by Mimi Barbour
No more – no less.
His phone rang, disturbing his quiet time. A niggling feeling struck, making him hesitate. What the hell? The hair on his neck and arms performed like it did when he faced danger.
Somehow, he knew this call was going to change everything. Should he answer it? Feeling suddenly silly, his hand reached but hesitated before he lifted the receiver.
Chapter Three
Carolina Madison, Special Agent with the Seattle Drug Enforcement Agency finally had a night to relax and pack. With her major cases organized, paperwork completed, and her suitcases zipped, she had everything ready, waiting for her upcoming trip.
She’d spent the better part of the afternoon with her old gramps, the person who’d raised her, her mentor, her hero, the only man she’d ever loved wholeheartedly.
He’d been particularly sassy this day, teasing her about her plans for the future and telling her he’d never get to rock a great-grandbaby if she didn’t fix her skewered attitude toward the noble males of the world.
“Noble? You should have seen what I recently witnessed Poppa John. Trust me; it isn’t particularly honorable when men slink around like sick dogs selling drugs they know will ruin people’s lives. Or their male bosses who care only about raking in the millions so they can buy yet another diamond earring or toy they don’t need.”
“Those folks aren’t the ones I’m talking about and you know it. Charli, you gotta loosen up, kiddo. Men scare easily, and when you get that dogged look and your eyes fill with ice, it terrifies them.”
Laughing at the visual, Carolina asked, “Pops, how do you know what I look like when I’m on the job?” She stopped her massage of his shoulders and bent to peer into his lined face. His one good eye, still brown, stared her down, while the bluish blind eye seemed to have sight, though she knew differently.
“‘Cause that’s your permanent expression when you talk about your work, so I’m assuming you probably walk around all day at the office looking like you just swallowed a squishy bug. And, I’ve seen you mad. Remember the time I warned you that the old woman down the hall was breaking into my place and stealing my stuff? I saw the look you got.”
“Yeah, that was because I thought you meant she’d stolen your property, not some silly old medicated cream.”
“Hey, that is my property. And it’s not just any old medicated cream,” he sneered the words. “It was my expensive B.C. Bud Rub you order for me online. I shouldn’t have bragged about how well it worked on my knees. or felt sorry for her and given the crazy old woman a sample.”
Keeping her face straight, Carolina remembered how she’d tried to talk him out of his idea that some senior lady from down the hall had broken into his apartment, snuck into his fridge and helped herself to his cream. It had made no sense.
“I know you didn’t believe me, but you sure changed your mind when she woke you up last weekend. I’m glad we’d guzzled too much wine at the restaurant next door, and you couldn’t drive home. You spent the night here and caught her red-handed, right? Not so smart now are we, little girl? See, this old guy’s still got it. And, I saw your expression when you turned on the light and caught her… colder than a witch’s tit.”
“Quit with the expressions, you brat. I wasn’t being mean, just upset. I knew without your hearing aids, you couldn’t hear anyone breaking in. It made me wonder how often she’d taken advantage of you.”
“That never happened, kiddo. When she tried, I fought her off.” Seeing her shocked expression, eyes twinkling merrily, he’d laughed loud and long.
Giggling again over his cheekiness, she let go of the memory.
Relaxed in her oldest, gray sweat pants with the word sexy written in bright pink over the butt cheeks – a gift from her goofy grandfather – paired with a t-shirt from Quantico, thick socks in rose-colored fluff and her red curls tied up in a mess over her head, she felt like a teenager.
Just that day, she’d finished writing up the intel on her latest undercover drug case, organized all the paperwork, and had handed the huge file in to her superiors.
Happily accepting their praise during the debriefing, she’d finally unwound when they’d agreed she should take time off. Drastically in need of a break, Carolina knew her limitations. They’d been reached weeks ago.
Infiltrating a gang of known felons, getting them to trust her enough to let her carry some of their precious cargo had taken perseverance and smarts. She’d lived on the edge; becoming a criminal in every way to fit in had taken its toll.
