by Sharon Sala
Dawson nodded, then gave Frankie a considering glance. “You haven’t remembered anything else that could be pertinent to the case?”
Her shoulders slumped. “No.”
Clay slipped his arm around her and gave her a hug. “It’s okay, baby. You will.” Then he looked back at Dawson. “Isn’t there any way we can check out Carn’s whereabouts during the time Frankie was missing?”
Dawson grimaced. “Mr. LeGrand, if it was that easy to keep up with scum like Carn, he’d probably be behind bars as we speak. Until and unless your wife remembers something specific that can tie him to the crime, we’re stuck.”
“But what about the earthquake…and the tattoo?” Frankie asked.
Dawson looked apologetic. “Look, Mrs. LeGrand. You just think you were in an earthquake. You can’t remember. And you just think that the man who kidnapped you had a tattoo that matches the one on your neck. Maybe you’re just remembering the man you knew as a child. Maybe he’s all mixed up with the real man who snatched you. Do you see what I mean?”
Frankie wanted to scream. “It’s not fair,” she muttered.
“No, it’s not,” Dawson said. “But you give me something solid to go on and I’ll be all over the bastard like flies on honey.”
Frankie stood abruptly. “Clay, don’t you think it’s time we got out of Detective Dawson’s way so he can do his job?”
Clay sighed. Frankie was mad, and he couldn’t really blame her. Before he could say anything, Dawson stood, also.
“Mrs. LeGrand, I realize what I told you wasn’t what you wanted to hear. Honestly, I think you may be on to something, but until Carn is located and questioned…” He shrugged.
Disgust colored her voice. “I know. All I have to do is wait around for the other shoe to drop.”
“If you were my wife, I might be inclined to suggest that you and Clay take a trip—a long, long trip.”
A dark flush spread across Frankie’s cheeks. “I’m not running,” she said slowly. “I will be damned if I’ll let some maniac dictate my way of life. When he comes back—and I believe that he will—I’ll be waiting.”
“It’s your call,” Dawson said.
“And she’s my wife,” Clay said, then looked at Frankie, his fear for her overriding his better judgment. “Maybe we should—”
“No. I’m not budging. If he wants me that bad, I want to be sure he can find me.”
Clay went pale. “Goddammit, Francesca. You are not using yourself as bait.”
“It’s my life,” she muttered. “And I want it back.”
Clay’s belly was in a knot, but he knew better than to argue with her when she got like this.
“We’ll talk more later,” he promised.
She gave him a look that pretty much said he could talk all he wanted, but she wasn’t changing her mind.
“I’ll order a patrol car to check your house off and on during the day,” Dawson said.
The look she gave Dawson in response wasn’t much better. “Thank you for your patience,” she said. “I doubt we’ll be bothering you again.”
Even after they were gone, Francesca LeGrand’s words still rang in Dawson’s ears. He tried to get back to his paperwork, but he kept thinking of the handgun she’d bought, instead.
He shook his head in frustration. Sometimes this job just plain sucked.
Thirteen
An entire week had come and gone since Frankie and Clay’s return from Albuquerque, and every day that passed felt like the lull before the storm. No matter how ordinary their days or how quiet their nights, the stress of not knowing was wearing them down.
Clay was short-tempered at work, and Frankie fought a constant urge to dissolve into tears. Even though they had yet to locate him, the Denver police were still trying to pinpoint where Pharaoh Carn had been during the time Francesca had been kidnapped. And, unknown to Frankie, Harold Borden, the P.I. Clay had hired, was now monitoring everyone who she came in contact with. Everyone kept moving, but in place.
And then, a couple of days after Thanksgiving, it started to snow.
“Look, Clay, someone is moving into Mrs. Rafferty’s garage apartment across the street.”
Clay glanced up from his desk to the window, where Frankie was watching it snow. Glad to have an excuse to abandon his paperwork, he got up.
“Hell of a day to move,” he said as he came up behind her and peered over her shoulder into the storm.
Frankie nodded, then wrapped herself in his arms. “Selfishly, I’m glad it’s snowing.”
