Flash of Death

by Cindy Dees

  Ouch. That had to hurt. Particularly for a child who’d obviously craved family and security the way Chloe had.

  She continued, “I was more of an adult than they were. I practically raised Sunny.”

  Which might explain why Sunny didn’t seem to have the same hang-ups about family and security that Chloe did. Sunny’d had a big sister who provided stability and unconditional love. But there’d been no one to do the same for Chloe. His heart ached for the lonely, abandoned child she’d been.

  Chloe shrugged. “When they were around, I stole loose change from my folks and used it to keep Sunny and me fed. They were as likely to spend their money on weed as food.”

  “How did they die?” he asked soberly.

  “Their boat went down in the Indian Ocean. Maybe a storm. Maybe pirates, maybe their own sheer stupidity.” She shrugged as if she didn’t care, but he sensed the deep pain behind her words. She blamed them for leaving her alone to raise her kid sister. And frankly, he had to agree with her. He would hug her if he didn’t think she’d shatter completely at his touch. As it was, he stayed where he was and let her talk.

  Chloe went on more reflectively. “When they died, Sunny and I were separated and tossed in the foster-care system.”

  He prompted, “And how was that?”

  She shrugged. “Some of the homes were okay. A few of them were as bad as anything you’ve ever heard about. Mostly it meant more chaos in my life. I tried to keep in touch with Sunny as best I could. To let her know I loved her and was there for her.”

  He glanced around her apartment, seeing it with different eyes. The sparse neatness of it, the calm colors and quiet décor all made perfect sense now. No wonder she craved “normal” so desperately.

  “Then what happened?” he asked.

  “I figured out that getting an education and a decent job were my best bet to get out of the chaos. I graduated from high school with honors, picked up a few scholarships, worked a string of crappy jobs and went to night school, and eventually became a CPA. I even clawed my way through a master’s degree. And here I am. Finally in control of my life. At least until that SUV in Denver and you came along.”

  “Don’t you ever want to let go of all this order a little?”

  “Like how?”

  “I don’t know. Throw your dirty laundry on the floor or leave dishes in the sink overnight.”

  She laughed a little. “I’m not that anal. I leave the house dirty now and then.”

  “Show me. Do something messy. Right now.”

  Abruptly serious, she replied, “You’re in my life. That’s the messiest thing I’ve done in a long time.”

  Ahh. A revealing observation. She didn’t do relationships because they were too chaotic for her. “Is that why you avoid sex?” he blurted.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you avoid sex because it involves a relationship, and you can’t control one of those entirely?”

  “Of course not.” Her words sounded scornful, but her eyes looked thunderstruck.

  Predictably, she retreated to her bedroom, and he let her. He sensed he’d just stomped on a very sensitive nerve and she needed time to recover. She went to bed without ever emerging, and he spent the long hours of the night aching to comfort the lost and forlorn little girl she’d been.

  Chloe was all business the next morning. She seemed to have decided overnight that she was going to plow through the Paradeo financial data in its entirety today. She barely spoke to him all morning and well into the afternoon. He put a sandwich down beside her computer and she didn’t even look up from the numbers she was totaling on a legal pad. Her concentration while working was as intense as when she made love. Turned on by the ferocity of her focus, he nonetheless backed out of her room silently to let her work.

  By mid-afternoon, she was pacing the apartment muttering to herself over the legal pad. And by dinnertime, she was making sounds of frustration that bordered on primal screams. That was when he intervened.

  “Time for a break, baby.”

  “What? Huh?”

  “You need to step away from it for a little while. Clear your head.”

  She frowned but did as he instructed and fetched walking shoes and her purse. It was a balmy evening and felt good to get outside and stretch his legs. Her apartment was too tiny a cage for his taste.

  “You’re just itching to take off and run full out, aren’t you?” she asked.

  He looked down at her in surprise. “Actually, I am. But I won’t leave your side.”

  “What’s it like to run that fast?”