Starting at the Mexican port of entry, where they collected their drugs from their cartel associates, they taught her the Points of Entry and the avenues of delivery used to transport the cocaine to their hideaway in Seattle.
That knowledge had been a huge boost in helping her set up the sting. She’d led the taskforce to them, finally shutting down those corridors and charging two of the biggest drug lords in the city of Seattle.
Understandably, the adrenalin she’d lived on for the last three months had worn off, leaving her drained, quick to anger, and too jumpy by far.
And in the end, they’d moved in and taken the gang down in a shootout she’d never envisioned. Maintaining her cool with heavy doses of headache medication and sporadic, brief, but delightful, visits with her gramps had reached its pinnacle. She was done.
But that was over, she was home and wanted to forget those horrific moments. Last night, for nine hours she’d been out for the count with only a cup of milky hot chocolate and an open window as sedatives to help her sleep.
Home was the west coast of Washington State where they suffered from continuous rain for months, and she was tired of it. Her parents, both deceased from a horrific car accident on a slick road when she was a very young girl, had once rented them a house in Fort Lauderdale with a swimming pool and a full backyard of luxurious living.
The memories they’d made were still precious to this day. They’d taken Poppa John along with them, and his dunking her in the pool and making her play catch, and the constant hugs and teasing still ranked as some of her favorite recollections.
During that vacation, her gramps and mom had taught her how to make her favorite food, Perogies. They’d made a shitload and stuffed those dumplings with everything from potatoes and cheese to blueberries. God, she missed those days when they’d shared a home.
Left with only her weekly visits at the retirement home – affectionately known as the lodge – taking him on daytrips for lunches and shopping, movies and very short hikes, Carolina decided that her recent abandonment issues were stupid. He didn’t want to live with her and give up all his activities with his peers who lived at the same old-age facility. Her guilt was misplaced.
There, he bowled, played a crazy kind of sit-down hockey, danced at the weekly happy hours and teased the ladies so that they babied the heck out of him. The caregivers adored the old coot, almost as much as she did. Even though she’d have loved to have him live with her, she accepted he’d have spent too many lonely hours waiting for her to come home. And that would be unthinkable.
Starting tomorrow, she had a month’s vacation and meant to spoil herself with every costly treat she could think of. After her spinster aunt’s will had been probated many years earlier, she’d come out with a cool million, both her and her parents. Since their money had eventually passed on to their only child, she’d have no financial worries. Invested properly, it would give her a nice home one day and a very good retirement.
In the meantime, deciding she’d need periodic spoiling, she’d left a slush account on the side to pay for a few wonderful vacations over the next several years. Her gramps had urged her to go, spend the money and have a good time. Charli, my beautiful girl,let your gorgeous curly hair down, get pregnant, enjoy… ahh life.
Ha! He did have a way with words. When she’d pointed out she didn’t have a husband, he’d come back with a shocker.
“So what? Nowadays, you don’t need a spouse to have a kid. N
ot if you don’t want one.”
She laughed again, her memories delightful. One thing she did agree with, she’d never needed a time-out more.
Once again, the southeastern coast of Florida called to her, and she’d made all the arrangements to vacation in Fort Lauderdale. She’d even found a lovely home to rent in a nice area with an oceanfront view and didn’t care about it being too large for one person.
She’d invited her gramps to come for a visit once she got settled, which he’d happily accepted, and all his paraphernalia would soon fill up the place. He never heard of travelling light.
Unable to face a lot of vacationing research after the months she’d gone through, she’d fallen back on their favorite city from previous stays. As a get-away from the rigors of a life constantly on the edge, it suited her perfectly. The urban location, perfect for a sun-lover, held everything she could want. Trendy restaurants, wonderful shopping and vistas of ocean beauty close by would fill the heart of any person in need of cleansing dark memories.