“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” Clay said. “You hate the cold.”
She frowned. “I still don’t like it, but I like having you home.”
Dependency wasn’t part of Frankie’s personality. Clay hated the stress she was under and worried constantly about how long she would be able to withstand it.
“Sweetheart, all you have to do is say the word and I’ll hire a bodyguard to stay with you when I’m at work.”
“Don’t be silly,” she muttered. “You installed a security system already. Besides, we can’t afford bodyguards and—”
“No, baby. What I can’t afford is to be without you.”
Her chin suddenly quivered. “Sorry,” she said, blinking back tears. “It seems that all I want to do these days is cry.”
“If it makes you feel better, have at it. I know this isn’t easy for you.” Then he glanced back out the window and frowned. “Looks like Mrs. Rafferty’s new renter is traveling light. A couple of suitcases and a box of books isn’t much in the way of worldly goods.”
Frankie squinted as she peered through the cloudy white swirls eddying off the edge of the roof. “I remember a time when I didn’t own much more than that.”
Clay tilted her chin. “How about some hot chocolate?”
She sighed, then forced a smile. “With lots of little colored marshmallows?”
He rolled his eyes in pretend dismay. “I don’t know. I’m a marshmallow purist, myself. But I suppose if you have to have colors, then—”
She punched his arm with her fist. “Just stop it, mister. At least I don’t put mustard on my scrambled eggs.”
He grinned. “Hey, that’s good stuff!”
“I try not to gag.”
“Just for that, the little green marshmallows are mine.”
“No way,” Frankie said. “You know those are my favorites.”
Clay’s eyes twinkled as he lowered his voice in mock warning. “Okay, colored marshmallows it is, but you know it’s going to cost you big time.”
She grinned. “Exactly how much?”
He scooped her off her feet and into his arms.
“It’s not how much, it’s what.”
Frankie tunneled her fingers through his hair, loving the spiky feel of the short dark strands against her palms.
“Exactly what are we talking about here?”
His answer was a grin as he started out of the room with her still in his arms.
“Hey, the kitchen is that way,” she said, pointing over his shoulder.
“Sorry, lady, but you know the old saying. ‘You get what you pay for.’ You can’t have the hot chocolate until you pay up.”
She started to laugh. “Exactly what is this cup of hot chocolate going to cost me, anyway?”
He dumped her in the middle of the bed and started peeling off his shirt. “Kisses galore.” Then he reached for her shoes.
She laughed. “And if I want those green marshmallows, too?”
He never cracked a smile. “That’s going to up the ante.”
“To what?”
He undid her slacks, then started to pull. “You’ll see,” he said softly. “I’ll let you know when I’ve had enough.”
Simon Law tossed the last suitcase on the bed and then pocketed the door key as he surveyed the two-room apartment. As far as apartments went, he’d had better. But it was clean, and it was warm, and considering the damned blizzard outside, it was better than t
he Ritz. He brushed at the snow still clinging to his hair and coat, reminding himself what he’d been sent here to do.
“What the hell did I do with my phone?” he muttered, digging through his pockets. They were empty.
He looked back out the window and groaned. The last time he’d used it was when he’d checked in with the boss this morning from the van, then he’d tossed it on the seat.
He eyed the deepening snow with disdain. Waiting wouldn’t make this trip better. With a muffled curse, he pulled the collar of his coat back up around his neck and made a run to the van.
The phone was on the seat, right where he’d left it. Within seconds, he was making his way back up the apartment steps and cursing the snow. An Illinois farm boy, Law had left the family home years ago for the California sunshine. But now, here he was, back in the miserable cold and wishing someone else had answered Pharaoh Carn’s call.
Within the time it took him to lock the door and shrug out of his coat, he’d already punched in the number to Pharaoh’s private phone and dug a pair of binoculars from one of his bags.
“Hey, boss, it’s me, Law. Yeah, I’m in.” He stepped to the window, adjusting the binoculars to his vision. “Yeah, they’re there. I saw them yesterday when I was looking at the place, then I saw them again this morning. Naw, they ain’t goin’ nowhere. Sure, I know what you said. Just watch ’em.”
