Catherine Nelson - Zoe Grey 02 - The Trouble with Theft

by Catherine Nelson

  “No. I’m in Estes with my grandson. He just turned three, and I promised him his first fishing trip. He caught a ten-inch trout this afternoon. Can you believe it? Kid’s a natural.”

  “Wow. That’s great! Sounds like fun.”

  “Oh, we’re having a blast. What’s going on? You need help with something?”

  “No. I’m good. You boys have fun.”

  Blue chuckled. “We will. Take care of yourself, whatever you’re up to. And say hi to Ellmann for me.”

  “Will do.”

  I hung up, and this time the kid did swipe the phone.

  “So, what about that talk?” he said.

  I turned around, surveying the gym. Cole was still working the Bowflex.

  “Let me get cleaned up,” I said over my shoulder as I started away from the desk, my mind largely focused elsewhere. “Then we’ll talk.”

  “Maybe I’ll wander over and tell Rena you were calling around about her. She might be interested to know that.”

  I stopped and turned. The kid shrugged.

  “She’s the only yoga instructor in here right now. And she’s a party animal, if you know what I’m saying.”

  “And you’ll tell her what, that you overheard half a phone conversation in which she was mentioned? What do you think that will buy you? I sincerely doubt you’re her type.”

  He scoffed. “No, you’re her type. But it never hurts to make a new friend.”

  I walked back to the desk. “Listen you horny little homewrecker, you better think about how bad it can hurt to make a new enemy.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he stared at me. If I wasn’t mistaken, that was fear swirling in his muddy brown eyes.

  “You don’t scare me,” he said, trying for bravado and falling pathetically short.

  “Yes, I do. And I should.”

  I turned and left the desk a second time. As much as I hated to admit it, the kid had forced my hand. I wasn’t willing to bank on the fear I’d sparked in him. If he said anything to Cole and she went to ground, I might not be able to find her before Sideline forfeited the bond. And I knew Amerson well enough to know he was serious about assigning her to me. Not only would the hit affect my standing, however minimal, with the bond company, but it would also upset my perfect recovery record. I could only hope Cole was agreeable and Ellmann understanding.

  I cut through the gym and approached Cole, still on the Bowflex. She didn’t appear to be sweating, and her strawberry blonde hair was still perfect. I felt like a slob beside her.

  “Excuse me, Rena Cole?”

  “Yes?” she said without stopping.

  “My name’s Zoe Grey. I work for your bond company. I’m afraid I need to take you in to reschedule your court date.”

  She stopped at the top of the machine, holding herself in place while she looked me over with a critical eye. Then, very slowly, she let herself down and stood. She was taller than I’d first estimated, standing at nearly six feet. From the way she looked down her nose at me, I guessed she was accustomed to using her height to intimidate others. Unfortunately for her, intimidation in general doesn’t really affect me, given my history.

  “At the risk of sounding trite,” I said, “there is an easy way and a hard way to do this.”

  “I don’t think you can handle my kind of hard.”

  The way she said this, it sounded more like innuendo than a threat. Which took some of the punch out of it.

  “Is there anything I can say to talk you into the easy way?”

  She swung at me–her way of saying no.

  I blocked it and sunk a fist into her rock-solid abdomen. I didn’t want to hurt her, but I needed to get control of this situation, and fast. Pouncing while I had an opening, I moved in and grabbed her wrist. But my tried and true solar plexus blow hadn’t been as effective as it usually was. She swung at me with her free hand. Too late to put up an effective block, the blow glanced off my kidney with enough impact to bring tears to my eyes.

  Cole had had some self-defense training at some point. But I had more. Not to mention, now I was pissed.

  She ripped her arm free, and I charged after her. Of course, chasing after your attacker isn’t part of any self-defense program. So I tackled her, grabbing her around the waist. We went down in a tangle, and I cried out as my left shoulder struck the floor.

