“Nope. I checked with the clinic. None there either. There’s a chance he waited until he reached the suburbs of Birmingham to get stitched up.” Luc shifted in his seat and pulled out a handkerchief from his back pocket and swiped at the sweat beading along his receding hairline. “Damn, it’s hot. First week in June and the temps are almost hitting three digits. The air conditioner can’t fight back hard enough.”
Jake took another long pull before he stepped out of the hearse, dropped the butt on the cement, and rubbed it out with his boot. He spotted a UTV coming from the tree-line and waved.
Turning back to Luc, he leaned down to the opened door. “If you hear anything more, call me.”
“You know it.” Luc nodded as Jake closed the door.
He watched the hearse drive away. Something wasn’t right.
The old man had never been sloppy with security and the same for Tally. Their guards saw no one enter the building or heard a thing before smoke billowed from under the door. How did someone move past armed men and walk into a locked building, killing two grown men who were more deadly than most?
“What you suspected was right?” Ethan stopped next to him in one of several UTVs they used to do work around the compound. With so much land to maintain and some in flood zones, the two-seater vehicles came in handy, not counting the long drive to the mailbox outside the gate.
He hopped in and held on as Ethan hit the gas, causing the front wheels to jump off the ground.
“Yeah. But it appears to be a professional hit. Only someone efficient with firearms could’ve shot within seconds two armed men through the heart. That doesn’t include getting away with no one seeing a thing after setting the place on fire.” He eyed the trees lining the drive, noting some needed trimming after the spat of tornadoes they’d had that spring. The old man taught them to always take care of the land as the land would take care of them. If only the old man cared about his sons the same way.
He grimaced at the pity me thought. What was done was done.
“Sen probably knows better than anyone who we need to talk to,” Ethan said.
Of the three of them, Sen had it the roughest. The old man thought nothing of slapping them around when they were kids and treating them like less than dogs, but Sen received the brunt of it. By looking different in a vanilla town, he was an easy target for people to point their finger at whenever something went wrong. As he grew older, he’d learned how to keep a low profile, and over time, despite their fear of his position in the organization, most of the townspeople grew to trust him, something about his calm manner earned their confidence.
Ethan brought the UTV to a sliding stop. “Looks as if he’s waiting for us.”
Sen stood at one end of the porch in the shade, probably less to do with the heat than to keep out of sight. He claimed to learn more by being quiet and listening than by pounding information out of people, though he was willing to do both.
Before his middle brother even said a word, Jake knew something was wrong. The more stoney his face became, the worse the situation.
“What happened?” Jake asked.
“You know a couple years ago we heard that the Tallys had a new collector.”
“Yeah. Since he didn’t mess with our people, I haven’t heard much about the guy.” Jake glanced over to Ethan. His brother shrugged.
“I felt the same way, but today I decided to introduce myself.” Sen’s subtle grin brought Jake’s eyebrows up. His brother rarely smiled, and when he remained quiet, Jake knew he wouldn’t want to hear the answer.
“Are you going to tell me or not?” Jake lifted his chin.
“It’s Angel.”
“You’re shitting me!” Ethan laughed.
That explained a lot about the guns and knives. Yet, he never expected old Mac Tally to be so open-minded about having his granddaughter as a collector.
“Okay. She’s a good shot and crazy about knives, but there’s no way she could intimidate anyone into paying their bills,” Jake said.
“Strength isn’t always needed to put fear in a person’s heart.” Sen leaned a shoulder on one of the large white columns.
“What’s that? Some wise ancient Chinese saying?” He loved picking on his brother.
“How the fuck would I know?” Sen shrugged.
“That woman is―what’s that riddle thing you always say?” Jake asked.
Sen shook his head. “It was Churchill. He said, ‘A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.’”
“Yeah. That’s her.” Jake rubbed his chin. The woman was different. So different he thought about her every five minutes. When was the last time a woman occupied his thoughts so often?
