Against the Odds

by Tori Carson

  Run, Sasha, run! This guy is way too dangerous. Obviously, he was lying. And yet, everything about him seemed sincere. Her hormones had to be overloading her common sense. Maybe a quickie was what she needed. With the right guy could sex really be like those romance novels she read so often? Or was it one more piece of fiction like the families portrayed in sitcoms? As much as she wished life was warm and fuzzy, she knew it wasn’t.

  “You are clearly out of my league, Mr. Erkins.”

  His head cocked slightly to one side, an emotion flittered darkly across his handsome features.

  “I’m not sure how to take that.” His voice took on a slight edge. “The night of the gala you had quite an entourage.”

  She nodded, remembering the various men who’d approached her that evening. “Those events are always the same. Men with too much power and money to bother being civil. Their reasons for attending the event were less than altruistic. For most, it was a publicity stunt or a networking opportunity, but their money could mean the difference between life and death for the animals at the rescue.”

  Jacob, on the other hand, had rarely left his seat. He’d bid on items that she could see him using rather than those sure to give him a write-up in the newspaper. She could be wrong, but he’d seemed to be there for the betterment of the animals. He didn’t win any of the auctions, but she’d seen him put an envelope in the donation box.

  He was gazing at her as if she’d insulted him.

  “So, yes, when I was approached I did smile and make small talk with men who thought I’d look good on their arm during a publicity photo and perhaps sprawled across their bed for an evening of fun. But I wasn’t foolish enough to encourage their advances.”

  The coffee Jacob was drinking damn near spewed across the table.

  “I’m sorry.” Her face instantly turned red. “That was in amazingly bad taste. I’m a little jaded by their would-be attention. And some of them, as you noticed, just don’t take no for an answer.”

  “What have I done that makes you think I belong in that same category?” He tried to keep his voice neutral, as if the question was only a matter of curiosity.

  Her eyes widened as she reached across and touched his hand. “Oh no, Jacob, that’s not what I meant. Not at all. You’re nothing like them. Among other things, I believe you’d take no for an answer.”

  “Ball boy did seem persistent,” he agreed. Sid ran the memory back in his mind. That evening her facial expressions had been rather plastered on, not in the least sincere. Her high wattage smile had attracted a number of men, but it hadn’t reached her eyes. Though he heard it rarely, her laugh, which was potent enough to turn his spine to Jell-O, was nothing like the polite chuckle she’d used during the gala. And she had eaten dinner afterward with him. Apparently, a pretty face and a large bank account didn’t turn her head.

  “So, why am I out of your league?” he asked, again refusing to let it drop. Yes, he had an ulterior motive, but it wasn’t about getting her in his bedroom. If he told himself that enough, it might become the truth. He hadn’t laid a hand on her, yet. He was willing to admit strangling her held a certain appeal. She was the most stubborn woman he’d ever met. Her gymnastic stunt out the window of her apartment scared him as few things had before.

  “Jacob, you seem like a very nice man.” She was staring at the table as if she couldn’t bear to look at him.

  While he waited for the ‘but’, he took stock of his emotions and wasn’t pleased with his analysis. This was about a murder case, not a relationship or even getting laid. She was messing with his head, changing his priorities, and that was unacceptable.

  Her soft sigh sent another zinger straight to his groin. What the fuck? Why couldn’t he focus around her? Actually, he was focused all right, but with his dick not his brain.

  “Honest and real,” she went on, unaware of the arrows she was shooting through his conscience. “You have no idea how appealing that is. My business is built around lavish façades. Nothing is real.”

  Sid forced himself to get control and keep his facial expressions blank. She was showing him a glimpse inside her world. He was ashamed of himself. Damn it, he was just doing his job. Three people were dead and this woman, incredible though she may be, was believed to be the murderer.