  “It’s like...flying. It’s amazing.”

  “Is whatever they did to you permanent?”

  He shrugged. “No comment.”

  “Aw, c’mon. It’s obvious the doctors at Winston did something to you. Nobody runs that fast.”

  “Keep your voice down,” he bit out.

  “So it’s classified, then?” she persisted.

  “Yes,” he snapped. “Very.”

  She looked entirely too thoughtful at that admission for his comfort. But what choice did he have? He couldn’t let her blab about it on a crowded street for anybody to overhear. He led her into a park not far from her place and they walked briskly in silence.

  Without warning, Chloe exclaimed, “I’ve got it!”

  He jumped hard, startled—a downside of his superfast reflexes—and Chloe giggled at him. “I’m glad you find that funny,” he growled. “What have you got?”

  “A way to track the money at Paradeo. It’s all about the money trail.”

  “What’s all about the money trail?”

  “Proving that they’re laundering drug money. I’ve got to trace the money back to its illegal sources. The company will no doubt have covered its tracks by passing the money through a bunch of bank accounts. But instead of tracking the cash itself, I’m going to try tracking the transaction fees.”

  “The fees the banks charge for making a deposit or withdrawal?”

  “Exactly. The amounts are negligible, but each bank will have a record of them somewhere. And because they’re a standard and tiny fee, they shouldn’t be protected by much or any encryption. Let’s get back to my place so I can check out my theory. If I’m right, Paradeo’s CEO will be in jail by the end of the week.”

  He grinned and lengthened his stride to match hers as she hurried along the sidewalk. Her passion for her work was obvious. He was quickly coming to the conclusion that she was, by nature, a passionate person. Her obsession with bloodless and emotionless order couldn’t possibly be her default state of existence. But how to convince her of that? Maybe he should just engineer unbridled sexual encounters with her until she admitted she enjoyed them.

  The idea had real possibilities. He spent the rest of the walk back to her place pleasurably contemplating strategies for accomplishing just that.

  * * *

  Chloe stepped past Trent as he swept open her apartment door with a flourish and waved her inside. The guy did a darned credible Prince Charming imitation. She flipped on the light switch inside the door and froze in horror.

  Her apartment was completely trashed. Furniture was overturned and its stuffing ripped out. All the books were pulled off the shelves, the drawers pulled out, emptied and thrown on the floor. Glass was broken everywhere and sparkled on the floor like fairy dust.

  A strong arm went around her waist, yanking her back hard and spinning her out into the hall. Trent uttered a single, terse word. “Run.”

  Terrified, she sprinted for the elevator, but Trent yanked her into the stairwell beside the elevator instead.

  “Who—” she started.

  “Later,” he bit out.

  “Why—”

  “Hush.”

  She focused on the steps flying beneath her feet as Trent dragged her at a breakneck pace down the stairs. Who would destroy her place like that? What had the intruder been looking for? A sense of having been violated began to creep up her spine. It invad
ed her stomach and she was nauseous by the time they burst out of the stairwell and into the building’s lobby.

  Trent screeched to a halt. “Walk now,” he ordered under his breath. “Try to look normal. Don’t draw attention to yourself.”

  She stared at him in shock. “What?”

  “Smile. Look like nothing’s wrong. We have to get out of here without anyone noticing anything out of the ordinary about us.” He punctuated his order by smiling and nodding at her.

  Eyes huge with fright, she flashed him a grimace that she prayed passed for a smile. His grip on her arm was painfully tight, but she didn’t complain. She nodded at a neighbor and prayed she looked sort of normal, and then they stepped out into the street.

  She expected Trent to take off running, but he didn’t. He strolled a few blocks to a hotel with a taxi stand and slipped the bell captain some cash to hail a cab. She piled into the vehicle numbly. What had just happened? She felt violated and off balance. Visions of her entire life grotesquely torn apart swam through her brain. She felt...naked.