  She managed to get an arm free and swung back with an elbow, catching me on the side of the face. Then she tried pushing to her feet. I grabbed her ankle and yanked. She fell back against the floor then rolled over and kicked out with her feet.

  I rolled out of the way and got to my feet a second after she did. She’d decided to abandon the idea of a physical confrontation and run. I wasn’t about to let another FTA run away from me today, certainly not one that had probably given me a black eye.

  I scanned the immediate area and spied an orange exercise ball resting against the wall behind the Bowflex machine. These balls were stored on the other side of the gym, but obviously the horndog at the front desk had yet to straighten up. I grabbed it and chucked it.

  The ball slammed into the back of Cole’s head as she reached the glass door leading to the pool. The impact forced her forward, and she face-planted against the glass. Charging forward, I was on her before she hit the floor. Although disoriented, she was not incapacitated. She swung at me as we went down. One of her blows landed on my mouth, splitting my lip.

  I grabbed her arm and wrenched it back, forcing her flat on the floor and pinning her. One of the guys working out with the free weights who had wandered over to watch stepped forward.

  “What’d she do to you?”

  “Mind your own business,” I snapped, tasting blood on my tongue.

  “Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “I think you should let her go.”

  I shot him a look and discovered he was about the size of a vending machine. And looked about as smart. Just what I needed.

  “Bond enforcement,” I said. “Stay out of it.”

  “Let her up,” he repeated. “Now.”

  Before I could reply, he grabbed me and ripped me to my feet.

  Already Cole was getting up.

  I swung my leg at the vending machine. I sunk my heel into his belly then gave him a roundhouse kick to the head. His eyes rolled back, and he fell to the floor, unconscious. Before he collided with the mat, I was already after Cole.

  This time she was running for the front door, or maybe the locker rooms. As I passed, I grabbed a water bottle from an onlooker and threw it at her feet. She could outrun me, no question. I needed her to stop.

  The water bottle got tangled up under her feet, slowing her as she lost her footing and stumbled. She didn’t go down, but it was enough. I was able to close the distance, pain burning in my right thigh now, and get my hands on her. We went down in a tangle of arms and legs. She put up a good fight, but more than anger and determination, I had skill.

  I got her from behind. She forced me over onto my back, but it was to my advantage. I wrapped my legs around hers, pinning her. My arms wound around her neck. She clawed at my arms and swung back with her elbows, but they just hit the floor. I maintained the hold until she was still, then for a few seconds longer. When I was certain she was out, I pushed her off of me. She flopped to the floor, inert.

  I lay sprawled on the floor, panting and staring at the ceiling for a few beats. I could feel the tension and shock of the others in the gym, who had once again converged as spectators. I couldn’t really blame them. This wasn’t the type of thing you expected to happen when you went for a workout.

  Finally, I pushed to my feet and stumbled into the locker room, retrieving the handcuffs from my bag. When I returned, the crowd had closed in around Cole. They had flipped her over and were trying to revive her.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” I said, shooing them back. “Stop it. She’s nice and compliant; don’t wake her up.”

  I noticed with some satisfaction Cole hadn’t escaped without consequences. H
er nose was bloody, no doubt from plowing into the door, and she had scrapes on her knees and elbows.

  “She’s dead,” a mousy little woman croaked from my left. She was in tears.

  “Oh, please,” I said, rolling my eyes. “She’s not dead. She’s unconscious. It’s different.”

  “We called the police,” someone else said, a man.

  “Excellent. Thank you.”

  The cops could drive her to jail while I went to the office for the capture paperwork.

  I grabbed Cole’s arm and flipped her over again, securing her hands behind her back.

  I’d barely stood upright when I heard the distinctive jingling of a heavily laden belt. I looked up at Frye parting the crowd. He spotted me and immediately slowed, rolling his eyes.

  “I should have known,” he said.

  “What’s the deal, Frye, you working every shift this week, or what?”

  “This is my normal shift; you know that.”

  “What about yesterday? You were on at five a.m..”

  “They needed an FTO to work with Brooks. I switched, because if he’d switched, I would have had to work with him all week.”