  She sat up straight, touched her right earring and flashed him her fake smile. “I’m just starting my business and I can’t afford to have my attention divided. I have my life savings wrapped up in this company and the competition is fierce. At this point in my life, I’m just not in a position to start a relationship.”

  He calmly nodded while a tiny burst of triumph spread through his gut. He knew she’d lied and now he’d learned one of her tells. In his business, things like that mattered. “I completely understand, Sasha. My company is thriving, but it’s still in the early phases. I travel a lot. My frequent flier miles look like the national debt.” He laughed, buying time to figure out what he needed from her. He had to keep the lines of communication open and get her guard down. “What I’d like, for now,” he conceded, “is a lunch buddy—when we aren’t off meeting clients.” He leaned forward and in a conspiratorial whisper he added, “Roberto is counting on me. I wouldn’t want to let him down.”

  She laughed like he’d known she would. Some of the shadows left her eyes. This case just didn’t make sense. What could she have gained by killing the girl and destroying the factory? From what he could see, nothing. And the brutality with which the girl had been killed really didn’t fit with the woman he was beginning to know. So, where did that leave him?

  He needed to check out her storage rental. He knew it had been leased at the same time as her apartment. It, too, was paid six months in advance with cash.

  “When it works out, I’d love to have lunch with you.” Sasha jumped when her cell phone beeped. She gave it a quick glance. “I’m sorry. I have to get back. I have a meeting.”

  Sid noticed Sasha’s knuckles were white as they drove back to her office. Once they pulled up outside her business, she let out a breath. Looking at her closely, he noticed dots of perspiration along her forehead. It appeared that being in a vehicle alone with him pushed her limits to the max. He wondered what the hell kind of life this woman really lived.

  Chapter Four

  Sid was fairly sure he had until nightfall before Sasha would revisit her storage unit. He’d been tracking her for some time now, yet he wouldn’t have known about the place if he hadn’t caught the brief glimpse of her slipping out the night before. His heart stuttered remembering her fragile form, complete with cast, flipping over the railing and slinking around a gang-infested neighborhood in the dark of night. Oh, how he’d like to shake some sense into the girl. He had double-checked the tracking device he’d planted on her truck and it confirmed she was never near the storage unit. He had to admit the subterfuge had his curiosity piqued.

  With a little luck, he’d soon have some answers to his many questions. All he needed to worry about was tripping a security feature. If she had surveillance video and he didn’t circumvent it, this investigation would be over before it began in earnest. After scaling the roof, he checked all the units in her section. Other than the cheesy-ass equipment installed by the building’s owner, it looked to be clean.

  After he’d been shot, he’d spent months riding a desk in a cyber unit. He was confident he could circumvent most security systems and hack into just about any computer or software program available on the market.

  Still, the roll-up door concerned him. He couldn’t spot any security beyond the common variety hardware store lock. Considering the elaborate cloak and dagger shit she’d pulled coming here, it didn’t make any sense at all.

  He checked the door again, this time with an EMF meter. Still no hint of an electrical draw that would come from a security system. Cautiously, he jimmied the lock. Inching the door open just a crack, he checked yet again. This case was too important to make a sloppy mistake. His gut churned. He would
have felt better if he’d found something. She was too on edge to only use a common variety key lock.

  With his heart in his throat, he lifted the door far enough open to slide underneath. Immediately he noticed a white powder on his clothing that hadn’t been there before. An emotion he didn’t even recognize started to choke him. Drugs! Could she be mixed up in the drug trade? Damn, he hadn’t seen that coming. He lay on the floor, just inside the doorway, scanning the area for evidence of a security system he was fast believing was non-existent and took stock of the situation.

  In recent years, Desman’s Designs had been tightly linked with one of the East Coast mobs. They were reputed to have a hand in everything from gambling to drugs to human trafficking. Drugs made sense. He should have considered it long before now. This case was never far from his mind. Lately, it haunted his every thought, and yet he’d never considered drugs as a motivator. Why?

