I could get used to this.
When Avery finally pulled me from the track, I slid from the car and set my helmet in the seat.
“You did good, kid.”
Wait, I know that voice. I turned slowly to see Tate standing on the infield, supported by two crutches, and beside him were Dave and…Marcus.
Son of a bitch. “You set me up.”
“Wait, don’t get mad,” Tate said. “I knew you could do it, but not if you knew the truth.”
I walked closer to him and put my finger in his face. “You knew how much I hated racing.” Then I pointed to Marcus. “Both of you knew. This is wrong on so many levels.”
“But you did it. And—it sounded to me as if you liked it.”
He heard me? Fuckin’ smartass.
Inside the crew trailer, I slipped out of the racing gear, grabbed my phone, and left without saying goodbye, although what I really wanted to say was, “I quit.”
At the hotel, I lay in bed and listened as both phones rang like crazy. I refused to answer them. Anger was a big part of it, but the worry they had knowingly put me through—that was a different story altogether.
Hours, no make that days, had been spent worrying if Tate was okay. I’d even googled him to make sure nothing had happened. I didn’t know which was worse—knowing or not knowing. He’d absolutely pissed me off. Because I left without asking, I still didn’t know what had happened or why he was on crutches. He was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Knock
Knock
Knock
“Go away,” I yelled at the door.
“Sweet pea, please let me explain,” Tate begged.
“Go away.”
He left. I cried. All night I tossed and turned, angry, sad, mad, happy—the battle of emotions painfully resided in my heart, pounding out the war within.
The next morning, I packed up my things, checked out, and moved over to my mother’s. I didn’t answer calls or return texts. I let them figure it out. In my book, there was simply no decent explanation worthy of putting me through what they did.
When Marcus showed up at my mother’s house, I was shocked. “How did you find me?”
“Your résumé. I took the chance that you’d be at this address.”
I stepped back and let him enter. “Can’t say you aren’t resourceful.”
We sat in the living room and chatted while Mom fixed us lunch.
“Look, Willow. I know you’re pissed because you think we all lied to you.”
“You did.”
He threw his hands in the air. “True, I can’t argue that. We kept the truth from you at Tate’s request. He knew telling you about the accident would put you in a tailspin, and he didn’t want that. He knew he couldn’t drive, and the project would be squashed. Be realistic here.”
“Yes and no. The bottom line is that he wanted to force me to drive the car when he realized he couldn’t. Hell, you could’ve driven the car and loved every minute of it. This was all about Tate making me do something I would never do otherwise. You have no idea how hard my chest hurt from anxiety just putting on the suit, not to mention being in that car.” By this point, I was standing, and I had my finger in the air ready to yell profanities.
“I think it was better than three years of therapy,” Mom yelled from the kitchen.
Who asked for her opinion?
“It’s over now. What do you want to do? Quit? Take some downtime? I’ll pay you three months leave if you want the time off. You deserve it and more.”
Without pondering his offer any length of time, I said, “I’ll take the leave and think about it.”
“And for what it’s worth, Tate—”
I cut him off. “I’ll deal with him when I’m ready.”
We ate lunch and shared stories of marketing projects gone bad. Marcus really was a good guy. Heck, he was even funny when he wanted to be. He had shown he could be a great boss, but I’d already made my mind up to move back to Dallas. My life was here, and the fear of the unknown still existed in New York City.
After Marcus took off for the studio in Las Colinas to watch edits, Mom left for work but not before giving me one more piece of advice. “If you really love Tate, don’t make a mistake and make him wait too long, ‘cause life’s short and you’re just wastin’ time.”
Moms—do they really have all the answers?
14
With no knowledge of money or credit card fraud, I had no idea what a “skimmer” device looked like. When I searched Google, I came up with over a thousand different images, and clearly, there was clever technology in electronic theft.
With my iPad open on the bedside table, I decided no one was gonna help me through this situation but me, and I had to put an end to my past, or I’d be running, forever looking backwards, instead of positively moving into my future.
Slowly, I emptied every item I had in my suitcases onto the floor—shaking and scouring each item. I pulled my comforter up and placed the empty cases on the bed. Checking every crevice and zippered compartment, I cleared the first one and was about two thirds of the way through the larger case, when I came across a small black box that could fit in the palm of a child’s hands. It was cleverly designed with a slot in the middle.
I kept searching and found two more, each a different style, hidden in the suitcase. One seriously looked like a small rubber gasket and nothing more until you looked closely inside and noticed the electronic pins and USB port. Went a long way to explain why Mariah had behaved the way she had when she’d discovered I’d packed up.
My best guess was that Mariah and Les had stolen from me to buy the devices and were selling the credit card numbers they collected to whoever killed her. With a little research into my old bank account, I discovered they’d practiced using my card right after processing the first stolen check. There were seven small amounts debited to test the skimmer’s success. Small enough to go unnoticed by me, unless I was carefully monitoring my account activity. Clever.
Now, I had to get the devices to the detective in New York.
