A Match Made in Heaven?

by Sun Chara

  Danger signals flared in Johnny’s brain, his pulse pumping record highs. How far would the man go to feather his bruised ego?

  “And?” he fired, startling her to continue piecing the story together.

  “He’d … uh … want” – her giggle turned into two, then three, before she swallowed the nervous sound – “to pay back …”

  “… those whom he thought …” Johnny picked up the tale and tossed it back to her.

  “… were to blame,” she mumbled.

  “What d’ya know?” He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. “We’re finally on the same page.”

  She wrung her hands. “Two years ago, I thought a rich son-in-law sounded the ticket to greener pastures.” She attempted a grin, but it fizzled on her mouth. “I was desperate.”

  “Now you’re not?

  She hedged. “More.”

  Johnny grunted.

  “Sam would have none of it.” She clasped her hands in her lap, an odd gesture of acceptance for monster mamma. “She wanted to marry a poor Irishman instead.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  A reluctant smile brushed her lips. “Thank God—”

  “You know Him?”

  “Who?”

  “God.”

  “W-well, not personally, but I have heard—” She crinkled her brow. “Hmm, Samantha has prattled about a Jesus who—” Her voice broke and she veiled the moment in a cough. “I-I did ask Him to keep Sam and the baby safe, even though I—”

  “Go on,” Johnny invited, but Mrs. Carroll veered away from that topic. He could’ve told her it was easy to know Him. Those few words he’d prayed earlier that morning would change anyone’s life no matter who they were or what they’d done.

  A chuckle vibrated from deep in his chest, when he heard Mrs. Carroll ‘go on’ with her tale.

  “Anyway, I’m glad I have a husband who was smart enough to skim profits over the years. He bailed us out in the nick of time, just before the wedding.”

  “So, Sam didn’t have to go through that fiasco—”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Mrs. Carroll, you’d have pawned your daughter off to the highest bidder in any case.” In his estimation, monster mamma just sprouted horns.

  “It does sound horrible,” she murmured, then brightened. “You crashed the nuptials” – she tittered, a sliver of sound – “and all’s well that ends well … Shakespeare.”

  A growl rumbled from deep in his throat. “It’s not over yet.”

  “Right again, Irish boy.” She pressed her mouth in a tight line, and then bleated, “I thought we were on easy street, then whammo! Some fool popped us for five million on a slot machine.” She fanned her face with a nervous hand. “We got so far in the hole this time, bankruptcy’s been jabbing us for two years.”

  “Enter Michael—round two.”

  A soft snarl scratched Mrs. Carroll’s throat. “The creep.”

  Johnny raised a brow and waited for more.

  “The Lucky Lou” – she patted her thickly sprayed hair in place – “was named after my great grandfather, the quickest hand in the west. At cards.” She snickered at that and then splayed her hand, studying her lacquered nails. “I should’ve invited you and Sam to stay over for your honeymoon, but I was sore at—”

  “Her marrying me.”

  “I panicked. The more she refused, the more I pushed that dodo onto her.” She sighed. “But she dug her heels in, saying she’d rather live in the poorhouse with you than hook up with that stuffed shirt.”

  “Yet she almost did marry the designer shirt.”

  “Well, uh …”

  “There’s more,” Johnny muttered. “Time to come clean, Mrs. Carroll.”

  Mrs. Carroll flapped her hands as if what she was about to say was totally unimportant. “She pushed me to the edge, and I threatened if she didn’t marry Michael, I’d … uh … leave her father.”

  “Blackmail?”

  Mrs. Carroll sniffed, but her eyes were drier than the desert.

  Heat flushed his face, and he nearly exploded. He blasted the air from his mouth, diffusing the pressure in his lungs. “How’s his heart?”

  She shot him a puzzled look. “Whose?”

  “Your husband’s.”

  “Solid,” she said, pleased. “Why—”

  “And the divorce proceedings?”

  Mrs. Carroll fidgeted on the seat. “Of course, I didn’t mean it.” She giggled, but it came out brash.

