Her Last Chance

by Michele Albert

  “Smile. You need to look calm, simply another shopper grazing the Harrods acres.”

  The smile she gave him wasn’t entirely convincing, but it would have to do. “We’re going to walk right past him toward the street exit. Hold on to my arm and don’t let go.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Trust me?” Rainert asked, smiling.

  Anger flashed in her eyes. “Of course not, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

  “True,” he said blithely and then turned and walked toward Will Tiernay.

  Rainert didn’t know this agent and had no idea how dangerous Tiernay might be, but he marked the man’s face in his memory. If he were to deliver this Tiernay to Vulaj’s kin—if not today, then some other time—that might get them off his back.

  Rainert could feel Vanessa trembling, trying to pull away as they came closer to Tiernay. “Stop that,” he murmured. “You’re free. You have every right to be here. Show it to them. Show it to everyone.”

  It seemed to help; her shoulders straightened and she quit dragging her heels. He wasn’t sure which of the women in the department was Tiernay’s girlfriend and asked, “Which one is your old friend?”

  “She’s back by the pillar,” Vanessa whispered, and he didn’t miss the quaver in her voice.

  A quick glance showed him a pretty, slender woman with a lot of dark hair, wearing a red T-shirt. Earthy, gypsylike, and not quite what he would have expected of the conservative-appearing Tiernay.

  A few feet more, and Vanessa’s hands tightened on his arm, her nails digging once again into his muscles. He ignored the pain, keeping his attention on Tiernay, who was comparing two ties against a shirt: one a navy tie with a chevron print and the other a lighter gray satin with a subtle stripe.

  “The navy one is a better choice,” Rainert said as they walked past, then added, “I’d buy that one.”

  Tiernay smiled as he looked up. “Thanks, I—”

  His eyes widened, and as he said, “Sonofabitch!” Rainert bellowed, “Bomb! This man has a bomb! Terrorist! Run, run!”

  He dragged Vanessa with him while the entire men’s department erupted in a churning, screaming panic as shoppers stampeded for the exit. Security guards flew past them, heading in the opposite direction toward Tiernay.

  “Oh, my God,” Vanessa gasped, looking back.

  “Keep running,” Rainert ordered coldly and steered her toward the door, ruthlessly shoving through the terrified throng. Someone nearby fell with a high-pitched scream, but he didn’t stop, didn’t care. He risked a quick glance backward only once, gratified to see his heavy-handed plan had worked: Tiernay was on the floor, buried beneath a pile of uniforms as the wild-haired woman, shouting in anger, was restrained by several others.

  Outside he continued to move fast, knowing he didn’t have much time. They’d have to clear out of the hotel, and then he’d have to make a few phone calls. Dammit, he still had work to do in London; this was going to cause all sorts of unwelcome complications.

  “That was brilliant!” Vanessa exclaimed.

  Her exultant shout reminded him of her presence, and he was surprised to see the sparkle of laughter in her eyes and bright spots of color on her cheeks.

  Quite pretty, really. In her own way.

  “Simply brilliant,” she repeated. “I never would’ve thought of that. Do you think they killed him?”

  The eagerness in her voice also surprised him. His meek little kitten was rather bloodthirsty.

  “Keep quiet! And no, it’s unlikely he’s hurt, but he’ll be stewing in jail for at least a few hours. When he gets out, they’ll be looking for us, so we need to leave London now.” Still amused by her response, he said, “And thank you for the compliment. It helps to be able to think fast.”

  “I loved it! Did you see the look on his face? Bastard—I hope they hurt him anyway.” She glanced up as they hurried to the tube station. “From here on out, I won’t doubt your word, Rainert.”

  “I’m flattered.” Oddly, he was; as if he’d needed to prove something to this woman, and he had no idea why. “Stick with me, and I’ll show you what it’s really like to be free.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Saturday, Dallas

  Claudia met her contact at a small ice cream parlor in downtown Dallas late in the afternoon. If Philly in August was hot, Texas was hellish.

