by Sharon Sala
Sammy liked the tone of her voice and laughed, then crawled over the seat and into her lap.
When John motioned for them to get out, Starla was the one who carried Sammy into the house. She walked from room to room in total shock. It was as if she’d only been gone a few hours, just back from a quick trip to the store. Everything was exactly the same. Even the furniture.
“It’s just like I remembered it,” Starla said, as she turned to her parents.
“We left it this way on purpose,” Connie said. “Just in case we ever found you. Just in case you came home.”
Still holding Sammy, she walked into their arms and had one last cry for the years she’d lost. Then she made a silent promise to herself and to Sammy: from this day forward, it was all about the future.
* * *
Anton was standing at the airstrip waiting for his jet to arrive, but Franklin was not going to recognize him.
He was wearing his gardener’s clothing, huaraches on his feet, and he’d dyed his shock of white hair black as coal, though he’d left his full beard its natural salt-and-pepper color. He had a worn-out sombrero on his head for shade, and his money belt with ID, credit cards and cash was around his waist and well hidden by the loose cotton shirt hanging over his baggy pants. He had an old bag with a few small belongings hanging over his shoulder—it was all he needed to go home and finish what he’d started.
When the jet finally flew into view and landed on the strip, he hurried toward it and met the pilot coming down the gangplank.
When Anton started up the steps, Paul stopped.
“I’m sorry, senor, but this is a private plane.”
Anton paused and looked up.
“So, I did pass muster, didn’t I?”
Paul’s expression ran the gamut of emotions.
“Mr. Baba? Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me, Paul. Are you ready to go, or do you need to refuel?”
“Refueling here would be wise,” he said.
Anton waved him back into the plane and then ran up the steps and into the cabin. Paul pulled up the steps and then taxied toward the hangar, killed the engine and got out to refuel.
Anton was making himself comfortable inside the plane, pouring his own drink and gathering up some snacks to eat on the way back.
By the time Paul reentered, Anton was on his iPad checking messages. If the Feds had his email hacked, which he assumed they would, they’d think he was in Saint-Tropez, because that’s where he’d had his computer tech route the signals.
It wasn’t until he’d checked his phone a while later that he realized he had a text from Paco Cruz. Why the hell that hadn’t shown up at his estate was beyond him.
He read it with interest. It appeared Paco had actually seen Quinn O’Meara, the woman from the desert who’d found his son. Baba wasn’t sure what the Feds had on him, but if they’d finally filed charges and had a warrant out for his arrest, he had to assume the evidence was substantial and likely backed by witnesses willing to testify. Getting rid of the two women who held the power to incriminate him should level the playing field, so this information couldn’t have come at a better time.
He wanted to call Paco back, but decided to wait until he got to Vegas and got a burner phone—no need to add more heat to the fire. So he took a sip of his drink and settled down to eat while he waited for takeoff.
Sixteen
Paul Franklin came back inside the plane and pulled the steps up behind him.
Anton was waiting for him.
“When we get back to Nevada, just fly straight to the hangar. I’m taking the old truck into Vegas. I trust it still runs.”
“Yes, sir. Runs fine, just looks rough.”
“That’s what I need,” Anton said.
“Yes, sir,” Paul said. “Take a seat, sir, and buckle up for takeoff.”
Anton returned to the table, logged out of the iPad, refilled his drink and then buckled up near the window, watching as the jet began to taxi and then finally lifted off. He got one last glimpse of the estate as the jet circled the area and couldn’t help but wonder if this would be the last time he’d see it. There was no way to tell how this trip was going to play out, but he was a realist. If this all blew up in his face, he’d rather die on the run than in prison.
* * *
After finally getting out of bed and into their showers, Quinn and Nick began their day. They’d woken up to a text from his aunt Juana inviting them to dinner tonight, and Quinn was excited and at the same time a little nervous. Once he was dressed, Nick sent a text back saying they would be there. By the time he reached the kitchen, Quinn was already making pancakes. He gave her a thumbs-up on the invitation and then began setting the table. When he finished, he came back to the stove and put a hand at her waist as he looked over her shoulder, admiring the cakes coming off the grill.
She was too close and too sexy to ignore, and he buried his face in the curls pulled back at the nape of her neck and thought to himself that she smelled like sunshine and flowers.
“Those look amazing, honey,” Nick said.
“Thank you. I told you I could cook,” she said, managing a smile even though she was still rattled about the Peeping Tom from last night.
Nick could hear the tension in her voice and was angry that, once again, she was frightened for her life. He intended to spend the day finding Paco Cruz and learning what he had done with his information. He had no intention of letting Quinn out of his sight, so unless she was willing to stay with his aunt and uncle today, she was coming with him.
They had just sat down at the table to eat when the doorbell rang. Quinn frowned, but Nick rolled his eyes.
“How much do you want to bet it’s Santino again?”
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Get all of the pancakes you want on your plate now before I go to the door, because he’ll eat what’s left on the platter.”