  It wasn’t so long ago that she was slaving at the sink, suds up to her elbows, washing pots and pans in the hotel kitchen. She’d married Sam’s father by maneuver. A catered event at the National Realtors Convention in Vegas … a very drunken Harold put to bed by a little doll of a gal … she curled her lip at the memory, then the curl softened to a smile.

  A real estate mogul didn’t cross her path every day. A little lust thrown in with her good looks, and she’d pulled it off. Had him hooked, and a baby on the way didn’t hurt her cause, either. She’d married money, recouped the Lou that was about to be auctioned off and tried to make a home for them as best she could. She couldn’t help it if she had a cunning business mind and spent most of her waking hours counting cash and plotting how to make more.

  She gulped. Precious little of it now, though.

  At fifty-nine, Amelia Carroll wasn’t ready to go to pasture, and when she did, she’d go with a bang, not a whimper. The Michael Scotts of the world she could squash beneath her stiletto. She grinned and flicked her thumb across her chin.

  “I was doing it for her,” she murmured, as if that absolved her sin.

  Johnny grunted.

  “She thwarted my plans and married her Irishman anyway.”

  Her words filled his heart with tenderness for his wife. If anything should happen to her … ruthlessly he shackled his thoughts.

  “A shocker for Michael,” she added.

  Johnny reached on the dashboard and pulled out the divorce doc Sam had placed in her Bible. “He’s got one for you, mamma-in-law.” He tossed her the paper.

  “What’s this?” She perused the document. “Why that swine—” Clicking her bag open, she took out a tissue and dabbed her cheeks. “Slinging dirt—”

  “Must’ve stung, having mother and daughter both turn him down flat.”

  A smile struggled for place on her mouth but didn’t make it. She stuffed the doc inside her bag. “Belen, what am I to do?”

  “Duck.”

  She didn’t even hear him, working her lip between her teeth. “He’s vindictive.”

  A chuckle flew from his lips at her woebegone expression. “Not to worry. You can handle the likes of Michael.”

  She brightened. “You think so?”

  “I certainly do.” He shot into the other lane as a Mercedes cut him off. “How goes the business now?”

  “We’re about to go bust.” She brushed an imaginary tear from her eye. “It’s my little girl’s future holding, and my grandbaby’s.”

  “Still refusing to sell?”

  “Holding out for a miracle.”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he murmured below his breath.

  She chuckled, missing his words. “Did I actually say that?” Then she sobered. “It certainly won’t come from Michael.”

  “Nope.” A blare of a horn drowned out the word.

  “Sam doesn’t know him like I do.”

  “But I do, Mrs. Carr … Amelia,” he said loud and clear, giving her a high five with his hand.

  “Yeah, I bet you do.” She laughed, patting his arm, and then quickly withdrew her hand. “You will let me do the honors when the time comes?”

  Johnny grinned. “With pleasure.”

  “I’m beginning to like you, John Belen.”

  “That’s good ma’am, because I’m aiming to stay your son-in-law for a long time to come.” He squinted, rubbing his knuckles across his chin. You’ll like me a whole lot better knowing the five mil that fleeced the Lou landed in
my lap. Johnny chuckled.

  “What’s funny at a time like this?” She made a wad with the Kleenex, dropped it in her purse and snapped it shut.

  “Nothing.” A muscle socked his jaw. Nothing would ever be amusing again if anything should happen to his Sam and their baby. “I have to get Sam safely out of there.”

  “You’ll have to beat me to it, sonny boy.” She set her chin like the Rock of Gibraltar.

  Johnny swerved into the right lane, floored the gas pedal and, a moment later, squealed around the corner with the bank in sight … and the cop on his fender.

  Chapter Thirty

  Johnny skidded to a stop in the outdoor mall parking and leaped out. Cops swarmed the bank building, and media personnel rushed to and fro, Choppers circled overhead, and curious bystanders gawked from across the street.

  A second set of tires squealed, and Mrs. Carroll slid from the Chevy and stood next to Johnny. The traffic officer bounded from his vehicle and caught on at a glance, the traffic violation forgotten.

  “My wife’s in—”

  “Sorry.” The law officer blocked his way. “This is a restricted area.”

  “My daughter—”

  “Sorry, ma’am.”