  The contact was an impeccably dressed youngish Asian-American named Jeff Chu, who worked for a major insurance agency. He didn’t tell her which one; she didn’t ask—and didn’t care. Most of her clients were insurance carriers. A number of them had long ties with Ben Sheridan, and it was a beneficial alliance. He charged them a lot to find wayward art and collectibles, but that was still cheaper than settling a claim for millions of dollars.

  “I never thought about churches having insurance. You’d think faith in God or something would handle all that,” Claudia said, slurping up the dregs of her malt.

  “Don’t be flip, Ms. Cruz. This is serious business.”

  “It’s pretty much routine for me. You just tell me how many churches were robbed and what’s gone missing, and I’ll take it from there.”

  Chu slid a half dozen fat, file-size envelopes toward her. “All the information you’ll need is here. Contact me if you have any questions or need additional information. Otherwise, I don’t expect to hear from you until you’ve found the missing relics.” He stood. “Good day, Ms. Cruz.”

  Claudia watched him leave, walking like his boxer shorts were stuffed full of porcupine quills, and shook her head. Not just unfriendly but rude.

  Or maybe she’d been a little rude herself. It was hard to be enthusiastic on only a few hours of sleep. All that frantic sex and operating at full speed had caught up with her, and, despite the lengthy nap on the plane, she needed to crawl into bed and sleep away the rest of the day.

  Her gaze fell to the packets on the table. Ugh, paperwork—and lots of it. Not her favorite part of the job. If she tried to read all that right now, it would only put her to sleep.

  She checked the time on her cell phone, wondering if she should try Vincent again. Her first call had bounced to voice mail. She’d left a message that she’d call him back tonight, so she should do exactly that. The last thing she wanted was to go all clingy on him.

  Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she let out a huff. She already missed Vincent something terrible, a sure sign that she was getting too emotional over him. Maybe this little break was a good idea. It’d help her think over the situation without his distracting nearness—and her crazy need to jump his bones given the slightest opportunity.

  Again, she eyed the monster pile of papers. Whether it put her to sleep or not, she had to read it over. She grabbed the files and headed to her rental car, grimacing as the heat blasted her outside the shop.

  As she left the parking lot, she tried to remember when she’d last been in Dallas. It had been a long time, for sure. She didn’t have a lot of fond memories of the city after what had gone down here, and she had no reason to come here now that her family had moved outside the city.

  She was tempted to drive to the Dallas barrio where she’d grown up, to revisit the Tex-Mex culture she’d known for so much of her life, but in the end she headed toward the highway, driving away from downtown and its unique skyline: a self-conscious huddle of skyscrapers smack in the middle of what she’d always sworn was the flattest land in all the United States.

  Heading south on 45, she lowered the windows and let the wind blast through her hair. Her family lived in the tiny town of Bellefleur, and now was as good a time as any for a quick surprise visit.

  The town was home to a largely blue-collar Mexican-American population. No McMansions here, only boxy little houses popular during the sixties and seventies, showing their age but still well-tended. It might not be much, but it was better than the poorest parts of Dallas. If nothing else, her job with Avalon was helping her to keep her family in safer neighborhoods.


  She pulled up to a drab green ranch and parked under the carport awning. The grass needed mowing, the concrete on the front porch could stand some patching, and toys and small bikes littered the lawn. But the flower gardens ringing the house were impeccably tended.

  Her grandmother Consuela sat on a lawn chair on the porch shelling fresh peas, each little round green pea making a ping as it hit the big metal bowl between her bare feet. After Claudia’s grandfather died two years ago, Granny Consuela had moved in with her parents. She wore a flower-print tee and a long, baggy skirt that emphasized her frailness. The old lady was squinting at Claudia’s rental car as she pulled up, trying to see who was driving such a nice, new vehicle.

  “Abuelita!” Claudia grinned, waving, as she got out of the car. “Surprise visit!”