Heading to the bathroom to turn on the hot water in her spa tub and add the Japanese Cherry Blossoms bath soap that smelled delicious, she sauntered toward the hallway, calling out, “Alexa – turn on – Man, I Feel Like a Woman by Shania Twain.”
In a few seconds the music poured from the Amazon Echo thingy her gramps had given her that year for Christmas. Skipping to the beat of her favorite song, careful not to spill a drop of her expensive, spicy-smelling, fruity-tasting Shiraz, wiggling and dancing while she moved, she hummed along with Shania.
As she neared the front door, all hell broke loose.
Someone banged for attention, and the ruckus stopped her in her tracks. Clear enough to grab her attention, female screams for help filtered through the solid wood.
Adrenalin surges simmering just below the surface from her last job kicked into high gear. Quickly putting her sloshed drink on the floor and retrieving her weapon from the hidden drawer where she stored it when she was at home, she readied herself and checked the peephole. Observing the distressed person on the other side, she breathed deeply and stuck her rioting curls behind her ears.
“Alexa – turn off.”
Chapter Four
Once she’d realized the threat looked to be female, hysterical and just a teenager, Carolina whipped open the door. “Stop that.” She held the gun at her side and used her other hand to point at the girl’s twisted features. “Stop screaming. Get in here.”
Helping the girl into her place, she checked the corridor. “It’s okay folks, she’s with me. I’m Agent Carolina Madison, FBI.” She shut and locked the door, and placed the gun behind her back in the waistband of her pants. Turning to the cowering girl, she grunted, “This better be good. Acting like a complete moron, screaming, upsetting everyone in the place. What possessed you?”
The quivering girl shouted; panic evident, “He’s coming to kill me.”
“Calm down.” Carolina took the teen’s wildly jerking hands in hers and held them in front of her, giving them a shake. “He who?”
As she listened, she automatically registered certain details about the slender teen’s appearance. Her black hair worn long and straggly, moisture-filled brown eyes widened by fear, and the Chinese features, that showed a promise of beauty, stood out the most.
Voice again rising, hysteria the cause, the girl clarified, “The same man who killed the woman in the opposite apartment building.”
Stunned by her reply, Carolina’s radar slipped into operational mode. “A man killed a woman in the opposite apartment? How the hell do you know that?”
“I watched. He caught me. His evil expression through Bud’s binoculars warned that he saw me. And he’ll come. He knows where I live.” Terror-filled, shaking uncontrollably, Alicia grabbed at Carolina, her eyes enlarged by fear and dripping tears. “You’ve got to help me.”
Carolina, trying to grasp everything at once, to decipher the babble and make sense of the situation, hesitated.
“Agent Carolina, you’ve got to believe me. Look, I live with the White’s down the hall. Tonight I was babysitting. I was like, bored, so I used Bud’s binoculars and looked out the window. The killer knows I saw him. He’ll come and shoot me too. You’ve got to believe me.” Spittle running from the side of her mouth, snot ready to drip, Alicia sniffled and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
Carolina zeroed in on the one word that left her stunned. “Babysitting? There’re kids left alone? How many?”
“Three babies. They’re sleeping. I’ll go and get them and bring them here. I just wasn’t sure you’d be home, and I didn’t want to scare them for nothing.”
“Wait. When did this happen?”
“A few minutes ago, maybe five. I came here as soon as I remembered you were a cop. I’ll get them.”
“No, you’ll stay right here and call 911. I’ll go and check out the apartment. What number is it? Is the door locked?”
“No! Oh man, I forgot to lock the door or bring the keys. It’s at the end of the hall on the left, Apartment 2020. The babies are alone with that killer.” The teen slid her shaking hand through her long hair at the front, gathered it and threw it back over her shoulders.
“Calm down. Do as I told you. The phone’s in the kitchen. Call the police and tell them what you told me. And whatever happens, don’t leave this apartment. Only let me, or the guys with a badge come in. Got it?”
“Got it.” Alicia ran for the kitchen, knocking over a chair on her way and ignoring it.