  Alexa had been just a teenager when the murders occurred. Already a talented designer—the accepted theory for the case evolved around professional jealousy. The brother and co-owner of Desman’s Designs had decided to go with another designer for that year’s New York debut. In a fit of temper, Alexa had supposedly killed her, destroyed her designs and set fire to the warehouse, killing two seamstresses caught in the blaze.

  Nothing linked her in any way to drugs. Logically though, it fit. Still, his gut told him no way. Could he trust his instincts with his dick involved?

  While his thoughts rampaged through his brain, he rubbed the white substance between his fingers, knowing better than to taste it. This wasn’t some television drama. He had no desire to taste Draino or worse. He brought it to his nose and frowned. It smelled familiar—and comforting. He swore under his breath. He’d found her security system. Son of a bitch! Talc. Her security system was talcum powder on the floor by the door.

  Scanning the unit, he frowned. Several dress forms stared accusingly at him. They were clothed in what appeared to be very expensive fabric, but looking closely he saw pins holding pieces together. If there had been any doubt in his mind, it was gone now. He had definitely found Alexa Desman, missing heir and wanted murderess.

  He should’ve rolled back under the door, replaced the lock and notified his superiors. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to do it. This case had gotten under his skin. He couldn’t turn her over to anyone else, even if it did mean his career was at stake.

  The last time he’d violated policy, he’d ended up with a lead souvenir lodged inside him. When would he learn? Apparently not today. Instead he cleaned the talc from both the floor and his clothing while he surveyed the rest of the room. The boxes surprised him. She was getting ready to move again. Had he pushed her too hard or did this link back to the break-in at her office?

  The unit was bare save for a few boxes near the entrance and a couple others on a metal shelving unit, a partially sculpted bust, the dress forms, two file cabinets that turned out to be empty and a laptop. The venting system criss-crossed the roof and the lighting flickered and hummed annoyingly. Sid methodically went through the containers scattered near the doorway. Most were filled with clothing design sketches. Near the bottom of the last box, he found a locked metal safe. As he set to open it, a faint sound outside the unit caught his attention, an indistinct scraping noise like something rubbing against the metal door.

  Quickly, he grabbed her laptop, scaled the farthest shelf, scooted as far back as possible and waited, hoping the air ducts and boxes obscured him from view.

  If Sasha had broken from her routine and arrived while it was still light out, he had a major problem. The lock was still in the metal hasp, but it wasn’t latched and she couldn’t help but notice the talc had been swept into a pile. If she escaped him now, it would take months or years before he found her again. He muttered expletives under his breath.

  Sid remained motionless as the door slid through the track just above his body. From his hiding place, he scrutinized the intruder, noting the pistol at home in his right palm. He looked familiar, but Sid couldn’t place him. Seeing an intricate tattoo of a clock with daggers as hands just below the man’s ear made the hairs on the back of Sid’s neck stand on end. While he couldn’t put a name to the man, the tat was a well known East Coast gang affiliation symbol for a made man or a paid killer. This guy was bad news. Careful to keep his weight from shifting, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and began snapping photos of the man and the tattoo. The angle was bad, but he dared not move.

  Sid was disappointed when he noticed the man was wearing gloves, but not surprised. His movements were calm, quick and efficient. The thought of him anywhere near Sasha scared the hell out of him. Could this be the boyfriend Sasha had told the local police about? If so, he would never figure out women and their taste in men.

  Knowing he had started a chain of events he had no hope of containing, he clicked a few more pictures, swiped a quick message and sent it to the only person he knew that was better with a computer than he was. Their friendship was only a few years old, but forged in the fires of hell.

  Quicker than expected, Teague sent him a text back.

  Randall Hackman. Aka the Hatchet. Half the branches of the FBI on the East Coast are looking for this guy. He went off the radar three days ago. He made his first kill at the tender age of thirteen. He’s the enforcer of choice for several families. He specializes in ‘asset retrieval’. His associates are gobbling up Mr. G’s share of the human slave trading market.