I booked a one-way flight later that afternoon, determined it would be my last trip to New York. This time I would bring all of my things home, where I belonged.
Grateful that I hadn’t rented another apartment in the city with a lengthy lease, I planned ahead and reserved a U-Haul truck and car trailer for the next day. Moving out of the penthouse and getting my things out of storage would be a piece of cake, and I hoped I could manage loading it by myself with the furniture dollies. No one needed to know I was even in town. Once I was locked and loaded and ready to leave, I’d go by the police station and turn in the skimmers.
Traveling with only a backpack made things easier. I brought just a quick change of clothes, and a minimum of toiletries. The skimmers, zipped together in a baggie, were tucked into a side pocket. Keeping to the goal of sneaking in and out of town, I took an Uber car service from JFK to the penthouse.
When the elevator opened, the penthouse was empty, and I sensed an eerie feeling from the moment I walked in. Something just didn’t feel right to me, and the place was unlit and really chilly. I remembered Naomi saying they would be in Europe for her granddaughter’s wedding, but I would’ve thought she’d left some lights on or something.
If there was ever a time I felt uninvited, this was it.
The guest room where I’d been staying hadn’t been cleaned and didn’t appear the way I’d remembered leaving it. The drawers had been emptied, and everything had been thrown on top of the file boxes that I’d kept in the bottom of the closet. On the top of the pile was a post-it note with Detective Dempsey’s name and number on it. I stuck the note in my backpack and grabbed some trash bags from the kitchen. Nothing seemed right about this and my skin crawled with thoughts of danger.
Get the hell out.
With everything either in a box or a bag, I carried it all down to the storage area, making several trips. When I used the code to open the doo
r, my gut clenched yet again.
Files, papers, clothes—everything was in total disarray. The room was a disaster, and I didn’t even have that much stuff. When I moved the mattress and box springs, I noticed they’d been cut. Shredded was a better description.
Whatever they wanted, it looked far from over.
This wasn’t the police’s doing. This was somebody who’d wanted his stuff back in the worst way. This had danger written all over it.
I scooted my boxes and bags inside then closed and locked the storage door.
Back upstairs, I used my phone to look up places to get a gun or a taser. Ironically, tasers were banned in NYC, but guns could be bought. It only took the time to process an application, but time wasn’t on my side.
Think, think, think.
I recalled Mariah had a taser. It was pink and looked like a cellphone case. She’d told me she’d bought it from a street vendor, but where? She didn’t have a car, so it couldn’t have been far.
Rather than be a sitting duck and wait for someone to find me, I picked up my backpack and sneaked down to the adjacent parking garage. I hadn’t seen my car in several weeks, so I prayed the battery would engage. When I hit the door lock button, I heard my car beep off in the distance. The garage was creepy, and my nerves were on overdrive.
Once in my car, I drove around a few blocks in the heavy evening traffic until I found a vendor for cellphone cases. I shouted through the window for what I needed, and he sent me to “Ricardo,” who had a hot dog stand a few blocks down.
Did he have any idea how many hot dog vendors were in New York? Or dudes named Ricardo?
“Tell ’em Butch sent ya,” he yelled as I rolled up the window.
I made it five blocks and found a dog stand on the corner. After parking illegally, I hopped out. “Ricardo?”
He shot me a sharp eye. “Who wants to know?” His tone was gruff, and I watched as his right hand slid into the front pocket of his jeans under his apron.
“A young lady who’s got a thuggish boyfriend chasing her needs a taser or a pistol. Whatever you have. Butch sent me.”
“Butch, huh? Go to the coffee shop over there.” He nodded with his cap to his right. “There’s parking in back. Order a cup a coffee. You’ll need cash.”
After doing as he’d directed, I twirled the empty coffee cup anxiously.
I sat there over an hour waiting, but I wasn’t willing to give up. It was almost midnight, and as the night grew later and darker, I wondered what I’d managed to get myself into this past month.
How much would my life be different if I hadn’t met Tate? Would we have slept together if I hadn’t been running from Mariah? Would I have ever accepted the racing world if Tate hadn’t forced me to?
Tate.
I loved him. I just hoped I had enough time to tell him.
A pink donut box landed sharply on the table, spilling my second cup of coffee. I looked up at Ricardo.
“Donuts are good. You should try one.” His eyes were suggestive, and he didn’t take a seat.
I slowly opened the box and saw the shape of a revolver wrapped in foil. There was a bag of six bullets—and six donuts. $750 was written on the inside of the box lid.
“Baker’s dozen,” I nervously joked as I took a bite of the stale donut. I nodded toward my backpack, and he nodded in acceptance.
Reaching into my wallet, I used the inside of the bag to secure eight, one hundred dollar bills. Rolling them tightly, I slipped them into my sweatshirt sleeve and held them with my thumb.
“Thank you for the donut delivery. My sister will be so excited.” When I extended my hand, he snagged the money.
After a brief nod, he escaped as quickly as he came.
Practically running to my car, I drove to the nearest hotel and got a room with cash. I truly felt like a criminal, and I suppose I was. After all, I’d just purchased a gun illegally on the street.