  Trent bit out a destination and leaned back, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and dragging her close to his side. He seemed to understand the depth of her distress and offered silent comfort. His body was big and strong and solid against hers, and she leaned against him gratefully. As the immediate crisis passed, she began to shake. Tears welled up in her eyes.

  “Not yet, baby,” Trent muttered. “Hold it together a little longer.”

  He sounded awfully tense for a man who’d made a safe getaway. What was wrong now? She sniffed and did her best to be strong as fear gripped her once more. If Trent was wired, something was definitely wrong.

  And then she noticed him glancing out the back window of the cab. She did the same and saw only a tangle of vehicles. “What’s up?”

  “We’ve got a tail,” he replied.

  “Which car?”

  “The big silver SUV about five cars back.”

  She picked it out without much trouble. Uh-oh. That thing could hold six or eight bad guys, easy.

  Trent murmured, “We’re going to have to jump out and make a run for it.”

  She watched in dismay as he shoved a twenty-dollar bill through the slot in the Plexiglas divider between them and the driver. He told the guy, “We’re going to get out fast when we get to our destination. This should cover the fare. Keep the change.”

  The cabbie grinned at the giant tip and nodded.

  “Ready?” Trent asked tersely.

  “What happens next?” she asked querulously.

  “We’re going to head for the most crowded place we can find and try to lose whoever follows us. If we get separated for some reason, meet me at the Millennium Health Club on Stockton Street. Engage a private workout room in the name of Chip Jones if I haven’t done so already.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “I made the name up. But it’s an average name. It won’t raise an alarm if someone goes in there looking for us.”

  She nodded, but she had no intention of getting separated from him. The idea of being alone and pursued by whoever’d destroyed her home and maybe killed Barry made her want to throw up.

  The rippling glass walls of the Moscone Center—a massive convention facility—came into sight ahead and Trent reached for his door handle. “Here we go. As soon as the cab stops at the next stoplight, we’ll go.”

  The traffic came to a halt and Trent threw open the door. Staying low, he ducked out of the cab and pulled her out with him. The door slammed shut and he took off, weaving in and out across several lanes of traffic in a half-crouch. She raced to keep up as he dodged between cars.

  She stumbled up onto the sidewalk and he jerked her upright, diving into a crowd of people streaming into the Moscone Center. “What’s in here?” she panted.

  “Lots of people,” he replied tersely.

  He threw money at a ticket window and shoved a lime green, plastic hospital-style bracelet at her. They hurried through the turnstiles and into what turned out to be a giant travel expo of some kind. Colorful booths displaying alluring destinations and hawkers shoving pamphlets at her momentarily overwhelmed Chloe’s panic. But then Trent grabbed her hand and urged her to hurry.

  She made the mistake of glancing back over her shoulder as he dived into the crowd. A half-dozen tough-looking men had just stepped out onto the expo floor. They huddled for a moment and then dispersed. And they looked intent on murder. She turned and raced after Trent as he walked through the crowd so quickly she had to break into a jog every few steps to keep up.

  “Try to look happy,” he gritted out.

  Right. With thugs on their tail trying to kill them or worse. She would die if something happened to Trent. Particularly if it happened while he was trying to protect her.

  Meanwhile, according to all the people shoving fliers at her, paradise awaited her in an all-inclusive package that included round-trip airfare and meals. She dodged tiki hut overhangs and bikini-clad models and concentrated on keeping up with Trent. He twisted and turned, ducking between booths and racing down the long rows, seeking the thickest crowds he could find. Chloe could discern no pattern to his movements, which she supposed was the point.

  All of a sudden, they popped out of the crush of honeymooners and retirees. A sign pointing to the restrooms loomed before them. Trent swerved abruptly, though, and jumped through a pair of double doors marked Employees Only.

  She followed fast and emerged into an enormous kitchen. Trent had already taken off running and she gathered herself to give chase. He was probably slowing down to give her a chance to keep up with him, but his idea of slow was a run-for-your-life sprint for her. In moments, she was gasping for air and her legs burned like fire.