  No one knew more about Mr. G’s business than Teague. He’d spent most of his adult life trying to take the man down. Two years ago, he’d finally succeeded. Unfortunately, it had done little to stem the tide of crime. Others had quickly filled the void. With the advent of the internet, the human slave trade was a booming business.

  Sid sent him his location and asked how soon Teague could get there with a transponder, knowing full well it would take longer than he had, but hoping against hope he might be close by.

  Papa isn’t going to be happy if he finds out you’re working on your vacation. I’m fifteen minutes out and leaving now.

  Sid doubted Hackman would stick around that long. As for ‘Papa’, Teague’s nickname for his father-in-law, the partially retired agency chief, he already knew there would be hell to pay. Sid had been Patrick Donley’s personal assistant until Donley had stepped down. Though Papa was mostly retired, he worked as hard as he ever had. Instead of running the entire region, he now oversaw his local office only. He still had his fingers in all the important pies and still held an agent’s career in the palm of his hand. One word from ‘Papa’ and your next assignment would make Siberia look inviting.

  Several times Hackman glanced right at Sid. Each time Sid tensed, preparing for the worst, but Hackman merely continued going through the boxes.

  While Hackman ransacked Sasha’s storage unit, Sid tried to plan out his next move. Sasha was bound to leave town as soon as she knew her unit had been discovered.

  After finding the lockbox, Hackman took a few moments to pick the lock and scavenge through the contents. Sid couldn’t get a good look, but he watched Hackman pocket what looked like a photo.

  In less than ten minutes, Hackman had searched the boxes and left, sliding the door down behind him. Sid waited a few minutes then climbed out from his hiding place. As soon as he hit the floor, he heard the telltale scraping sound of the door rolling up. He lay on the ground and scooted as far into the shadows as possible.

  Moving slowly to keep his clothing from making any rustling sound, he reached behind his back and pulled his Sig Sauer from its holster. At the sound of liquid hitting the concrete floor he froze. Adrenaline flooded his body as the loud whoosh alerted him to the fire. The roar of flames drowned out the receding footsteps. Panic hit him like a punch to the gut as the door rolled shut.

  A wall of flames blocked his only exit. The blaze seared his eyes as the soot clogged his airways. By the time he got the door up, he’d be fried to a crisp. Staying p
ut wasn’t an option either. He searched in vain for a sprinkler system. If the place had one, he couldn’t see it, blinded as he was from the flames. He ripped his shirt off to cover his face and hands as the door rolled upward. Hackman was back.

  The fresh air fueled the fire, causing another flare-up. Instinctively, he threw himself backward, hitting his head on the shelving. As he raised the pistol to shoot his way past Hackman, his vision faded to black.

  * * * *

  The pounding in his head, exacerbated by the sirens, told him he was in fact still alive. As consciousness crept back in, he was determined to get the hell out of there. Forcing his body into an upright position was harder than expected. Hands appeared from every direction to hold him down. Fear had him fighting like a crazy man. He refused to burn to death.

  “Sid, you asshole, you pop me in the mouth again and I’m hitting back.” Teague’s booming voice pierced the veil of adrenaline-laced terror.

  “That was for the one you thought you’d got away with,” Sid croaked through his scorched throat.

  “Keep that over your mouth and nose, sir,” a paramedic advised him as he placed an oxygen mask over his face.

  Gladly, he took several well-needed breaths. His lungs, parched from the heat and soot, couldn’t handle the clean air and he began to cough.

  As soon as his brain began to function again, he pulled the mask away. “You said Hackman was East Coast?”

  “Born and raised,” Teague confirmed.

  Sid let go a slew of expletives. “He’s here to acquire Sasha.” He scrambled to his feet. Moving brought a fresh round of pain, but his only thought was of Sasha. Hackman had at least a ten minute head start.