  “She’s pregnant …” Johnny blurted, his belly churning.

  “My first grandchild—”

  “There’s an ambulance standing by.” The officer pointed behind him. “And the S.W.A.T. team’s on its way.”

  “I have to get to her,” Johnny said, his voice desperate.

  “You wanna help your wife, mister?” the officer bit out. “Stay outta our way.” Another lawman waved him over to the squad car, and he jogged away.

  “I have to find a way.” Johnny raked both hands through his hair.

  Mrs. Carroll grabbed his elbow and pulled him aside.

  “I must get to her.” He yanked his arm free from her hold. “I can’t stand here and do nothing.”

  “You won’t have to.” She slung her purse strap over her neck and shoulder, her eyes glinting with purpose. “Follow me. There’s another way into the bank. Michael let that slip once when he was trying to impress me.” Hurrying away from the action, she skirted the building toward the side entrance. “Let’s hope the luck o’ the Irish is with you, and it isn’t sealed.”

  A grim-faced Johnny nodded.

  “Got a flashlight in that car of yours?”

  “Yeah.” He was already racing to his car before she finished speaking. After he rummaged in his duffel bag for the light, he grabbed the miniature first aid kit and, on instinct, the Bible from the dashboard, pocketing it as he ran. In less than thirty seconds, he was back in the game with mamma leading the way.

  She prowled behind a trash bin concealing the slit of a dirt path between the Global Bank Exchange and the Toys-R-Us shop. A tense moment, and motioning him to follow she squeezed between the two walls. “I hope this leads to the bank’s main floor.”

  “You hope?” Johnny swiped his hand across his nape. “You don’t know?”

  “I’ve never crawled on my hands and knees into a bank before.” She fluttered her lashes against the sheen of tears in her eyes … real this time.

  Johnny clamped down on his teeth, his jaw iron hard.

  Danger and an unpalatable outcome taunted if they didn’t make it on time. Of course, neither voiced the dreaded thought.

  “Keep faith.” Johnny pressed a reassuring hand on her shoulder to jack up her courage … and his.

  She patted his hand, took a deep breath and the air blasted from her mouth. “I’m going after my daughter and granddaughter.” She slapped him with a watery smile. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a girl.”

  A wan grin brushed his mouth and then vanished. The thought of Samantha delivering their baby in the midst of a bank robbery had ice chunks grooving his spine. “Right behind you.”

  Mrs. Carroll flung off her jacket, kicked off her pumps and fell flat on her face in the dirt. Her bracelets jangled. Slipping them off her wrist, she shoved them at him, and he stuffed them in his jacket’s pocket. A quick glance beneath the building, and she ventured forth into the dark abyss. Johnny hit the ground behind her and flicked on the flashlight.

  A few moments later, she stopped and listened. Not a sound except their breathing. She rapped the floorboards above her head with her knuckles. When she heard the hollow sound, she gave him the thumbs up signal and jiggled the board. After several tries, she mouthed in exasperation, “It won’t budge.”

  “You sure this is the spot?”

  “Yes.”

  Johnny set the flash down, cocked an ear for any noise, and then, lacing his fingers around the First Aid box, swung at the floor with a swift uppercut, knocking it out. Pulling it off, he wiggled his way upward into the vault. An eye scan indicated it was locked and bolted. The robbers hadn’t hit yet. Monster mamma handed him the flashlight, and when she clutched his other hand, he hauled her up beside him.

  “This’ll be their next target,” he murmured, scoping the area.

  Just then, the combination lock clicked from the other side, and he motioned her to take cover behind the metal shelves.

  “Hurry it up,” someone commanded in a tense whisper.

  Johnny flicked off the flash and pressed himself flat against the wall beside the door.

  The vault partition yawned wide and concealed Johnny in shadow. After nudging the numb teller to step inside with the point of his weapon, the thief tossed a couple of burlap bags on the floor. Johnny squinted, then gaped at the flaming CKR logo emblazoned on the cloth. It matched the feed sacks at the kennels.

  “Shovel the dough in the sacks and be quick ’bout it,” the robber ordered, twitching his neck.