Ethan opened the front door. “You boys can stay out here, but I’m getting out of the heat.”
As they stepped into the foyer, Jake’s eyes narrowed. He spotted Tick taking two steps at a time down the large sweeping staircase, glancing at his feet and over to them with each step.
“Boss, boss, I’m sorry but I searched everywhere. They’re gone.”
Jake didn’t need to guess who he meant by they.
“Then why the hell were you upstairs?” Did he think they escaped to the attic? Jake took a deep breath. Yelling at Tick only caused the big guy to choke. Then he would never get the information out of him. “Tell me what happened,” he said in a calm voice.
“I just turned my back for a second to get a beer.” Their family room had a well-stocked bar in the corner. The old man had loved his liquor.
No need to point out to Tick that while he was on guard duty alcohol was off limits. He never listened. Jake raked hair out of his eyes, smoothing it back until his hand stopped on the back of his neck, looking at Tick from beneath his eyebrows.
“Where’s Matt?” he asked.
Whenever Tick was running errands, Matt kept an eye on the place. Most likely, he had guarded the kid when Tick brought Angel to the study for the reading.
“He went to check the garage while I searched the house. Damien had talked about how an old house like this would probably have ghosts, and I thought maybe he’d wandered upstairs.” Tick shifted his feet as if he was anxious to leave.
“Ethan, see if you can find Matt and meet us in the study.” Jake didn’t want Tick disappearing. He’d wander off in a heartbeat, thinking the problem not his. Jake dipped his head, silently indicating Tick and Sen to go with him down the hall to the office.
Someone had placed a sheet of plywood over the busted window and cleaned the broken furniture and blood.
He sat behind the desk and ran a hand down his shirt, feeling the bandages beneath. Earlier as he headed toward the door to meet Quinn, Jimmie Sue had ordered him to stop long enough for her to doctor the cut and place a few butterfly bandages over deeper parts, and then efficiently handed him a shirt from the laundry room. He rolled his shoulders, ignoring the ache across his ribs. Some women knew how to cut deep with their tongue; obviously, he knew one who could do it with a knife, too. With a little effort, he swallowed a chuckle.
Angel had some spunk.
Sen rested one hip on the edge of the desk.
“You know they’re long gone by now,” Sen remarked.
Jake leaned back. “Yeah.”
He closed his eyes as he made plans of how to bring them back and make her stay. Of course, the brother was the key. But he wanted her to stay for more, for him. Funny, he never thought he would want a woman as much as he did Angel.
CHAPTER SIX
Angel ran her hand across the soft beige leather. A weakness she’d never been able to indulge in was the ownership of an expensive vehicle. She’d always wanted to own a Corvette, and the black Stingray was a fine piece of machinery with zero to sixty in less than four-seconds. Wowza! Not that her Mustang was anything to be ashamed of, but it wasn’t new and shiny like this one.
Her granddaddy’s businesses were never as successful as the Whitfields, and the man rarely parted with a coin without expecting equal compensati
on. So until the day he died, he drove a 1998 white F150 Ford pickup and often shook his head at others’ needless spending to buy the newest model.
Her brother had wanted her to steal the Hummer from the Whitfields’ garage, but she pointed out it was so huge they wouldn’t get far without being spotted. Though she had to admit the Corvette wasn’t that low profile either. But, what little money she had on her would be gone in seconds as the thing surely guzzled gas as a drunk downing water after a three-day binge.
So they’d found the black Corvette’s keys in a metal box hanging on the wall near the door. She’d only taken a few minutes to disable the GPS. Amazingly easy if a person knew where to look, and she did. All she had to do was disconnect the special battery, and it was dead to the world.
And when Damien checked the center console, he found the Whitfield brothers believed in having a weapon nearby at all times. A Beretta Px4 Storm fitted perfectly in the space. Without hesitation she held out her palm. He handed over the weapon, and she stuck it in her coat pocket. Only right she held on to it. The Whitfields still had her much older gun. A Beretta, too. Not as nice or pretty as this one.