  Her grandmother grinned back—Claudia was delighted to see that someone had finally persuaded her to buy new dentures—and motioned her over to sit beside her. The old woman spoke just enough English to get by, and now she let loose with a rapid string of Spanish.

  “Whoa, slow down,” Claudia protested, laughing, as she took a seat in the other lawn chair. “I speak English most of the time these days, remember? I’m a little rusty.”

  “You don’t forget something like that,” her grandmother said, her tone frosty.

  “I didn’t say I forgot, only that I have to get my head and ears used to it again. There’s a difference.”

  “You should have called ahead to let us know you were coming.”

  “Yes, but you know how my work is: sometimes I don’t know where I’ll be until I’m there.”

  Granny Consuela shook her head, long gray braids swishing back and forth. “Crazy life. Crazy, crazy.”

  Not in the mood for a disapproving lecture on her work, Claudia quickly changed the subject. “Where’s everyone?”

  “This is why you should have called. Your mother and father are in the city. Tía Adela is in the hospital. She has a bad heart, you know.”

  No, Claudia didn’t know. “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Bah, she’s a tough old woman, like me. She’ll be with us awhile longer yet.”

  “How come you’re not visiting, too?”

  “Your tío Manny took me to see her yesterday. Those hospital rooms are so small, it’s easier to take turns. His wife left him, you know.”

  “What?” Claudia asked, startled. “Who?”

  “Fabiana, Manny’s wife. She left him. He’s a good boy. Too bad about that, yes?”

  “Yes,” Claudia said automatically. She’d forgotten the way all the little dramas constantly played out like this in the “real” world. Funny, how she could miss even something so mundane.

  Without warning, the old woman dumped a pile of pea pods on Claudia’s lap. “A good price on peas at the market today. I’m going to freeze some of them,” she said.

  They sat in a companionable silence, shelling peas to the accompaniment of traffic and the muffled sounds of music and TV from the neighboring houses. Claudia tried not to think what this was doing to her manicure. A rush of screaming, laughing children came running down the street, waved at them, then veered around a corner of the next house. After a while, their shrieks and laughter faded.

  “The Iturbide family put in a pool. I think maybe they are having second thoughts about that.” Her grandmother pointed at Claudia’s knees. “So what happened to you? Somebody beat you up in this crazy job you have?”

  “No, I fell down.”

  The old woman snorted. “Looks like you fell down very fast and very hard.”

  Claudia grinned. “It’s a long story, but I’m fine.”

  “How is that nice young man you work for? The one who helped out your grandfather and me?”

  Nice young man? Well, Sheridan was a man. One out of three wasn’t bad. “He’s fine. Busy making money, I’m sure.”

  “Are you working around here, then?”

  Claudia nodded. “I may be around the Dallas and Houston areas for a while, on and off. It seems someone’s been breaking into churches and stealing reliquaries and other things.”

  “No!” Her grandmother hastily made the sign of the cross. “Stealing from churches! What is this world coming to? I don’t even listen to the news anymore. It just scares me. I stay with my game shows.”

  “There are days when it seems nothing good ever happens, Abuelita.”

  “What’s some thief going to do with church things? TVs and cars I understand, but bones, bits of old cloth, or vestments?” Her grandmother shook her head, a look of disgust drawing together the many seams and wrinkles of her face. “God will cut them down for that, you’ll see.”

  “Fine by me if He does. It’ll make my job a lot easier.”

  More peas pinged into the bowl, then her grandmother sent her a penetrating look. “Have you been going to Mass?”

  Damn; she should’ve seen that one coming.

  “When I get the chance,” Claudia said.

  Her grandmother heaved a dramatic sigh, clearly not fooled. “And still not married, I see. I would like great-grandchildren.”

  “You have twelve already!”

  “You think I can’t find room in my heart for more?”

  Claudia managed not to scowl or roll her eyes. “Of course not, Abuelita. Stop trying to make me feel guilty. You know I hate that.”