Pharaoh Carn rolled the rabbit’s foot back and forth between his fingers as he listened to Law’s report.
“I want to know where they go, what they do—everything! Get me?”
“Yeah, boss, sure thing. I’ll be in touch.”
Pharaoh hung up the phone. A thoughtful smile shifted the position of his lips—not much, but enough to register complete satisfaction. He hesitated briefly, then dropped the rabbit’s foot in his pocket and reached for the intercom.
“Duke. Get the car. We’re going to the Luxor. I’m feeling lucky.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Carn. I’ll be right there.”
Pharaoh’s smile widened. This would be his first venture out since being released from the hospital, and of all the casinos on the strip, the Luxor, with its ancient-Egyptian theme, was his favorite. He was in the mood to throw a little money around on the tables, maybe drop in at the Isis for a late lunch. The fine gourmet dining in the Luxor’s elegant restaurant was never a disappointment.
He rubbed his hands together as he strolled to a mirror. Maybe while he was out he would get a haircut, eat a good steak. He’d heard Jimmy the Shoe was in town. He hadn’t seen Jimmy in a couple of years. It would be good to reconnect with some of the guys.
He thought of Francesca again, but this time there was no sense of urgency. He knew where she was. When he was ready, he would go get her. He’d made a mistake the first time by leaving her husband alive. It wouldn’t happen again. This time, when he went after her, she would have no one left to run home to.
A few minutes later, he was on his way. The day was cold, but a long, cashmere coat over a three-piece Armani suit was more than sufficient protection against any chill. The men riding in the front seat with the limo driver were all the protection he needed today against other, less obvious, dangers.
The Franco brothers were out of Philadelphia and had been with him for a little over two years. Both men were long on brawn and short on brains, but that was the way he liked them. Second-guessing Pharaoh Carn could get a man killed. The Francos were in no danger.
“Mr. Carn.”
Pharaoh looked up at Duke, who was sitting in the seat across from him. “What?”
“It’s real good to see you getting out, sir.”
Pharaoh gave his right-hand man a rare smile. “Thanks, Duke. It feels real good to me, too.”
Duke nodded, then refocused his attention on the streets they passed. Part of his job was to make sure that Pharaoh Carn got no surprises. Duke was good at his job.
When they started south down Las Vegas Boulevard, Pharaoh’s heart skipped a beat. Even from here, he could see the top of the thirty-story pyramid that was the Luxor. A few minutes later, the driver pulled up in front of the casino and stopped long enough for Pharaoh and his entourage to get out.
Duke exited first, along with the Franco brothers. The trio stood for a moment, surveying the crowd. Then Duke leaned in and nodded at Pharaoh.
Pharaoh winced slightly as he got out of the car, but he refused to let pain deter him. Not today. Today he felt vindicated in a way he couldn’t explain. He took it as a sign that Francesca did not remember enough to have him arrested. He was untouchable, and he knew it.
He lifted his chin as the limo sped away, refusing to make eye contact with the Luxor’s clients. It was something he’d learned on his first trip to prison. Staying aloof gave you a look of importance, and it often meant the difference between trouble and staying alive.
He took a deep breath, his pulse quickening as he moved toward the entrance. Immediately, his men surrounded him. One Franco brother led the way, Duke walked beside him, and the other brother brought up the rear. The swath they cut through the crowd was noticeable. A few feet inside the casino, a short, swarthy man in a tux stepped into their path.
“Mr. Carn! It’s a pleasure to see you again, sir.”
Pharaoh smiled. Jahar was the floor manager and capable of granting unusual requests at any hour of the day or night.
“Jahar, it’s good to be here.”
“How may we serve you, sir? Just ask. It will be my pleasure.”
“I came to play,” Pharaoh said, watching the intense smile break out on the little man’s face. “But,” he added, “I don’t intend to lose.”
Jahar almost giggled in response. “Well, sir, who knows? Lady Luck is a fickle bitch.”
