Armed and Famous

by Jennifer Morey

“Yes.”

  Tingles swelled, broaching mindless eruption.

  He sank his finger inside of her and used his thumb to continue stimulating her. She instantly cried out and a deep orgasm crashed upon her.

  While she was still held captured by sensation, he turned her in the corner of the RV’s kitchen area. She put her arms around him as he pressed his body to hers, pinning her deliciously to the cabinets. She felt the hard length of him. He’d lifted the hem of her sundress again. The ridge behind the material of his jeans rubbed against her soft, moist underwear.

  When he began to unfasten his jeans, Sabrina’s world settled. He’d just made her come. She’d let him. She’d loved it....

  “Stop.” She gripped his wrist, stilling him before he pulled his underwear down, and then hers.

  This could not go any further.

  Seeing his passion clamoring for release, she felt an urge to give back what he’d just given her. But to do that, she’d either have to please him orally or let him make love to her. Her stomach flopped. The excitement grew unbearable.

  She pushed his chest.

  He stepped back and refastened his jeans, not saying anything, not getting angry. But the fiery passion had vanished from his eyes. He stared at her a moment, a sort of confused intensity overcoming him. Then, turning, he left her there and went into the bathroom. Moments later, she heard the shower.

  With her hand above her breasts on her chest, calming her breathing, she felt an awkward mix of relief and attraction. The man never got mad. While that magnetized her, she also had to remember that he had a commitment issue. And after kissing him twice, she didn’t think she could sleep with him and not fall in love.

  Chapter 7

  Sajal emerged from the men’s restroom off the lobby and saw the security guard yawn at the reception desk. The visitor sign-in book was on the top counter. After overhearing Tristan talk to Archer, Sajal had noticed men watching him, men he didn’t know. Tristan had stopped by and spoken with him once, too. The undercurrents were ominous. Sajal was afraid for his family. Whatever Tristan and Archer had been talking about, it wasn’t something Tristan wanted to get out.

  “You look like you could use some coffee,” Sajal said to the guard. He needed to take a look at that visitor log.

  The man looked up and grunted tiredly. “Already had two cups.”

  Stopping at the desk, Sajal put his hand on the visitor log. “I brewed a fresh pot in the break room.”

  “Thanks.” The guard made no move to get up and go get a cup of coffee.

  “Slow night?”

  The guard grunted again, bored and tired. “You have no idea.”

  “Yeah, for me, too.” Sajal turned to his cart and pretended to straighten some cleaning chemical containers.

  Another guard appeared through the locked doors leading to the rest of OneDefense Corporation. “I smell coffee.”

  “Fresh pot in there,” the guard behind the reception desk said, yawning again.

  “Awesome. I’d love a cup.” The second guard passed the desk and went to the break room through an open door off the lobby.

  The guard behind the desk stood. Stretching with another yawn, he walked away from the desk. “Maybe another cup would help.”

  Finally.

  Sajal quickly opened the visitor log and flipped pages back to the date that Enrique said Kirby’s lover had come to see Tristan. Finding the day, he scrolled down with his forefinger until he found the name of a woman who’d written Tristan’s name as the person she’d come to see. There were no other visitors for Tristan that day. This had to be the woman Enrique had mentioned.

  Tory Von Every.

  He closed the book and pushed his cart away from the desk just as the guards left the break room with cups of coffee in hand. He went to the facilities warehouse at the back end of the building, where his desk was, and parked his cart.

  Leaving the warehouse, he made his way toward the back door and walked across the parking lot to his seven-year-old white Ford pickup truck. Someone smoking inside another car caught his eye. A man. He didn’t appear to be looking at Sajal. What was he waiting there for?

  Sajal got into his truck and drove out of the lot. The car followed. He drove home as on any other night, shaken to see that the car followed.

  When he pulled into his driveway, the other car drove by.

  Inside, the house was quiet. He went to the front window and peered out. The car was gone and didn’t return.