  “You’re a good girl,” Granny Consuela said, reaching over to pat Claudia’s hand. “You take good care of your family. That’s important. We worry about you, though. Your mother would like to see you find a nice man to settle down with. Babies or no, she worries that you are lonely. Your father agrees. If you have to put yourself in such crazy work, you should at least have a husband around to help take care of you.”

  If Claudia thought it would do any good, she’d have reminded her grandmother that she could take care of herself. But Granny came from a different generation.

  “I did meet a nice man recently.”

  “This is very good news! What kind of work does he do?”

  “He’s an FBI agent.”

  “FBI!” Granny Consuela rapidly crossed herself again, and then once more for good measure.

  “He’s not a border agent, Abuelita. His work is the same as mine—going after people who steal art and collectibles.”

  “Aha! Then you have a lot in common. This is very good news.”

  “Well, it’s not like we’re getting married or anything. We just met. I like him, but work is going to keep us busy. That’s always the hard part.”

  “Work, work, work. . . . All you young girls these days, it’s all you worry about. Work is good, but you need to be good to yourself, too. And remember, a good man is hard to find.” Granny Consuela paused. “So . . . is he a good man?”

  “They don’t get much better than him,” Claudia said with feeling—and realized with dismay that the real reason she’d come to visit was that she wanted to talk about Vincent. Just talk, to anybody who would lend an understanding ear.

  Her mother might have been more sympathetic—and a little less set in the old ways—but her grandmother could make a good sounding board, too.

  “If he’s a good man, then you should keep him.”

  “It’s not that easy, Abuelita.”

  “Yes it is, if you want it enough. Your problem, Claudia, is you still don’t know what you want. A troubling thing, in a woman as old as you are.”

  “I’m not that old.” Exasperated, Claudia accidentally shot a few peas over the top of the bowl and down the porch steps, where they were lost in the weedy grass. “And besides, it’s not the same as when—”

  “I know you girls are different today. It’s a bigger world than when I was your age, but some things do not change. You find someone who is for you, and you stay with them. You make it work. Maybe it’s hard, but you make it work.”

  The words—and her grandmother’s firm tone—rang true. Claudia sighed and sat back, tossing away a pile of empty pea po
ds. “I’m trying, Abuelita. It’s just that . . . it’s not easy for me, you know?”

  “You always were a very distrustful child.”

  “I think I prefer the term solitary,” Claudia protested, a little stung. “I preferred to do things on my own terms, and everybody else was into group-this, group-that, and they got mad at me for not wanting to go along.”

  “Yes, but sometimes you could have done it your way, and other times do what others asked of you. There’s no shame in meeting someone in the middle.”

  “I do have a hard time with compromise,” Claudia admitted, grabbing another handful of pods. Silence gathered again, except for peas pinging in the bowl, until she said, “How do you know if it’s real? What you feel for someone . . . that it’s real?”

  Granny Consuela stared at her. “Well, what else would it be?”

  Discussing specifics of sex, lust, and love was not what Claudia intended, even if her grandmother had given birth to eight children and surely knew what transpired between a man and a woman.

  “Well, sometimes when you first meet someone, you get carried away by the moment. You’re not really thinking with . . . your head.”

  “Ah. Those feelings.” Her grandmother sat back and waggled her gray eyebrows as Claudia laughed. “Yes, they are nice, but nicer yet when there’s also respect and affection. If you respect this man, if you care for him, you can build something more from that.”

  “You make it sound so easy.”

  “It can be.” Her grandmother popped several raw peas into her mouth. “Sometimes, it’s not. We all have that kind of trouble, not knowing if we make the right choices. Did you think it would be any different for you?”

  Well, this was a new low: having your grandmother tell you that you’re acting like a whiny, melodramatic brat and complicating matters more than necessary.

  “No, Abuelita. I don’t think I deserve any special treatment. But I was hoping you’d take pity on me and spill the secrets of the male universe.”

  Granny Consuela grinned. “Here’s a secret: men are easier to manage when they get older. You don’t have to shake a broom at them or threaten to whack them nearly as often.”