by Regan Black
“I’ll take you, sweetheart,” Laura said. “Rico has a sore ankle.”
“Did you hurt it?” Hannah asked, her little forehead scrunched in concern.
“Yes,” he said. “You two go outside. I’ll start something for an early dinner.”
Hannah kept up the stomping while Laura got ready. It took her just minutes and then they were out the door. Rico went to the window, the same one he’d stood at just that morning when Laura had driven away. The same one he’d been standing at ten minutes later, when she reversed directions and he’d decided to follow her.
Sometimes things worked out well.
He’d been surprised that she’d agreed to come back to the cabin. He thought it had a great deal to do with the fact that she perceived him to be somewhat of an invalid. Good grief, he hadn’t even been allowed to carry in a sack of groceries. Made him feel a bit emasculated but if it gave her some comfort, then he wasn’t opposed to keeping up the pretense.
There was about an inch of snow on the ground. Not enough to build a good snowman, or even a snow cat, but plenty to lie in and make snow angels. They did a bunch of that and then caught flakes with their tongues and ran around, laughing and giggling.
He pulled himself away from the window. He had a gas grill on the deck behind the cabin and he would use it tonight to grill some chicken and vegetables. That with the whole wheat pasta should work for dinner.
As he cut up zucchini, mushrooms and purple onion, he realized that he had not thought about Mora Rambeilla for the entire day. That was a first in months.
Most of the way to the cabin, he’d stewed about her and the rest of the Rambeilla family. He understood why. The work had consumed him for months and now, even though the assignment had ended, he was still grappling with loose ends that he couldn’t tie up.
The phone on the wall rang, surprising him. He got very few calls here.
“Rico Metez,” he answered.
“Mr. Metez, this is Hank from the security desk at 2400 Wisteria.”
“What can I do for you, Hank?” He had lived in his condo for almost four years and couldn’t remember ever receiving a call from the security desk.
“Well, I don’t want to bother you, sir, but I thought I should let you know about something that just happened.”
“Okay.”
“There were a couple of men here saying that they had a delivery for your condo. They were carrying a bookcase.”
Bookcase? “What company were they from?”
“Well, that’s the thing. They came in, said that you had ordered some furniture, and they were to deliver it to your place. They wanted me to unlock the door.”
He had not ordered a bookcase or any other furniture. Security personnel were only supposed to open a tenant’s door after obtaining the tenant’s written permission. “And what happened?”
“Well, Mr. Metez, I checked our logbook to see if you’d given us some direction to open the door for anybody and I didn’t see anything. I wanted to be helpful so I told the men that I could call you. I stepped away to do that and they left. I thought that was odd enough that I should tell you. I tried your cell and your office phone and when I couldn’t reach you, this was the other number we had on file.”
The hair on the back of his neck was standing up. “Can you describe the two men?”
“White. In their thirties, I’d guess. Brown hair. Nothing special about them, really.”
No names. No company name. A description that didn’t mean anything to him. Carrying a bookcase. It wasn’t much. “Hank, can you do me a favor? Can you see if the lobby security cameras picked up any video of these two men? If so, I’d like to see it.” He gave Hank his email address, knowing that he’d be able to see it on his phone. Not from the cabin, of course, but once he got in a better place for cell service he would have it.
“Hank, thanks for calling. I appreciate the heads-up.”
“Of course, Mr. Metez.”
Rico hung up the phone and stared off into the distance. Why would somebody pretend to be delivering a bookcase? If it was to gain access to his condo, it wasn’t a great plan. Even if the security officer had unlocked the door, he or she wouldn’t have simply let the delivery men have free run of his place. The delivery men couldn’t have walked away with his stuff.
It made no sense.
Kind of like the boat veering off course and almost hitting his boat hadn’t made any sense.
Somebody was screwing with him and he wasn’t happy about it.
But as the door flew open and Laura and Hannah tumbled in, still laughing, with red cheeks and bringing the smell of pine with them, he realized that he had other things, good things, to think about.
CHAPTER 6
He was cooking dinner. How wonderful was that?
“I can finish up,” she said. “So that you can get off your ankle.”
“It’s feeling okay,” he said. “Have a glass of wine.”
That sounded like a little bit of heaven. “Let me get Hannah settled first,” she said. She pulled off the child’s wet snow pants and coat and hung those on a hook by the front door. She put the mittens and hat on the brick hearth, in front of the fire Rico had lit.
All the while, she cautioned herself not to let her guard down, not to get too comfortable. Yes, he’d been a nice guy up to this point. Yes, she didn’t have any reason to believe that he intended to harm either her or Hannah. But this was temporary. A few weeks at best.
She got the little girl settled on the couch, with her movie on the computer. Then crossed the room, to where Rico was putting water into a pan. “What’s that for?” she asked.
“Pasta. I’ve got the chicken and the vegetables on the grill.”
“It sounds really delicious.”
He held up a bottle of white wine.
