The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 1-3: Redemption Thriller Series 7-9 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

  She slumped in her chair, while keeping her hand around her coffee cup. “You see, it can work. I’ll figure it out.”

  I leaned forward. “The difference, Cristina, is that I got my education. High school and then college. You do that, and your odds of making it increase greatly. You don’t, and…”

  I wasn’t trying to scare her. Well, maybe I was a little bit.

  At that moment, a younger guy came out of the bathroom and scooted behind a microphone onto a flat-back wooden chair. He picked up his guitar and started playing a folksy tune. He sounded good. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Zahera move to the far side of the shop with the phone still to her ear—too cold to go outside and talk, I presumed.

  “Not bad, huh?” I said, turning back to see Cristina mouthing the words. “Do you know this song?”

  “Yeah. It’s not a top-forty hit, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  I noticed the fingers on her right hand moving as if she was playing a guitar. “Do you play?”

  “A little.”

  “A little guitar, a little singing…?”

  “A little of both.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Damn, you’re such a teenager,” I said with a quick laugh. “By providing such little information, you come across like an undercover spy.”

  A shrug of her shoulders, as if my proclamation meant nothing to her.

  “Let me try again: do you really play, or do you just mess around?”

  “I play, okay? Sheesh.” She turned her eyes to the musician, a guy who looked to be a few years older than Cristina, maybe in college. He wore a T-shirt and had tats on each knuckle of his right hand.

  “Do you think you could do what he’s doing?”

  “Already have.” Now her torso rocked to the beat of the music, as she continued mouthing the words and moving her fingers.

  “Please let me know if you play a real gig. I’d love to come hear you. I’m really in awe of people with that kind of talent.”

  She pretended to not hear me, or that the song was more important than what I was saying. When it ended, we both clapped, along with a few others in the shop.

  “Thank you,” he said with a nice smile.

  “Did you hear me? I want you to let me know when you play a real gig, if you’re able to do that in the future.”

  “I played here once, although it doesn’t really count when people aren’t paying you much attention.”

  “Seriously? That’s really cool, Cristina. Did you not want to play anymore smoothie shops?”

  She looked me in the eye. “When I play, I have to make the most of the opportunity, so I go where the money is.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Usually down by the River Walk, where all the tourists gather. I’ve made decent cash down there a few times.”

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  “What?”

  “You’re a resourceful girl. Now, if you can somehow get your GED, then you can really make a positive change in your life.”

  The guitarist started a new song, which distracted Cristina for a moment. Then she turned back to me, an annoyed look on her face. “What is it with you wanting to help me? I just don’t get it.”

  “Have you never helped anyone before?”

  “I don’t know…maybe. But not like this.”

  “I’m not trying to stress you out.”

  “But you are, don’t you see that?”

  That one hurt, but I knew she was hurting more. I turned to the guitarist and lost myself in the music for a moment, a slower ballad. I asked myself why I was going to this trouble for a girl who didn’t really want any help. I was meddling in her life, cramping her style, she would probably say. Picking up my smoothie, I forced myself to take another pull.

  “Sorry if I jumped down your throat,” she said.

  “I’ve got thick skin. No worries.”

  She twisted her cup on the table, then glanced up at me. “I’ve got a few trust issues to work through.”

  “Don’t we all? But I get what you’re saying. For what it’s worth, I’ve been there.”

  She shook her head, barely smiling. “Someday we’ll have to swap stories about who’s had the most fucked-up life.”

  “Not sure that’s a contest I want to win, or even participate in,” I said with a raised eyebrow.

  “True.”

  The guitar grew louder, and I leaned closer to ensure she could hear me. “I know your life isn’t easy, Cristina. Far from it, I’m certain. It’s rather obvious that—”

  “You see yourself in me.”

  I chuckled. “In more ways than one.”