  * * *

  Finding Tory Von Every hadn’t been easy. She wasn’t listed in any directory, but she had a Facebook page that revealed her husband’s name, whose LinkedIn page revealed his employer.

  Sajal walked into the lobby of the Balboa Bay Club & Resort, located on the waterfront of the Newport Beach harbor. Trimmed in white, the granite-topped reception desk awaited guests at the end of beige-and-brown offset tiles. A huge painting of sailboats under puffs of clouds in a blue sky took up the entire wall behind the desk. Two clerks worked today, one finishing up with a guest, the other smiling as he saw Sajal approach.

  “Can I help you?” the clerk asked, short black hair combed back from his young face, brown eyes innocent of life’s rude awakenings.

  “I am here to speak with Mr. Von Every.” Gordon Von Every was the hotel’s guest-services manager. Sajal gave the clerk his name.

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  “No. This is a personal visit.”

  “One moment, please.” The clerk picked up a telephone and spoke briefly to someone. Then to Sajal said, “Please, wait over there.”

  Sajal went to a seating area but didn’t sit. Fifteen minutes later, a man in a black suit and tie appeared. He looked to be in his mid-to-late thirties, had a slightly receding hairline and pale blue eyes that didn’t smile with his mouth.

  “Mr. Kapoor?” He extended his hand, probably being nice because he had to for his job, but Sajal could sense him wondering why he was here.

  “Yes. Thank you for seeing me.” He glanced around. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  “I’m sorry. What is this about? Do I know you? Have you stayed with us before?”

  “No, to both questions.” He hesitated bringing up the subject of his purpose here, but didn’t see a way of avoiding that. “This is about your wife and her relationship with Kirby Clark.”

  The man went still, his cordial facade falling away. “Are you a policeman?”

  Sajal shook his head. “I work for OneDefense Corporation. I’m actually looking for your wife, Tory.”

  “Tory? You must not have heard. She’s been missing since last Wednesday.”

  The day after she’d gone to see Tristan. Sajal recovered from his shock. “Where was she last seen?”

  “Why are you here? What do you do for OneDefense?”

  “I’m a janitor.” He didn’t feel comfortable telling him what he’d heard Tristan and Archer saying.

  Gordon’s gaze studied Sajal’s face and then his entire body. “You’re a janitor? What are you? Undercover or something?”

  Undercover? What did he mean? “No. I’m a janitor.”

  “What are you doing here, asking me about my wife?”

  Sajal hesitated. People walked past them and around the seating area. The elevator bell dinged. Dishes clanged from the hotel restaurant.

  “I don’t think Sabrina Tierney killed Kirby Clark,” Sajal finally said, keeping his voice down. “As a janitor, you hear things. People talk without thinking.”

  “You heard someone talk? Who?”

  A man sat on the sofa near them. Sajal moved a few steps away, in the middle of the lobby. Gordon followed, standing before him again.

  “Your wife went to see Tristan the day before she disappeared.”
/>   Gordon didn’t appear shocked by that. “She complained about Tristan. She thought he killed Kirby.” He didn’t sound as though he cared one way or the other.

  “Did you know she was having an affair with Kirby?”

  Now the man went rigid, rage and hurt chilling his eyes. “Yes. I reported her missing, but I don’t care if she never comes back.”

  Gordon’s wife was missing. She was the one Sajal needed to talk to. He feared what Tristan would do, feared he didn’t believe Sajal had heard nothing. But Tory was gone. Had Tristan murdered her? Would he murder Sajal if he discovered too much?

  “I’ve got to go.” Sajal walked away.

  “Wait.”

  But Sajal kept going.

  Outside, he got into his pickup truck. He’d carry on as usual now. He wouldn’t try to solve the mystery of Kirby’s murder. He was a janitor, not a detective.