  Trent dived left between stainless-steel worktables, and she charged after him as he accelerated away from her yet again. He shocked her by bursting through another set of doors that led back out onto the expo floor. She’d assumed they were going to sneak out some back exit and try to lose their pursuers that way. But instead, he’d circled back toward them! What was he thinking?

  Of course, maybe that was the point, too. Do the unexpected and throw the bad guys off their track. Regardless, she was grateful he’d at least slowed to a walk and was winding through garish exhibits once more.

  The entrance they’d come in through was drawing near and she was starting to breathe a mental sigh of relief when a voice called out of the crowd without warning, “Trent? Trent Hollings? How the hell are you, dude?”

  A deeply tanned guy wearing baggy swim trunks covered in neon palm trees materialized out of the crowd in front of them. “Man, I haven’t seen you since the North Shore. Where’d you disappear to, old man? You comin’ back to the beach or what? The waves are bitchin’. Big surge rolling into Malibu tomorrow night.”

  Trent skidded to an annoyed halt, glancing over his shoulder quickly. Chloe did the same, and her blood ran cold. She spotted two thugs closing in from directly behind them, and if she wasn’t mistaken, that was another one off to their left talking urgently into a cell phone. Not good.

  “Go,” Trent grunted at her.

  “But—”

  “Go!”

  Horrified, she watched as the surfer dude snagged Trent’s arm and shouted into a portable microphone that one of surfing’s great champions was here and for everyone to give a big hand to Trent Hollings.

  Trent threw her one last grim look and jerked his chin toward the exit as a crowd of surfing fans swallowed him up. All of a sudden, she was alone. No matter that thousands of people pressed in on her, jostling her.

  She looked back frantically and couldn’t see any of their pursuers. But that didn’t mean they weren’t there. She walked toward the exit, panic nipping at her heels, her steps getting faster and faster until she finally broke into a run. To heck with blending in. She raced for the door as fast as her tired legs would carry her. Faces flashed past in a kaleidoscope of irritation and frowns as she bounced off
bodies heedlessly in her flight.

  All of a sudden, she burst outside. The relative calm of the street startled her. She dived into the traffic, ignoring the horns that blared at her. She frantically flagged down a cab heading the opposite direction and leaped into it, shouting at the driver, “Go, go!”

  Startled, the cabbie hit the gas.

  Crouching low in her seat, she watched her pursuers pile into the silver SUV from before. Where had it been loitering? As the convention center retreated in the rearview window, the SUV was still struggling to make an illegal U-turn to pursue her.

  “Turn here,” she ordered the driver. He screeched around the corner, getting into the spirit of the thing. “Turn again,” she called.

  They wove across downtown San Francisco for another dozen blocks before she finally said, “Okay. I think we lost them. Take me to the Millennium Health Club, please.”

  “The one on Stockton?” he asked.

  “That’s the one.”

  “What’s the hurry?”

  “My ex-husband has a private eye stalking me, and it’s making me nuts.”

  “I hear you. My ex is a crazy bitch....”

  She tuned out the guy’s diatribe about his family troubles and lawyers demanding alimony he didn’t think he should have to pay. She was still breathing hard. Trent had really run her around back there. Thank goodness he’d had the foresight to set up a meeting place if they got separated.

  They had to quit splitting up, though. She hated being alone like this, so exposed. Had she always been this vulnerable and just not realized it?

  She ran her credit card through the cab’s card reader and typed in a generous tip for the driver. As she hopped out of the cab, he called through the window, “You need me to stick around for a minute? Make sure you get inside without that guy spotting you?”

  She smiled in gratitude at the driver’s kindness. “Thanks. But I’ll be fine, now.”

  The Millennium Health Club was housed in a newly refurbished high-rise that was all brushed nickel, frosted glass and high-tech gadgetry. A male model depicted on an electronic billboard spoke up as she walked past. “Hi, Chloe! How about a fizzy break from your day?”