  I saw Zahera finally end her call and start walking our way as I made one more point to Cristina. “Look, I’ve still got my issues—I’m human. Who doesn’t, right? I used to think that everyone else had it easy and I was the only one who’d experienced pain and grief. I learned that’s just not the case. So, while I’ve gotten some help over the years, it was me who had to figure out what I really wanted to do with my life—sit around and bitch about the could-haves and should-haves, or do something about it.”

  “You said earlier that you worked for CPS, right?”

  I nodded.

  “And the job makes that much of a difference?”

  Her eyes narrowed a bit, and I quickly felt like I was giving career guidance.

  “No job is perfect, and that’s because people are flawed, even the ones who think they’re paddling the boat in the same direction as everyone else on the team. It’s just not easy, especially at a government agency.”

  “Lots of bureaucratic bullshit, I bet.”

  “And then some. But it pays the bills, and there are days when I think I make a difference in a child’s life. And that’s really all I want to do.”

  I held her gaze for a second, then she looked back to the singer as Zahera walked up.

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  She rubbed her temple. “This one woman…she and her husband call my emergency line with every little bump and kick. She has the most normal pregnancy of any woman I’ve ever doctored, but they’re frantic about everything.”

  “Sucks to be you,” Cristina deadpanned, eyeing Zahera up and down. I almost snorted out a laugh.

  I wasn’t sure Zahera noticed, but one thing was certain: those two were very different people, and neither had a great deal of patience with the other.

  Zahera picked up her smoothie from the table, swirled it around, and took a pull on the straw. “I don’t think this is going to help me tonight. What do you say, Ivy? Want to go get an adult beverage?”

  I shifted my eyes over to Cristina. It took a moment, but Zahera finally got the hint. “Oh, I’m sorry, Cristina. I didn’t mean to purposely exclude you.”

  Cristina pushed back from the table. “No problem. I can tell when it’s time for the real adults to do their thing.” She stood up, slipped on her two jackets.

  Zahera put a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that…you know, we’ve got adult things to discuss.”

  Cristina stopped moving and stared at her hand until she removed it.

  I’d have to fill Zahera in on some of what Cristina had shared. “Honestly, it’s getting late,” I said, pulling my coat off the chair next to me. “I need to finally get a good night of sleep. You okay with that, Z?”

  “No problem. I’ll just go home and turn on smut TV and pour myself a glass of wine. Or two.”

  “You do that.”

  She gave me a solid hug, all arms and chest. “Hey, keep me in the loop with what happens with Miguel. And what you learn from Stan about that asshole dad’s whereabouts. I’m both intrigued and concerned.”

  “For whom?”

  “The kid especially…but the daughter, Monique, sounds like she could implode. Oh, I also don’t want anything to happen to my crime-fighting bestie.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek. I saw Cristina ro
ll her eyes.

  I threw my cup in the trash, and we headed outside. I paused to wrap my scarf around my neck. The rain had stopped, but the street was still wet, and a blustery north wind bit at my face. Zahera waved goodbye and made her way over to her Lexus two-door sedan as Cristina stuffed her long flock of hair inside her hoodie and stepped off the sidewalk.

  “Can I give you a lift?” I asked.

  She turned around. “Nah, I’m good. Thanks,” she said, walking backward.

  I wondered if she had anywhere to go, but I didn’t want to push her too hard. “Will I see you at next week’s Krav Maga class?”

  “You already paid for it, didn’t you?”

  “Yep, sure did, and our dummy even convinced Lulu to let you back in the class.”

  “I can’t waste your money. Plus, I need to learn a few new moves.”

  I’d bet she could probably teach the class a few. “Stay safe, Cristina.” I jogged over to her and handed her one of my business cards. “Call me if you need anything.”