I studied the gun and the bullets. The end of the revolver had THE JUDGE inscribed on it.
It’s amazing what you can find on YouTube. I searched for how to use the gun and practiced for the next several hours. Loading, unloading, firing empty, safety key—the whole enchilada.
I’d never been a pistol packin’ mamma and really, to be completely honest, believed guns should be outlawed. Funny how one’s opinion changed when the tide turned.
Packing a gun meant I had to have a pocket to conceal it. Looking at the clothes I had with me and recalling what I had in storage, it was either going to be jeans or the sweat suit I had on.
Now, it was time to get a plan.
The next morning, I drove to the U-Haul place where I’d made the reservation. Thankfully, the guys working there agreed to let me leave my car until I returned with my things loaded from storage.
I literally started throwing things in boxes and shoving it in the back of the U-Haul as fast as I could. The hardest pieces were the storage bench and the dresser, even with the dolly.
Thank goodness for glider feet, which help move heavy furniture with ease, but they don’t help lift it.
I managed to get the dresser to the end of the truck, but I couldn’t lift it into the back of the bed, and my rental hadn’t come with a ramp.
“Could you use some help?” a lady asked.
“Yes, thank you. I think the two of us can get it in there, if you don’t mind.”
Without so much as a word, she helped me load the dresser and quickly disappeared.
The only items I left in the storage room were the ruined mattress and box spring. It wasn’t that I wanted to leave Marcus a mess, but I was certain he would understand once he heard my story.
The skimmers were my proof, my safety net. I looked around for the best place to hide them. No one would suspect a bag strapped inside a cold engine. With the truck loaded and my car attached to the trailer, I headed to Texas. Twenty-five hours of driving and almost sixteen hundred miles were ahead of me, and I couldn’t wait to get home.
I was somewhere west of Newark, New Jersey on Interstate 78, when I saw the flashing lights behind me. My immediate thought was the gun. I looked over at it lying on top of my backpack in the seat, safety off.
I slowed down, put my flashers on, and took the next exit off the interstate. Before I came to a complete stop in a parking lot, I leaned back and carefully shoved the gun down the front of my underwear, feeling to confirm the flip of the safety. The bulkiness of my hoodie helped hide the bulge in my pants.
I was scared shitless.
“Ms. Alders, you getting out of town in a hurry?”
It was Detective Dempsey. And it felt wrong. He was definitely out of his jurisdiction, but I supposed I’d watched too many cop shows.
“Yes, my mother needs me at home.”
“Step out of the vehicle, Ms. Alders.”
“On what grounds?” I countered.
He flashed his badge. “As an officer of the law, I’ve asked you to step out.”
He’d always given me the creeps, and I was certain he was still up to nothing good. I retrieved my phone from the dash. “I think I’ll dial 911 and let them send out another officer. I don’t trust—”
The door was yanked open, and I was on the ground before I could make that call. My hands were ratcheted up behind me with cable ties. My ankles were tied as well.
“Where are those skimmers? I know you found them. Where did you put them?”
I said nothing.
He flipped me over and hit me in the face, busting my lip.
“You’re a dirty cop. I got nothin’ for you,” I snarled out at him.
He hit me again several times before I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in a dark place, and it felt like I was moving.
Shit, he put me in the back of the U-Haul. I’m sure he didn’t leave his car, so he’s probably got help.
Shocked that I could still feel the heaviness of my gun in place, I realized the detective was in a heap of stress since he hadn’
t searched me for a weapon. And…in a hurry. None of this added up to anything good happening to me. I had to find a way to get out of the truck.
After trying unsuccessfully to get the bands off of my wrists, I gave up. Then I thought about trying to get my hands in front of me.
Working to get into a sitting position is extremely difficult when you are bound and in a vehicle that is bumping around. I tried everything, but I finally managed after crunching up in a ball on my side and pulling my arms under my hips. If I hadn’t lost weight over the last few weeks, it would’ve never happened. It took so much out of me I was exhausted, but I’d got my hands in front of me.
Since I’d thrown everything in the truck in no particular order and I had zero lighting to see by, I had to feel around for my dresser and the bottom right drawer, where I kept my nursing bag with scissors in it.
I finally found the bag and was just about to open it when the truck stopped.
Holy mother of God, what now?
With no time to come up with another plan, I reached into my pants and pulled out the gun. Holding it and getting my finger into the trigger position was tough with my wrists bound, but I was gonna fire the minute the door was raised.
BANG
BANG
BANG
Silence.
BANG
BANG
15
My eyelids fluttered several times.
Light’s too bright.
When I finally got one eye open to peek out, I could see I was no longer in the back of the truck. “Where am I?” I croaked.
“She’s awake,” I heard from a distance.
Now with both eyes open, I looked around to find myself in a familiar place—a hospital.
“Welcome back.” Marcus was leaning over the bed.
“Hi.” My mouth was dry, and my throat was really sore. “Where’s Tate?”
Tracks To Love: An Enemies To Lovers Alpha Hero Romance Page 9