Rattled, using her training to control uncomfortable urges of running as far and fast as she could, Carolina reached behind her for her gun, turned the safety off and opened the door. She made sure it locked behind her and then checked the corridor, noticing the elevator light showing the last stop had been on their floor.
Which could mean nothing or…
Slowly, holding the gun in the two-handed aim taught at the academy, she made her way to the apartment down at the end of the hall. Ready to hurl, her stomach reacting violently to the sudden stress, she forcefully tamped down on the negative emotions. Reaching, she opened the door noiselessly and slipped inside.
Surveying the living room, she recognized the sweet odor one gets from a can of room spray. The view from the huge window caught her attention. The girl could be telling the truth. Suddenly, she heard a noise and quickly sought refuge behind the puffy couch sitting a few feet away from the wall.
A man, dressed in dark clothes and a mask, slipped out of the bedroom hallway and moved toward the kitchen. She saw him silhouetted in the soft lighting from under the counter and noticed instantly; he held a Glock with a silencer and looked completely comfortable while doing so.
Shit. The teen had called it right. He was here to clean up.
Unwilling to show herself, knowing that a killer wouldn’t hesitate to shoot; she hoped he’d turn away from her to check the pantry. Then she could sneak up from behind and catch him unaware.
Before the plan could be implemented, distant sirens informed that the police had arrived. Now spooked, the killer headed for the exit.
Reluctant to let him escape, Carolina called out, her voice shrilly. “FBI. Hold it ri-right where you are. Drop your—”
Gunshots, aimed her way, thudding into the wall above her, stopped the rest of her speech. Dropping down again and peeking from the side of the sofa, she sent one bullet toward him but realized he’d already made a sprint for freedom. She heard the door crash open and running footsteps.
Quickly swallowing her reluctance to move, she followed to the staircase, reopening the closing door. She yanked her head back just in time as he sent a flurry of bullets her way. Not wanting to get shot, but needing to shadow the asshole, shaking badly, she glued her body to the wall and took her time.
Once she started moving, her feet slithered on the steps under her and she barely had enough time to grab at the railing. Savagely ripping the slippery, fuzzy socks from her feet, she dropped them on the g
round and continued her chase.
On every floor, she peeked to see if she had a clear shot but had to hold her fire. The killer knew to keep to the wall, giving her less of an angle to take a chance. Floor after floor, she chased him down, praying no citizen looking for exercise would take the stairs.
Around the fourth floor, her anticipated nightmare came into play. A woman with her small dog opened the door, meaning to use the stairs. Seeing this happening, Carolina sent a volley of bullets at the killer to keep him from firing his own weapon and yelled at the same time, “Get back, Lady.”
A scream from the woman and pitiful yaps from the leashed dog were heard before the door clanked shut. Thankful the woman wasn’t near enough to become a hostage, Carolina continued her chase, gaining on him with every floor they hit.
Praying the police would automatically cover every exit, she hoped they’d be in place before the killer reached the bottom floor.
Obviously thinking the same way, the shooter didn’t do the expected. He left the stairs on the second level and Carolina followed as soon as she reached that landing. Not sure what to expect, she carefully opened the stairway exit and checked the hall each way, right and left.
Nothing!
As if he’d vanished into thin air, there was no sign of him. Until she heard the scream and watched the door from the second apartment past the stairs get flung open, and a crazed woman emerged.
Thin as a rake, her hands flapping wildly, the poor victim looked as if a complete breakdown was only seconds away. Sympathizing, knowing how she felt, Carolina rushed at her yelling, “Come this way.”
“He sh-shot my husband.” More screams erupted.
Carolina pulled her to the safety of the stairs, shook her to make her listen. “Ma’am, I need to know. Is the killer still in there?”
“No! He left. Over the balcony. He caught my husband opening the door and forced his way inside. He shot him and then went over the balcony. Oh, my God. I think he killed my man.”