  * * *

  That night, Sajal walked down the hall and peered into his teenage daughter’s room. Isadora was buried under covers. He found just enough of her cheek to give her a soft kiss, careful not to disturb her. Next he checked on his son. Payne had kicked most of the covers off his body. Sajal kissed the boy on his cheek, too, then made his way to his bedroom where Maeve was curled up on her side. He left his jeans and long-sleeved button-up shirt on and went back down the hall, hungry for dinner.

  Heating up the plate of food his wife had left for him, he turned on the small television in the kitchen.

  “Sajal Kapoor?”

  Sajal spun around to see a man dressed all in black standing in the threshold of his kitchen. He held a gun in his gloved hand.

  “Let’s go for a ride, shall we?”

  His wife’s face flashed to his mind, sharp and piercing him with love, along with fear and an animal instinct to protect her and their kids. They were still sleeping. He’d just checked on them. They were safe for now.

  Not wanting his family hurt, he preceded the man out the door without a fight. Two more were waiting in a car parked in his driveway, one in the driver’s seat, the other in the back.

  The man forcing him along opened the door and pushed him. Sajal got in, seeing the man in the back also held a gun. The other one sat in the passenger seat and the driver pulled out into the street.

  “Where are you taking me?” Sajal asked.

  No one answered.

  Sitting back, tense and waiting to be shot and terrified for his family, Sajal endured the twenty-minute drive in agony. Then at last the driver pulled into an alley in a dangerous suburb of L.A. A bum slept on cardboard. Lights from a small upper-level window glowed. The car stopped in front of a metal door.

  “Out.” The man beside him jabbed his ribs with the gun.

  Sajal tried to slow his frightened pulse as he exited. The sound of a siren offered no solace, since it was responding to a call that wouldn’t bring him rescue. The bum didn’t stir.

  The man in black opened the building door, and Sajal was treated to another jab as he was ushered inside. A back room to what might have once been a business that opened to the street in front, it was now dirty and junk filled. Missing patches of drywall revealed a glimpse of the dark storefront. A man sat at a card table.

  Tristan.

  Two of the men stood near the door while the jab-happy man told him to sit down. Sajal sat before Tristan, who looked comfortable and unafraid in his suit and tie, deceptively sophisticated.

  “Sajal Kapoor,” Tristan said.

  Just as he’d predicted, Tristan had remembered his name. He didn’t respond.

  “The janitor who went to see Gordon Von Every today.”

  Sajal waited for the sick surprise to pass. How had Tristan learned that? He had been careful not to be followed, but he must have been. He looked back at the two by the door, at the driver, and wondered if he’d been the one to follow him. He must have deliberately fooled him.

  Sajal should have known better. He was no detective.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “It wasn’t him I was looking for. I was looking for his wife.” He decided it was best to stick with the truth.

  “Tory, who the police are looking for.”

  Sajal nodded.

  “Why did you want to talk to her?”

  “I heard a rumor that she came to OneDefense to see you, to ask you about Kirby.”

  “She did come to see me. She was angry, accusing me of killing him.”

  “So you killed her instead?” he couldn’t resist saying.

  “I thought you didn’t hear me talking to Archer in my office.”

  Sajal said nothing. Tristan hadn’t brought him here to have a conversation. Why force him at gunpoint if he had good intentions? It didn’t matter what Sajal revealed. He was a dead man if he couldn’t get away.

  “Is Archer afraid of you?” Sajal asked.

  “For a janitor, you’re awfully inquisitive.”

  Archer had teamed up with a powerful man, a man who had at least three henchmen, but more than likely had more than that. How had a businessman such as him found them? How had he fallen so far off a decent path? He was a manager at OneDefense. He made good money, more than Sajal, anyway. When had it become less than enough?

  “What did you hear, Mr. Kapoor?”

  “I heard nothing. I only heard the rumor about Tory Von Every.”

  Tristan contemplated him awhile. “I don’t believe you.”

  Standing, he gave a nod to the man behind Sajal. The two by the door escorted Tristan outside. The metal door banged shut.