  “Once was enough?”

  He looked slightly uncomfortable with the question, as if he felt guilty about the answer. He shifted his gaze to Cole on the floor between us.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Rena Cole, FTA.”

  “Gave you a run for your money, huh?” he asked, studying my face.

  “A minor disagreement. I wanted to take her to jail. She had other plans for the day.”

  “You’ve gotta get better at this, Zoe.”

  “I’ve only been doing it on my own for a week. There’s some kind of learning curve, surely.”

  He sighed and shook his head. “Come on, I’ll help you get her to the truck.”

  “Actually, can you drive her? The paperwork’s at the office.”

  He looked back at Cole and seemed to consider something for a long minute. “Fine. Just this once. I’d hate to think of the damage that would ensue if she came around before you got her to jail.”

  10

  I rolled into the Outback parking lot at six thirty. Before leaving the gym, I’d run through a quick shower and swiped on some makeup. From an early age, my mother had instilled the importance of such vain pursuits as makeup, hairspray, push-up bras, and control-top pantyhose. I’d given up most of that as a gesture of rebellion, but I still can’t bring myself to go out in public without mascara. Even if I’m in a hurry and have so many facial injuries a little mascara won’t even be noticed.

  My hair was still wet, my eye and lip were noticeably swollen, I was still red from the pepper spray, and I didn’t have any clean bandages to put on my neck, which was horribly bruised. But my lip was no longer bleeding, and I had on clean clothes. Not the best first impression ever. All for a lousy three hundred bucks and the preservation of my reputation.

  I hustled through the parking lot and blew by the little girl who hurried over to hold the door open for me. Ellmann’s size makes him difficult to overlook; I spotted him immediately at a table to the left.

  “Just one tonight, or are you waiting for your party?” the little girl asked, coming up behind me.

  “They’re waiting for me,” I answered. “Excuse me.”

  I took a breath and started over.

  As I walked to the table, I noticed there were one too many people. Also, I suspected Susan wasn’t quite what Ellmann had expected. Conversation seemed idle as the table munched on an appetizer.

  Ellmann saw me approaching and did a double take when he saw my face. To his credit, he didn’t show his annoyance, just his concern. Sporting, considering he was introducing his girlfriend to his family for the first time and she looked like she’d gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson. He stood and reached for my hand.

  The only other man at the table, who bore a striking resemblance to Ellmann, looked from me to his watch. I saw the smiles fall from the faces of the others as they looked up at me. Definitely not a great start.

  “Are you okay?” Ellmann asked, standing in front of me.

  I tried to smile, tried to ignore my worry of being a huge disappointment. I was failing miserably at the second.

  “I’m fine. I’m really sorry I’m late.”

  He lifted his free hand and lightly touched my cheek, taking in my injuries. “Who did this?”

  It had finally occurred to me as I was driving to the restaurant that Ellmann, who had been worried about me all day, would assume the worst when I failed to show for dinner. But I’d thought of it too late to call him. Being without a cell phone was really becoming an inconvenience.

  “It’s not related. It was an FTA I happened to come across.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “I was starting to lose my mind,” he whispered.

  I squeezed him tightly, hoping to be reassuring. “I’m okay, really.”

  Finally he released me. He kissed my forehead then took my hand again and stepped aside. What conversation there had been had stopped, and an uncomfortable, slightly awkward silence had settled over the table.

  “Zoe, let me introduce you,” Ellmann said, studiously ignoring his family’s reaction. “This is my father, Vince, his fiancé, Susan, her daughter, Courtney, and my sister, Natalie. Everyone, this is Zoe.”

  I offered my hand to Vince, trying for another smile. “I apologize for being late. I got tied up at work. It’s nice to meet you. Ellmann’s told me so much about you.”