Quinn laughed and took one more to put on her plate while Nick took a whole stack and then left the kitchen.
Quinn heard him open the door, heard voices, and then two sets of footsteps coming back into the kitchen. Only it wasn’t Santino after all.
“Honey, this is Billy Daniels. He’s Las Vegas Homicide like me. Daniels, I know you remember Quinn.”
“Yes, ma’am, only you look a whole lot better than the first time we met.”
Quinn eyed the fortysomething man, thinking he looked like a bodybuilder squeezed into a suit one size too small, but he seemed friendly and Nick liked him.
“So you must have been present at my ever-so-graceful face-plant on the floor of Homicide,” she said.
“You didn’t face-plant. I caught you,” Nick said.
“And I caught the baby. Lord, Lord, I can’t say I’ve ever been as surprised as I was to see him beneath that jacket,” Daniels said.
Quinn saw him eyeing the pancakes.
“We have extra pancakes, if you’re hungry,” she said.
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said and took off his jacket.
Quinn saw his bulging biceps and thought, Bingo. Bodybuilder for sure. She grabbed an extra plate and some utensils while Nick poured Daniels a cup of coffee.
Billy Daniels wasn’t bashful, and before long they were eating and talking as if they had been friends for years.
“These sure are good pancakes,” Daniels said.
“Quinn made them. She’s a regular Martha Stewart,” Nick said.
“But I don’t make my own wrapping paper,” she added, and then they burst into laughter, leaving Billy at a loss as to what exactly was funny.
“Sorry,” Nick said. “She was just calling me on something I said a few days ago.”
Daniels shrugged and grinned.
“At any rate, you�
�re a good cook, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said.
Nick shoved his plate aside and then refilled their coffee cups.
“I know you didn’t come here for breakfast, so what’s going on?” he asked.
Daniels wiped his mouth and patted his tight belly as he leaned back in the chair.
“So, when I got to the office this morning, I heard more about Paco Cruz. Guess who got jailed on drunk and disorderly and put in Clark County Detention early this morning?”
Nick’s eyes widened.
“Are you serious?”
“Yep. And he’s not even scheduled for arraignment yet, so if you wanted to interview him, now’s your chance.”
“Yes, yes, yes,” Nick said and then pointed at Quinn. “Honey, we’re going to pay our Peeping Tom a visit this morning. You go get ready, and I’ll stack the dirty dishes in the sink. We’ll clean up after we get back.”
Her green eyes flashed with poorly disguised anger.
“I don’t suppose we’ll be able to put our hands on the bastard?”
Nick grinned.
“No, ma’am, and you’re going to wait elsewhere while I talk to him. It’s best he isn’t distracted by your presence, okay?”
“Whatever,” she said and left to go change clothes.
Nick was stacking plates and carrying them to the sink when Daniels laughed.
“She’s a real shrinking violet, isn’t she?”
Nick thought of the life she’d had to fight through to still be here.
“She is a warrior and lucky to be here.”
Daniels’s smile disappeared.
“Hard life?”
Nick nodded, then turned off the coffeemaker and grabbed his car keys and phone as Daniels headed for the door.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” Nick said.
“No problem. I was on my way to interview a possible witness anyway. We got two new homicides last night.”
“Hopefully I’ll get a release soon and can get back to work,” Nick said.
“Heal first. You were one lucky dude that was just a graze.”
“Noted and agreed,” Nick said. “Maybe I’ll see you later. Be careful.”
“I’m not going alone. I’m picking Murphy up on the way.”
“Good,” Nick said, then stood at the door until Daniels drove away before running back through the house to find Quinn.
“Need any help?” he asked, as he walked into her bedroom and saw her standing in front of a full-length mirror with a frown on her face.
“Yes. I still can’t fasten a bra.”
He kissed the crease between her eyebrows and reached behind her and hooked the bra without looking.
“The fact that you are so handy with women’s underwear should piss me off, but you’re too cute to fight with,” Quinn said.
Nick grinned.
“Which shirt?” he asked.
She pointed at a short-sleeve pullover and raised her arms.
He pulled it down over her head, then gently over her wounded shoulder.
“Need help with anything else?” he asked.
“No, I think I’ve got this,” she said, then stepped into backless sandals and slipped her cell phone in her hip pocket.
She ducked in the bathroom and swiped her lips with a pink gloss and glanced at herself in the mirror. Red curls, green eyes and the same straight nose and stubborn chin. She would do.
“You look awfully pretty for such a badass,” Nick said.
She grinned as he leaned in for a quick kiss and then headed to the garage. When they opened the door, Quinn glanced at her Harley in the corner against a wall. This had been the longest time she’d gone without riding, and it felt weird. But this whole experience was weird. She got into the car and was buckled up and wearing sunglasses by the time Nick backed out into the sunshine and drove away.
“Where is the detention center located?” Quinn asked.
“On South Casino Drive. It’s not far.”