  Sajal had to act fast. He moved the chair back and swung his arm around as he stood. Catching the man off guard, he knocked his aim away as the man pulled the trigger. The explosion would be sure to attract attention.

  Before the man could fire again, Sajal grabbed his wrist and squeezed. Sajal was a big man, bigger than this one. He easily pushed him back against the wall, drywall breaking away and falling to expose brick behind it. Sajal banged the man’s wrist against the hard surface until the gun fell.

  Kicking the gun away, he punched the man and then went to pick up the gun. Aiming it at the man, he knocked him on the head. As the man slumped, disoriented, he backed toward the front of the store.

  In the other room, Sajal turned and ran. The front door required a key. He frantically searched around and quickly settled on a barstool covered in dust along with several others. There were booths up here, too. It must have been a restaurant at one point.

  Tucking the gun into his jeans, he lifted one of the stools and threw it through the window. Glass shattered and fell. Jumping through the opening, he caught a glimpse behind him. The man staggered into the storefront.

  Sajal ran down the street, seeing a yellow cab heading toward him. He veered into the street and waved the taxi to a stop. Climbing in, he gave the driver his home address. The man who’d chased him stood on the sidewalk, watching him pass. The car was still in the alley, but the bum was gone.

  * * *

  Isadora Kapoor walked beside her friend, Candra, a tall, thin, long-haired blond girl she’d been friends with since fifth grade. Candra hadn’t been this loud and obnoxious before this year. It was as if she’d turned fourteen and became a different person. Right now, she ended a call from her new boyfriend with an embarrassing, “See you later, baby.”

  Rubio Sanchez was a big Hispanic kid who was near to flunking out of school. He’d already been arrested for underage drinking. His brother got in trouble for giving him the booze. What did Candra like about him? She’d gone to a party with him last weekend and told Isadora all about how much fun she’d had. Isadora had asked her if she’d tried alcohol, and Candra had said no. She’d been afraid to. Her parents would be livid.

  “He asked me to go with him to another party,�
� Candra said. “A bonfire.” She beamed.

  That would be like camping out. Isadora’s family had never gone camping. That was one thing Isadora envied some of her other friends for doing. Sleeping in a tent. Fishing. Marshmallows and chocolate around a fire. How exciting!

  “Are you going to go?” Isadora asked.

  Candra flipped her hair as she looked over at her. “If I can sneak out of the house. You should go with me.”

  Temptation and instant fear hit her at once. “No way. My dad comes home from work late. He’d know I was gone.”

  “Rubio asked if you’d be there. He said Darius would be there.”

  Darius was Rubio’s best friend, a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy who was just as near to flunking out of school as Rubio. Candra kept trying to fix her up with him.

  “It would be so fun if all four of us could hang out together,” Candra said.

  At a party where there’d be alcohol and Rubio would smoke cigarettes. That part she didn’t like, but the party idea did sound fun.

  “My parents won’t let me date until I’m sixteen.”

  “They don’t have to know. Everybody dates now. Your parents are in an ice age.”

  Isadora saw her house up the street and walked a little faster. She was torn over the things Candra wanted her to do. It seemed exciting, and lots of other kids did go to parties and try alcohol and cigarettes. But should she?

  “Come on, Isadora. Wait until your dad gets home and then sneak out. We’ll meet you there. It’s not far from here. You can ride your bike.

  Riding her bike late at night would be daring, for sure.

  “I’ll try to sneak out,” she heard herself say. Why was she agreeing? Even as she did, she felt her stomach knot against it. What if she got in trouble? Her parents would be so mad.

  Reaching her driveway, she saw her dad’s truck there. He never came home at this time. Why wasn’t he at work?

  “Hey, your dad is already home,” Candra said, smiling. “You should be able to sneak out now. He’ll go to bed early tonight, probably.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Call me, okay?” Candra kept walking down the sidewalk, her house just a few down from here. “Darius is cute. You’d like him.”