They’d been traveling for about thirty minutes when she looked over at her brother. Relief lifted her spirits upon seeing the huge grin on his face.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked.
“Did you decide where we’re going?” Damien pulled out a cigarette and lit it after cracking the window.
“Where did you get that?”
Aghast at his daring to smoke in front of her, knowing how she hated it, she shook her head. Her brother constantly tested his boundaries, but he had never tried to smoke before. It was easy to guess who he imitated.
So far, she avoided thinking about Jake and what he’d done to her in his study. So what if he had a way with his tongue and fingers? She shifted in her seat. Her breath caught when the tenderness between her legs brought memories of his beard-rough face sliding along her thighs. Her cheeks flushed and the air in the sports car vanished.
Stop thinking about it!
The most important person in her life was sitting next to her and he needed her full attention. He couldn’t help looking up to the wrong man. What other kind had come around? None who deserved his admiration. It was sad but she found herself chuckling as thoughts came to mind of other lessons he’d learned the hard way. Like the time he tried chewing tobacco, and he threw up for hours. She was thankful that Mac had given up the disgusting habit soon after, though it had nothing to do with Damien, and had more to do with being diagnosed with oral cancer.
“While you left me in the basement of that old creepy house, I found some inside a cabinet. I also tried out their bourbon, tequila, and gin. The gin tastes like rubbing alcohol. How do people drink that shit?” He inhaled on the cigarette; the tip glowed bright enough to set off sparks, and he started coughing.
She leaned across the console and snatched the cigarette, tossing it out the window before he could protest.
“So that’s why you’re acting goofy. I thought it was because I woke you from a nap. But no, it’s because you passed out. See. Drinking made you think you could smoke without me saying anything.” Tears welled in her eyes. She worked so hard to keep him on the straight and narrow. Some days her brain felt as if it would split in two. Working for Mac and looking after her brother were two full-time jobs. She’d tried so hard to keep them separated. Damien only recently found out what she did for a living, and as predictable as many teenagers, he thought it cool. No matter how many times she stated how he was wrong.
When Mac had decided a granddaughter followed orders better than his drug-addicted son, he’d taken advantage of her expulsion and put her to work in the family business. Being former Special Forces, he used the skills he’d honed in the service to teach her how to be the family’s collector.
During those years, she’d worked hard and did whatever her granddaddy told her. Two years ago, he explained it was time for her to fill the job he’d trained her for. He explained if she didn’t, he would begin training Damien. She wasn’t about to let that happen. So she dove in head first, insuring Mac wasn’t disappointed in his decision.
Only she knew the guilt that weighed her down, and how she resented Mac for the things he forced her to do all in the name of protecting the family.
“What can I say?” His lopsided grin tugged at her heart.
No, she needed to stand firm.
“You can start with saying I’m sorry, and I’ll never do it again.” Her voice remained even and firm. “Do you want to end up like Dad?”
He crossed his arms and pushed out his bottom lip. “You forget you’re my sister, not my mother. You need to chill and get off my back. Just because I had a few sips, doesn’t mean I’ll go off the deep end and start smoking crack. I’m not Dad.” Slumping in his seat, he stared out the passenger window.
Guilt floated to the top of her conscious. Not that it was her fault they had gotten stuck with lousy parents. But she wondered if she could’ve done more, been there for him more? She might be his sister, but she loved him as if he were her child, totally and unconditionally. From the moment he was born, he had been cared for by her. She’d changed, fed, and watched him as much as possible.
“Let me just say this. Because of our family history, we’re prone to addictions, and you’re smart enough to know it often starts with alcohol.” Really, she hated preaching, but he needed to think about the consequences. Easily part of the reason she avoided alcohol and cigarettes.