“Where did you get that?” she asked. They had not purchased any wine today, and she didn’t recall seeing it on the counter last night, with his other things.
“From the basement. I always keep a couple cases on hand.”
“I didn’t realize there was a basement.”
“Yeah. Entrance is outside, by the back deck.”
“I missed that. But the view off that deck is pretty spectacular.” She’d seen that the first afternoon, when her freshly dyed hair was still wet, and Hannah had been sleeping. She’d walked outside to look around. It had felt as if she could see for miles, and the fall colors had been spectacular.
Now they would all be covered by snow. She got up and looked out the window. “Still snowing.”
“I think you’re going to be saying that for a while,” he said, “if the weather forecasters are right.”
“Are they ever?” she teased.
“Well, there’s probably not much difference between twelve and eighteen inches—it all amounts to a hell of a lot of snow. Especially if there is wind.”
“If it gets too windy or cold, I’ll need to keep Hannah inside. I’m going to have to figure out another way to keep her entertained.” She should have bought more paper and crayons today.
“You can take a look at the games and toys that I have.”
“Where?”
“In the basement. They’re in a tote so they stay in good shape. Sometimes the people staying here have kids, so I try to keep stuff handy for them.”
“I’ll check it out after dinner,” she said. “Is it a scary basement? What else is down there?”
“Not too scary. Water heater. Furnace. Backup generator. That’s the big stuff. Then I keep totes of extra drinking water, nonperishable food, candles, matches and sleeping bags.”
“Survival stuff?” she asked. “You buy into the end is near theory?”
He shook his head. “I buy into the Colorado can be unforgiving theory,” he said. “Royce, one of my partners, refers to
it as having a plan, a backup plan and an it’s going to hell plan.”
She should have had that. If so, she might have had more than twelve hours to coordinate how to get a child halfway across the country. Would have had some options, versus taking what Melissa had so kindly offered. But she would use this time to formulate a good plan. A great one.
“I saw on the website that you have three partners and that you’re headquartered out of Vegas.”
“Yeah. Royce Morgan, Trey Riker and Seth Pike. The four of us met in basic training for the air force.”
“Were you all pilots?”
“Royce did security. That’s why Wingman Security was a natural fit for him. The rest of us had to work a little to catch up. Trey was a mechanic, but he’s really a MacGyver—can always make something out of nothing. Seth flew the planes. And me, strictly groundwork. I was a Tactical Air Control Party, or TACP, specialist.”
“What is that?”
“It’s frontline work. I had the responsibility for calling in air support.”
“So you were deployed?”
“Tours in both Iraq and Afghanistan. You need to be right in the mix, be able to communicate clearly and stay calm.”
“Sounds high stress.”
“Could be,” he said easily.
She suspected it was a bigger deal than he was making it out to be. “And now you do security work.”
“All four of us take individual assignments. I also am responsible for contracting new clients. Let me tell you, that can have its own stresses. My partners say I’m suited for it because I could put stripes on a horse and convince everybody it was a zebra.”
She laughed. But she also understood how difficult it could be. People looking for security services were likely feeling pretty vulnerable. Not all that different than her work. People were not at their best when they weren’t feeling well. And while physical therapy wasn’t meant to be a bad experience, it could be difficult. There were some who didn’t respond well.
They yelled, they cried, they pouted.
And in the end, they hugged you and thanked you for helping them get their mobility or functionality back.
“I imagine you’re very good at reassuring people that they’ve come to the right place, that Wingman Security is going to be able to provide what they need.”
“Flattery will get you your choice of either baked apples or baked pears for dessert.”
Either sounded great. “No chocolate pie?” she teased.
He shook his head.
“Have you always been a health nut?”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that. I’m not a health nut. I prefer fruits and vegetables and try to work out regularly. That doesn’t make me a nut. But I will admit, with this ankle injury, I have displayed a bit of irrational behavior—mostly moaning and groaning that life isn’t fair.”
“Hannah does that sometimes. When naptime interrupts her playtime.”
“I bet I could give her a run for her money. But I try to control it.”
She pointed at her elbow. “I can relate. But your ankle will get stronger. And as it does in the coming weeks, you can help it out. One easy thing you can do is stand on your tiptoes for a few seconds. Do a few repetitions multiple times during the day. That will strengthen your calf muscle, which is the muscle that propels you forward when you walk.”
“I’ll try that,” he said. “How do you know this stuff?”
“When my elbow was injured, I read up on all kinds of therapy,” she said. She needed to be more careful. It was second nature to offer therapy advice. Medicine had been a natural career for her.
But that was before she’d realized that there was a much greater calling: saving a child.
“I should probably set the table,” she said.
“Right,” he said. He grabbed his crutches. “I’m going to check the chicken.”
In fifteen minutes, they were sitting down to dinner. She’d been a little worried about how Hannah might react to the food but the little girl was digging in, trying everything.
“Rico says he has a few toys in the basement,” she said. “Would you like to have a look?”
