the hedge to see Axel being tended to. He gulped. There was a lot of blood. Axel’s unconscious body was practically covered with it. Unable to take seeing any more, Shad backed away feeling faint.

  He retreated to his tree and studied the chaos around him. All of the residents were now accounted for after having been evacuated and were gathered in a cluster across the lawn. All except for Jimi Alexander, he reminded himself as the phone began its angry buzzing again.

  • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

  Whoever the gunman had repeatedly been trying to reach by phone was still not picking up, and he was getting angrier and angrier.

  Jimi had studied them all long enough that she’d discovered they weren’t masked exactly. Except for the little one. He was wearing one of those ski masks that left only the eyes exposed. He was so small that the hat was a bit large on him, which meant his nose escaped occasionally. The kid had freckles, which made him seem like a little boy . . . except that he stalked around with his chest puffed out oozing false bravado. It was kind of creepy the way he reminded her of the Chucky doll from the horror movies.

  The other two minions wore black hoodies with the hoods up and the strings drawn so tight there was only a small opening left. Jimi wondered how they could see anything with their hoods closed like that. The girl’s exposed her full-lipped mouth smeared with blood red lipstick. The boy had braces on his teeth. But that’s all she could make out.

  The leader wore his hood up, but not cinched tight like the others. He wore a black bandana tied around the bottom half of his face like the outlaw he was and dark glasses covered his eyes. It was like the big one and the little one had come prepared, but the other two hadn’t—only making do by hiding behind their hoodies.

  Suddenly the leader approached her aggressively and squatted in front of where she huddled and trembled on the sofa. “How many exits are in this building?” he snapped.

  “Th-the front door,” Jimi answered.

  “Duh,” the little one snarked.

  “There must be more,” the leader insisted.

  “Ju-just the basement door out of the laundry room.”

  “Is there a back staircase?”

  Jimi shook her head. “N-no.”

  “How about the fir
e escape?” the girl suggested. “Remember? You can see it from behind the . . .” she trailed off, catching herself from giving something away.

  Frig, Jimi thought. She’d intentionally not mentioned that exit because she didn’t want to send these crazy kids into Mrs. Wilson’s apartment. She had no idea who all was still taking cover in the building and didn’t want to put Mrs. Wilson in Jimi’s predicament.

  The gunman turned his head from looking over his shoulder at the girl to stare accusingly at Jimi. She assumed. It wasn’t like she could see his expressions, but she could feel the emotions wafting off him. She shook harder. Where were Chance and his SEAL squad when you needed them?

  “The fire escape,” the leader snarled. “I forgot about that. Why did you leave that out?”

  “It sl-slipped m-my mind,” Jimi lied.

  He surged to his feet. “We’ll check it—”

  “B-but, the cops probably have it covered,” Jimi said frantically.

  “I told you to keep quiet unless I ask you something,” he reminded her harshly.

  The hooded guy stepped forward. “I’m not good with heights,” he whined. “Let’s try the basement first.”

  “What—and just stroll right past the front door on our way down there so they can pick us off one-by-one?” the little one scoffed.

  “Even if we made it past, the back basement door’s most likely covered too,” the girl fretted.

  Their leader attempted another call on his cell. “We need eyes on what’s going on out there,” he muttered to his crew. Yet again whoever was on the other end never picked up.

  Jimi wondered who he was calling that would be close enough to report on the CPD’s activities. She wouldn’t mind talking to them herself as she fought back tears. Maybe they could tell her how her cousin—who had been covered in blood when she’d last seen him—was doing. Was Axel even still alive?

  She continued her prayers as she watched the little one grab her biggest butcher knife out of the block on the kitchen countertop and move close to her. She had never even used that humongous knife. How ironic would it be if that ended up being what killed her?