  Vince was only a couple inches shorter than his son and obviously fit. Time had done nothing to soften him; he could probably still pick up small cars. It was also clear the Italian genes came from him. He had the olive complexion, dark brown eyes, and dark hair you think of when you think “Italian.” The man was in his fifties, but the only indications of age were the flecks of gray in his hair and the small wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. And he was attractive. It wasn’t difficult to understand his long list of female companions over the years.

  “Funny,” Vince said. “He never mentioned you.” He leaned back in his seat. “Didn’t even know he had a girlfriend until we showed up today.”

  I didn’t take this as the dig Vince had intended it to be. Vince never mentioned any future stepchildren. Had he, Ellmann would have said something. Not sharing things was sort of standard operating procedure in this family.

  I laughed. “Well, surprise!”

  Susan chuckled as she shook my hand, but she was obviously concerned about my injuries. She was in her early forties, almost twice as old as Ellmann had expected, though still ten or so years younger than Ellmann’s father. She looked a lot like her daughter, only older, and maybe a little rounder. She had shoulder-length blonde hair and bangs she swept to one side. Her skin was beach-tan, and she was very trim. She was wearing white capris and a summery pink cotton top. I thought she was a brave woman for wearing white pants.

  “My goodness, honey,” she said. “What happened to your face? Are you all right?”

  “Yes, thank you. I got into a small misunderstanding. I’m fine.”

  Courtney studied my eyes as she gave me a limp, largely disinterested handshake. Then she gave a half smile and bobbed her head in indifferent, teenage approval. I could only imagine her conclusion for the redness.

  “Allergies,” I clarified.

  She gave me a yeah-right-“allergies” nod.

  Courtney was around sixteen or seventeen. She was dressed in green skinny jeans, which made everyone’s hips look big, even if they didn’t actually have hips, and a yellow tank top. There were plastic bracelets in mostly neon colors on both wrists halfway up her arms. She wore giant hoop earrings and a long sliver chain-like necklace. Her blonde hair had pink streaks in it and was cut in choppy layers. Overall, she looked bored and intermittently annoyed. She was doing a lot of texting.

  I offered my hand to Natalie, and she looked at it like it was diseased. With her nose almost turned up, she f
lopped a limp hand into mine then quickly withdrew it.

  Natalie, like her brother, looked perpetually tanned. Her dark hair was long, a couple inches past her shoulders, and wavy like Ellmann’s. It was pinned up around her head with several pieces hanging free. She wore minimal makeup, a brightly colored knee-length skirt, and a tank top. She, like Courtney, wore a lot of jewelry, but hers was almost all silver and looked handmade by someone with skill.

  Ellmann and I sat, and he leaned over to me. “Allergies?” he whispered in my ear.

  “I’m allergic to pepper spray,” I whispered back.

  He groaned softly to himself. But, really, the pepper spray was the least of the damage.

  “It was really nice you could join us,” Susan said to me, smiling. She was really very motherly. I wasn’t sure how Ellmann felt about her, but I sort of liked her.

  “Thank you. Congratulations on the wedding,” I said to her and Vince.

  She leaned into Vince, and he stopped glaring at me long enough to smile with her.

  “Thank you,” she gushed. “We’re really excited.”

  The waiter arrived, a college-aged kid who was likely an athlete of some kind, and asked me about something to drink. It was tempting to order a couple shots of whiskey and a margarita, but I didn’t want to further distort the impression I was making. I ordered water.

  “And are you guys ready to order dinner yet?” he asked.

  “Well,” Vince chimed in, “we are.”

  I forced a smile and picked up the menu.

  “We can wait another minute,” Ellmann said, shooting a look at his father.

  “No, it’s fine,” I said. “Just come to me last.”

  I felt Ellmann’s hand on my knee, giving me an encouraging squeeze.

  The waiter seemed rather taken with Natalie, and he did a poor job hiding it. He was practically drooling when he asked her for her order. Ellmann tensed beside me, and Vince appeared to have found someone he disliked more than me. Actually, the longer I watched him, the more it felt like he disliked everyone he saw. He may have been good looking, but he was seriously lacking in the charm department. How had he enthralled so many young women?