“Girl toys or boy toys?” she asked, her mouth full.
“Chew with your mouth closed,” Laura reminded her gently.
“I think they’re mostly toys that both boys and girls would like to play with,” Rico said.
“How do you know?” Hannah asked. “You don’t have kids.”
Laura inwardly cringed. Children could be very direct. She’d had to get much tougher skin once she started at the daycare. But Rico didn’t seemed phased.
“You’re right,” he said. “But I do have both a niece and a nephew. A niece is a girl and a nephew is a boy. And I watched really closely when they played, so you might say I’m sort of an expert.”
“What’s an expert?”
“Somebody who knows a lot about something.”
Hannah cocked her head and said very seriously, “I’m an expert on trolls.”
Rico nodded. “I thought so. Tomorrow, I’m going to come up with some troll questions and I’m coming to you for answers.”
“You can ask me at breakfast,” she said. “We’re having pancakes.” She looked at Laura.
“Yes, finally,” Laura said. “Tomorrow is pancake day.” She turned to Rico. “Sorry, white flour and the whole bit. I can make you something different.”
He shook his head. “I’ll redeem them with fruit.”
Hannah got down from her chair. Looked, very deliberately, at Rico. “Now what about those toys?”
* * *
He threw on his coat before venturing outside. Stood for a minute on the back deck, savoring the silence. Nothing better than sitting out there, listening to nothing. Because it was never silent. There was always some movement in the nearby woods, some animal looking for smaller prey, a hoot from an owl, a howl from a coyote and sometimes even a growl from a black bear.
Tonight nothing could be heard over the wind. Even with the cabin at his back, it was whipping snow up into his face. Bad night to be out, that was for sure. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Laura that Moreville would virtually shut down if the storm was significant. Locals would hunker down in their houses, waiting for the drifting and blowing to stop. Visitors, the ones who didn’t know enough to have a healthy respect for the power of a winter storm, would carry on. Those would be the vehicles in the ditches and sideways across highways, making rescue the number one priority of all emergency workers.
But it would have to be significantly worse for him to ignore Hannah’s big blue eyes. Now, what about those toys? He’d almost laughed but the child had been so serious. There was no way he was begging off and seeing if tomorrow would be soon enough.
Anyway, by tomorrow, he suspected getting to the basement from the exterior door would be almost impossible. If it snowed all night and the wind continued to howl, the snow would drift around the perimeter of the cabin, effectively blocking off the steps.
There was one other way to get to the basement. A trapdoor in the floor, under the living room rug, that could be used in an emergency. It had not been an original part of the cabin, hadn’t even been a part of the initial rehab. But a couple years ago, after hearing firsthand from a new client how intruders had terrorized his family, he’d realized that it wouldn’t hurt to have someplace to hide if there was no time for escape.
After a minute or so, when his lungs were full of cold mountain air, he walked down the five exterior steps to get to the basement door. He unlocked it, found the light switch and took a look around. The stone walls were original and never failed to remind him of the hardiness of mountain folks—many years ago, before there were efficient ways to do these things, those stones had been hauled to this location and the ground had been dug.
<
br /> A home had been established.
He liked to think that he had a little of that blood running through his veins. His mother had been born and raised in these mountains. His father had come from Cuba in his early twenties, taken one look, or so he said, at Rico’s mother and fallen in love.
They’d raised both Rico and his sister not more than fifteen minutes away. They’d been poor but even so, his parents had taught him to be a saver. They’d believed that even when there was not much coming in, it was still important to save a bit for a rainy day. Since the day he’d started working when he was fourteen, he’d done that.
And, it turned out, that he was good at making money turn into even more money. The stock market had been his friend. And now he had a bank balance and real estate holdings that his parents likely couldn’t even imagine.
While money had been tight, the love had flowed freely and he remembered his childhood with great fondness. His parents had instilled in him the need to help others—they’d no more consider turning their backs against someone in need than they would have turned their backs on their own children.
He’d also tried to keep that spirit alive.
When his parents had retired, they’d moved to Torcak, about an hour west, because his sister had settled there and started her family. By that time, Rico was already in Vegas and part of Wingman Security.
He found the tote he was looking for and opened it. Inside were basic board games, for ages three to adult, some art supplies, a racetrack with small cars, plastic food and play dishes, and an assortment of books for all ages. Some of the items had been purchased for his niece and nephew; some had simply accumulated as people had stayed at the cabin over the years.
He never rented the place out, in the traditional sense. There was no online posting. People got invited to stay. Good friends, of course. But more times, the people who were offered the opportunity to stay were people who needed a respite from their otherwise overwhelming lives.
That was the situation with Georgina Fodder. Rico had met her more than ten years ago, when he’d been serving alongside her grandson, Trever. The man had confided that his grandmother was sick, not quite old enough to qualify for Medicare, but without private insurance. As such, she wasn’t seeking treatment for her cancer.