Pharaoh glanced at his watch. “I assume my regular table will be available in the Isis around three?”
Jahar nodded vehemently. “Yes, sir. I will see to it immediately.”
Jahar disappeared into the crowd, leaving Pharaoh to amble about the floor at will. A few minutes later, he was at the baccarat tables, immersed in the game.
At a quarter past five, Pharaoh looked up from his dessert and coffee to see Jimmy the Shoe coming toward him from across the dining room. Duke saw him, too, and glanced at Pharaoh.
Pharaoh nodded. “Let him come.”
Duke stood, moving aside as Jimmy the Shoe gave Pharaoh a hearty smile and slid into the chair Duke had vacated.
“I heard you was in town,” Jimmy said. “Good to see you out and about. For a while there we didn’t think you was gonna make it.”
Pharaoh’s smile froze, never reaching his eyes. “That’s the trouble with gossip, Jimmy. Do I look like a corpse?”
“No, no, you sure don’t, Pharaoh. Never seen you look better.” And then he gave Pharaoh a quick, nervous smile. “Seriously, man, you come close, didn’t you?”
Pharaoh considered his answer, then shrugged. “It doesn’t matter how close a man comes to dying, or how many times it happens. What counts is that, when it’s all over, he’s still standing.”
Jimmy nodded. “You got that right.”
“So,” Pharaoh said, “is this a social call? Can I get you a drink, or something to eat?”
Jimmy leaned forward. “Nah, but thanks. I just thought you would want to know that the cops are asking questions about you in L.A.”
Pharaoh’s good mood shifted. “What kinds of questions?”
“Real weird, actually. Nothing about the business. Just some stuff about a woman being kidnapped.”
Pharaoh took a slow, calculated sip of coffee without revealing his shock.
“Kidnapping is for fools,” he said slowly. “I’m not in the habit of indulging in pastimes that don’t make me a profit, but, out of curiosity, who’s asking? About the woman, I mean.”
“The local cops and a private dick from out of state.”
He sneered. “She must be some woman, to warrant that kind of interest. Who’s she supposed to be?”
Jimmy shrugged. “I don’t know. Just some woman.”
“So…what are the cops asking?”
“They was flashing around her picture and asking stuff like, did you know her? Had anyone ever seen you with her? Stuff like that.”
Pharaoh took another sip of coffee. “Well, thanks for the warning, Jimmy. I owe you.”
Jimmy the Shoe shrugged. “Just thought you would want to know.” He grinned. “But they ain’t gettin’ the answers they want. In fact, last I heard, no one knows where you’re at. I remembered you had the place up in the hills here, and I just took a chance, you know.”
Pharaoh nodded. “I appreciate your efforts, Jimmy. You will be rewarded.”
Silence followed. When Duke suddenly moved a little closer to the chair, Jimmy started to fidget.
“It’s been real good to see you, Pharaoh, but I’d better be goin’,” Jimmy said. “You take care of yourself.”
Pharaoh eyed the little man as he scurried off through the crowd. This could change everything. Whether he was ready or not, delaying his trip to Denver much longer could prove dangerous. This would take some serious thought.
“Duke, get the car. I’m ready to go home.”
Duke whipped out a cell phone. Within moments, they were heading for the door. The Franco brothers were waiting at the entrance, and they fell into step with their boss, parting the casino crowds and ushering him into the waiting limo.
It had quit snowing around midnight. By dawn, the streets had been plowed free of snow and the sun was shining. Clay had gone to check on a project downtown and warned her that he wouldn’t be home until late afternoon. After he left, Frankie snuggled a little deeper beneath the covers and drifted back off to sleep.
Consciousness hovered somewhere between reality and dreams, leaving her wrapped in a warmth of covers and memories. She sighed as she rolled over on her back, snuggling with Clay’s pillow. She smiled to herself, remembering the green marshmallows he’d fed her. They never had gotten around to making that hot chocolate, but they’d made love. It had been hot enough and sweet enough all on its own. And so she drifted in and out of sleep, letting down her guard just long enough to let the fear back in…