  She chuckled, stuffing the card in her coat pocket. “Yeah, sure.” She lifted her chin quickly, her signal that she was taking off. With her back to me, she said, “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  I ambled over to the parking lot, recalling I was parked at the far end where the lot bumped up against a dark area with a little grass and some scraggly trees swaying in the wind. The entire area was suddenly void of people. Outside of the howling wind, I could only hear my flats clapping against the wet pavement as I edged closer to the dark corner. For the first time in a while, I felt exposed…as if someone were watching me.

  “Stop it, Ivy. That’s ridiculous,” I said out loud.

  But my neck didn’t receive the data from my brain. It was so stiff that by the time I reached my car, I felt a massive crick coming on. I reached into my purse, but somehow managed to drop the keys.

  “Crap,” I said, bending down. A stabbing pain shot up from my shoulder blade into my neck. “Uggh.”

  Once inside the car, I locked the doors and released a breath, willing my pulse to drop by half. “I need some wine.”

  I pulled out of the lot and didn’t see a soul.

  19

  The man zipped up his pants, then smelled his hand. “That one was for you, Dad,” he said from behind a live oak in the dark space behind the smoothie shop.

  As his heartbeat returned to its normal pace, he turned around and leaned against the tree trunk, letting his gaze wander through the brush and leaves until he noticed a few city lights twinkling in the distance. Kind of reminded him of the Christmas season, a time to share in the joy of goodwill, to make cherished memories with family and friends, to realize hope was all that was needed to make the world a better place for all of mankind.

  Bile crept up the back of his throat. Just the mere thought of those bullshit Christmas cards made him want to throw up. Whoever wrote that crap certainly hadn’t lived his life.

  He rubbed his forearm across his runny nose. He had this nagging cold that had been dragging him down lately. The kind that lingers like a…bad cold. But after seeing Ivy Nash for those brief seconds, it was as if he’d just been injected with a massive dose of adrenaline. His body had tingled all over, especially one appendage, which was somewhat of a miracle, all things considered.

  A swirling wind swept through the barrier of trees, cutting against his exposed face. He buttoned his blazer and stuffed his hands in his pockets. It began to sprinkle, making it feel even colder. He turned his face upward, closed his eyes, and emptied his lungs. He’d been gone for a while, and he hadn’t realized until now that it was the small things he missed the most: the natural weather elements, the aroma of hot coffee, the silky-smooth skin along the nape of a girl’s neck.

  Ivy’s neck.

  As he sucked in another breath, the sweet aroma of Ivy’s body infused his senses, firing off an array of automated responses. Part of him was so relaxed and mellow he could turn into melted butter. Other more significant parts of him were flooded with blood.

  He soon began to quiver, and his heart fluttered out of control. He braced himself against the tree trunk, but his head still became light and his vision blurred at the corners. Was he having a panic attack, or was his body simply reacting to the cold, wet conditions? For a moment, he wondered if all the years of pent-up stress and frustration had caught up to him and he was experiencing a heart attack.

  Not now. It’s far too early to leave this world.

  He focused his thoughts on a happier place—the time he’d lost his virginity. He envisioned the scene. At age fourteen he was playfully chasing the little girl with blond hair, the one who’d caught his eye on the first day of school. It was a beautiful spring day, and they were running through a field of tall, green grass. Puffy cotton-ball clouds played hide-and-seek with the sun, throwing shadows across the open prairie. The girl with hair like silky straw was sweet and thoughtful. As he caught up to her, he picked up wafts of strawberries and peaches. Finally, he grabbed her from behind and twirled her around. Her giggle filled the air, and he began to laugh with her as he gently set her down. She drew him closer and pressed her tongue inside his mouth. He tensed at first, but as she caressed his face, he began to relax and soon it seemed like they became one being. They dropped to the ground and continued their kiss-fest, hands moving freely all over each other as grass enveloped them.

  They were in their own world. A world that would last forever. Or so he’d thought.

  Seemingly out of nowhere, she pushed him away and wiped her mouth. Then she told him he had horrible breath and that he made her sick to her stomach. Even to this day, he couldn’t understand what had changed so quickly. It was as if she’d been invaded by some horrible demon whose sole purpose was to exact pain on him.