“It feels good to be out of the house,” she said.
“I’m sorry you have to feel so cooped up right now, but I think it’s best.”
“I’m sure you’re right. It was just a selfish comment on my part. I’m used to being outdoors and on the move.”
He frowned.
“Are you saying you’re going to feel confined staying in one place?”
She immediately reached for him, making certain he understood what she meant.
“Lord, no! My dream since childhood has been to put down roots somewhere and have a home,” she said.
“Okay, then. I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to kidnap you and put you in the basement to keep from losing you,” he said.
“You don’t have a basement,” she said.
He grinned.
“Well, there’s that, but you know what I meant.”
“You’re trying to make me believe you love me or something,” she said.
“Or something? You still doubt?”
She grinned.
“You have a most wicked smile,” Nick said. “Should I be worried?”
“Of course you should be worried. You’ve gone and tied yourself to a redhead. We’re notoriously dangerous, or something else equally scary. Take your pick.”
“I pick you,” Nick said and reached for her hand.
Quinn surprised him by clasping it tight.
“I am beginning to adore you to distraction,” she said.
“Adoration accepted,” Nick said.
Every day spent with her, he felt himself growing happier, more fulfilled.
How have I been living without this woman? How did I even exist?
The thought of Anton Baba wanting to harm her made him crazy. They had to find that man and get him behind bars.
Within a few minutes Nick reached the detention center. He parked and headed indoors with Quinn beside him. He signed in, requesting to speak to Paco Cruz regarding a case, and was taken back to an interrogation room. He had settled Quinn in a viewing room where she could hear and see what was said and done, and then Nick waited for Paco to be brought to the room.
A few minutes passed, and then the door opened and the man was brought in shackled and handcuffed and seated opposite Nick. A guard stood inside the room a few feet away.
Nick could tell Paco was nervous. It must have been uncomfortable to be cuffed and sitting in front of the detective you’d been spying on the night before.
“Saldano,” Paco said, feigning a brave face. “What are you doing here?”
“Trying to find out why you were trespassing on my property last night. That doesn’t really sound like your usual work. But then, you aren’t quite the man you were last time we met. What knocked you off the tough-guy list and down to Peeping Tom?”
Paco was stunned. “How did you—” But the moment he said it, he groaned. He’d almost admitted to being in his backyard. The cop was right. He’d definitely lost his edge.
Nick slapped his hand on the table.
“I know shit because I’m a cop. So, Anton Baba still has you doing his dirty work, I see.”
“I don’t work for him no more,” Paco said.
“Oh, no? But you snitch for him, right? Where is he? Why did he send you to my home?”
“I said I didn’t talk to Baba,” Paco said.
“I can get a search warrant for your phone...the one we have here on site, and I can listen to messages and see the name and number of everyone you’ve called. We can do it that way, stretch it out long and slow and keep you chained up in the meantime, or you could tell me now and make it easier on yourself.”
Paco dropped his head, staring at the cuffs around his wrists.
“So? I’m waiting,” Nick said. “Start talking, or you’re going to wind up behind bars for aiding and abetting a man charged with the murder of two federal agents and God only knows what else they’re going to nail him with.”
Paco panicked. What the hell? This was not the kind of shit he meant to get involved in.
“I don’t know nothing about no federal agents. But...yeah, I did call him the other day. Only he never called me back!”
“I’m supposed to believe that?”
Paco shrugged.
“So go check the phone and find out for yourself,” he muttered.
Nick tried another angle.
“Why did you call him in the first place?”
“I heard he was looking for two women. I don’t know what for, but I saw one of them a few days back and thought I could make a little extra dough. But I didn’t know where she was staying, so I went looking.”
“Why did you come to my place?” Nick asked.
“I heard you took out Dev Bosky at Centennial Hill Hospital while you were guarding the redhead Baba wanted gone. Then I saw you with the redhead when I was at work. Maybe it was coincidence, but I figured there was a chance she was staying with you. A good-lookin’ woman like that? I thought maybe you wanted to help her out...off duty.” Paco smirked at him with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Nick felt sick. He thought he’d been so careful, but even then with all the care he’d taken to get Quinn to a doctor and back, it hadn’t been enough. They’d still been seen.
“So what did you see?” Nick snapped, hoping this punk had been looking at the wrong time and hadn’t caught a glimpse of Quinn while they were outside.
Paco shrugged.
Nick slapped the table again.
“What the fuck did you see?”
“I saw her at your place, okay? But I didn’t tell anyone, so relax! I...” He paused, looking embarrassed. “I decided to celebrate a bit before I talked to anyone, but it got outta control and...here I am.”
Nick sat there staring at him, trying to figure out how he could make all this work and still keep Quinn safe. And then it hit him.
“Okay, asshole. You want a way out of this? Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to get your phone and you’re going to send Baba a text telling him that you found one of the women he’s looking for, and you’re going to give him an address. Not mine, but one I’m going to give you, understand?”