She fought other types of compulsions over the years. Yes. How many black leather pants, skirts, coats, and boots did she own? How many colors had her hair been? She had many others, but all were harmless compulsions. She fought the whole shebang. Only she lost on occasion. She looked in the small rearview mirror at her black hair with red ends.
What could she say? She liked how it looked.
Before she could say more, cartoon-style snoring came from his side of the car. So phony. She chuckled and shook her head. At least he wasn’t irritating her with complaints or questions on where they were going. She had no idea at the moment.
When they passed the large blue Welcome to Mississippi sign, the weight on her shoulders felt so much lighter. Despite her panic in leaving and heading west, Mac’s right-hand man could handle things until she figured out how to avoid marrying a Whitfield. A little over two hours later, the car zoomed past the Louisiana sign. She smiled big. Hopefully, the Whitfields would never expect her to keep driving, and the more distance between them, the better. Wherever they stopped, it would be much better than Marystown.
Sure, she thought she’d come to terms with marrying that man, but after their time together in the study, she had decided he was one obsession she needed to stop cold turkey. Obsession? Yes. She’d kept tabs on him through contacts, the Internet, and the local paper. And of course, it bothered her a little...no, make that a lot that he hadn’t thought of her once since high school. Was she running away because he’d forgotten her and hadn’t been obsessed with her as she’d been with him? There was that word again. Obsessed. Obsession. She was a sick puppy. Maybe Jake Whitfield was her drug of choice.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She needed to do what Southern women were good at doing: she’d think about it tomorrow. For the moment, she needed to be as far from him as possible.
By the time they passed a Shreveport sign, her eyes tried to drift closed. She snapped them back open. Luckily, she remained on the road. Time to stop and get some rest.
Spotting a small motel off I-20, she drove up the exit. A few hours of sleep and she would be right as rain before they continued west. From the looks of the area, the expensive Corvette would be out of place. Maybe everyone would assume it belonged to a drug dealer or someone had been lucky in the local casino. And considering what she’d found out about the gas mileage, they were welcome to the car. Goodness, it was not much better than the Hummer after all. She g
uessed if a person was rich enough to afford it, they could afford the gas.
The attendant halfway listened to her request for a room on the ground floor. When she paid with cash, he raised his eyebrows and grinned. She wondered if his employers would even see the money. Thankfully, the room worked out better than she expected. A back door opened into a short hallway that led to a fenced-in pool area. Perfect for a quick getaway.
From the smell of old cigarette smoke and dust overlaid with a cheap floral deodorizer, she hoped the sheets and towels were clean. She seriously wanted a shower.
After herding Damien out of the car and into the room, she locked the door. Nudging open the curtains a tad, she looked out into the parking lot. Nothing unusual. At the few stops they’d made, she’d checked for any vehicles she’d seen before. None jogged her memory. If not for Damien, she would’ve kept going and taken a chance of falling asleep behind the wheel, but she would never risk his life. That was, no more than she had already.
How had Jake taken the news of their escape? She felt bad for leaving her people in a lurch. They weren’t exactly thrilled to have her as a leader, but she needed time to think over all of the craziness. One day, everything would be her brother’s. Until then she had to devise a plan to keep it out of Jake’s hands and convert all of the front businesses into the real deals, profitable real deals.
She turned her attention to where her brother stood in the middle of the room with his shoulders slumped. She realized she’d made the right decision. He looked as if he were sleeping on his feet.
“I’ll take the bed next to the window. Don’t open the door or answer the phone.” She dropped the Walmart plastic bag of clothes and two disposable cell phones onto the bed.
They’d bought them near the motel along with food for Damien. She handed over the white sack with a hamburger and fries, and pitched him a can of soda. As he dug into the food, she shrugged off her coat, tossing it on the bed. She pulled out jeans, a tee shirt, and a package of panties from the plastic bag and then picked up her backpack, heading toward the bathroom but stopped.
Jake: A Southern Crime Family Novel Page 6