  And it worked. Too well. He began to crumble right before her. She moved to her feet and scolded him for even thinking he had a chance to be with her. With his legs curled up under him, his body hunched over, he could feel her bony finger poke his back with each biting comment. The perfect girl suddenly didn’t seem to be human. She was a monster.

  But then he took in a breath, and he picked up that fruity scent again. In what he realized was a bizarre reaction, he felt turned on, but at least half of the surge was fueled by rage. The next few seconds were filled with both ecstasy and agony. With the power of an enraged lion, he jumped out of his stance and brought her down with one swat of his arm. She screamed so loudly it hurt his ears, but that only made him claw at her face and body that much more. He had the strength of a dozen kids his age. Nothing could stop him, certainly not some entitled prude bitch who thought she was better than everyone else, including him.

  He showed her who was king of their world. He ripped off her clothes and, in just a few seconds, completed his first sexual experience. At the end, all he could hear was her whimper like a wounded kitten.

  And it made him furious. He picked up a stone and began to pound her face, over and over again. She fought his attack for at least a minute, but then her eyes stopped blinking, her face turned blue, and blood was everywhere.

  He was only getting started.

  He pummeled her body with that stone for at least another hundred shots. And the only reason he stopped was because he was laughing so hard.

  That had been his ecstasy. The agony had been getting rid of her body.

  He blinked a few times and felt the light rain falling on him. Water dripped off the edge of his nose, and he realized his pulse was nice and steady. Someone upstairs had been watching over him, to ensure he was given the opportunity to execute the plans he’d been conjuring up for way too many years.

  He ambled across the grassy lot and caught himself nodding repeatedly. Yep, he was practically singing in the rain, appreciating all that life presented. He would soon impose his will on the woman who had forever changed his life—no, not that little girl in the field. Her death wasn’t the event that had ruined his future. Whi
le she was his first in so many ways, it wasn’t until four years later that his life started to spiral out of control.

  He would never forget that moment. And he would never forget Ivy Nash. She would pay for her wrongdoing over and over again. And he couldn’t wait to get started.

  20

  My first thought when I awoke? Someone is pounding my head with a sledgehammer—from the inside out.

  As I pulled open sticky eyes, I was met with two rude awakenings: a jarring, mind-numbing rendition of “Welcome to the Jungle” by Guns ‘N Roses and something stiff and long poking me in the rear end. I quickly threw back my covers and flipped over to see an empty wine bottle in the middle of my bed.

  “Crap.” I brought a hand to my forehead, just now recalling how my night had ended—me, a glass of wine, and a romantic comedy that made me laugh, cry, and drink more wine. It was one of those Matthew McConaughey flicks from earlier in his career, when it was all about his cute, dimpled smile, his magnetic blue eyes, and his body. His sculpted body. Yep, my sexual deprivation was what had led me to pour glass after glass.

  Lost in my own thoughts for a moment—or was I daydreaming about McConaughey’s abs?—the sound of Axl Rose’s shrieking penetrated my daze. The sledgehammer was overtaken by a screwdriver drilling into my cranium. I followed the sound into my bathroom. A corkscrewed sheet grabbed hold of my ankle as I stepped out of bed. I dropped to the floor like I’d been shot.

  “Crap,” I said again, rolling over and seeing rug burns on both elbows. I made my way into the bathroom and found my cell phone shaking on the counter. It hit me then: Kari had been playing with my ringtones at work yesterday.

  She would pay dearly for this mistake.

  I grabbed the phone and shut off the sound, then saw Zahera’s name.

  “Hey,” I said with little energy, wiping the crust out of my eyes.

  “What the hell happened to you?”

  “Long night. Too much wine.” I had no desire to elaborate.

  “You sound like you smoked a pack of cigarettes too.”

  “Headache.”

  “Your answers are getting shorter.”