  Trembling from head to toe, the blonde turned to grab a stack of bills from the shelf, caught sight of Johnny and sucked in a sharp breath.

  Johnny pressed a finger to his lips.

  In record time, the girl stuffed the bags with the loot, and then Johnny signaled her to stand back. The moment the burglar stepped forward to pick them up, Johnny slugged him over the head with the First Aid Kit. He keeled onto the floor, his gun sliding across the tiles and stopping at mamma’s feet. She snatched it up and leaped from her hiding spot, the firearm shaking in her hands.

  “Watch where you’re pointing that thing,” Johnny mouthed and turned to the teller. “How many more are out there?”

  She raised a wobbly finger.

  Mrs. Carroll pulled the silk scarf from around her neck and tossed it to her. “Tie pretty boy up, will you, honey. He’ll have a doozer of a headache when he comes to.”

  Johnny extricated the handgun from his mother-in-law’s itchy fingers and held it by his side. “Stay here.”

  She gave him a “you’re nutso if you think I’m going to stay out of the action” look and swept up the First Aid Kit from the floor. “We’re about to sting this operation, boy.” She shoved up her sleeves. “Let’s move out.”

  A saucy grin flirted on his mouth, and then he fell flat on his belly, cautioning her to stay low. He crawled to the nearest desk, and she followed, huddling beside him to stake out the bank floor. The other culprit brandished his revolver about, forcing the hostages to stand against the wall with their hands behind their necks.

  A scream filled the air, and he knew it was Samantha. He made to leap out, but Mrs. Carroll grabbed him by his shirt flaps and pulled him down. “Don’t give us away, now, John.”

  The robber cocked his head and backtracked to the vault, stopping mere inches from them.

  Johnny stilled.

  Mrs. Carroll held her breath.

  “Hey, in there.” He shifted from one foot to the other, his weapon pointed at the frightened people. “Hurry it up!”

  Johnny bunched his brow.

  Mrs. Carroll breathed.

  The man’s New York twang sounded familiar. A low growl built in his throat. He pushed the gun into Amelia’s hand and leaped for him. The Bible tumbled from his pocket th
e precise moment the stooge’s gun went off, blasting a hole in the ceiling and dinging the fan before clattering to the floor. Johnny kicked the weapon aside and slugged the pot-bellied man on the jaw with the flashlight. The culprit whacked onto the floor, groaning and clutching his jaw.

  In a flash, Mrs. Carroll snagged the wayward weapon from the floor, tossed it to Johnny and choked the gun she was holding between her fingers. “It’s over buster.”

  “Willie.” Johnny stripped the mask from his face. “You disappoint me.” He shook his head. “Skipping out on me on the 5 Freeway … mismanaging the kennels … trippin’ out with biz capital.” A pause. “Aww, man, going ‘poof’ like that was not a nice thing to do.”

  Willie had the grace to blush.

  “And I bet the … er … workhand you planted at the kennels is snoozing in the vault.”

  “I can come clean.” Willie made to get up, but Johnny shoved him back down with his boot. “He paid me real good … I needed the dough … figured you’d be hitched by the time we got to church … later more cash to keep mum ’bout the forged—”

  “Go on,” Johnny said, the words bullet hard.

  “Scott came up with this other idea and—” Willie sputtered on his words.

  “What does that weasel have to do with this?” Mrs. Carroll loomed above him, double barrels loaded and pointing at his chest.

  “He-e …” Willie shuffled back against the wall, waving her away.

  She lowered her thick lashes, concealing the glint in her eyes. “Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what that conniving two-bit loser was up to.” She swished the gun in her hand. “But do carry on … I’m curious to know all the facts.”

  “H-he had a system goin’.” Willie’s eyes dodged from one to the other. “H-he laundered the bank loot through me to the kid” –he inclined his head toward the vault— “who buried it at the kennels.”

  “The loose dirt behind the door of the dog shed,” Johnny murmured, but nobody heard him.

  “Stealing from his own daddy’s bank.” Amelia set her scarlet painted mouth in a disapproving line.

  “I got a measly cut from the buried treasure,” Willie whined.