by Mimi Barbour
Taking a deep breath of relief, she stuttered, “Y-you can?” Her nerves stopped short-circuiting, skidded to a crawl and settled back into a somewhat normal rhythm.
“For a few days, to let you gals get your bearings. But I’ll be in and out, so expect it.”
“Call first.”
“I can do that too.”
“Okay then. Okay.” She watched Kayla doing a little wiggly, in-place-dance and realized for the first time that the house had hooked the kid as much as it had pleased her.
“Tomorrow is soon enough to get you girls on par with what we set in place – the school, your job, everything you’ll need. In the meantime, there’s good security on the property and motion lights set up outside. Come with me, I’ll show you around. ”
Charli had to admit that for a bachelor, the man kept a nice house. And the well-outfitted gym and spacious pool out back drew both her and Kayla. Letting down her guard, she pivoted, almost slamming into the man. His hands caught her but let go instantly, as if he’d been scalded, his features comically reacting.
“It’s a beautiful home.” Truth rang in her voice, and she had no idea why she felt the need to give him the compliment. Maybe because he’d been sympathetic about her need for privacy. Or maybe because he knew women, and he played her. It didn’t matter, she could breathe again.
Chapter Thirteen
Driving back to the office, Blake pondered his situation. He had no idea why he’d agreed to Charli’s ridiculous ultimatum. After all, they were two law officers forced together in a sticky situation of needing to protect Kayla.
If Silverado made it his business to find the girl, the fucker would do it by following the trail they hadn’t taken enough time to bury properly. With the dude’s contacts throughout the dark web and obvious expertise online, Blake had no doubt they could be in danger sooner rather than later.
After Chief Prowler had called him, explaining the situation and asked for his assistance, he’d made it his business to call his buddy, top media expert, whiz hacker and all-around computer genius, Tod Rawlins.
Tod wasn’t on the force, though Blake often called on him. With Blake’s assistance, he’d barely kept his ass out of the slammer – the kid skimmed close to the line more often than not. To pay back the favor, he’d take on special jobs for Blake when they needed someone with his special skills.
At his tender age of nineteen, he managed his own computer business building squeaky-clean websites for people who required privacy and were willing to pay big bucks to ensure they had the best.
Once Blake had explained the reasons why he needed his help, Tod became involved, dug deep and the stuff he found scared the shit out of them both. They’d pieced together a lot of material and one thing became very clear. This killer had no conscience.
Reading over Tod’s numerous notes had enlightened him to the fact that the prick, Ross, loved to kill, plain and simple. And he did it well. Anyone who left his calling card at each scene – his ritual for bragging to law enforcement – that person was one sick dude.
It didn’t matter the gender or age of his victims. Personally, Blake wondered if the FBI had uncovered all the murders Silverado actually committed. If not, the one’s where he’d followed his MO and left the silver bullet casing as his calling card were sufficient to give them an insight into the sociopathic sicko.
His narcissistic tendencies, that craved attention, might be his greatest downfall. Obviously, he loved his chosen line of work, which paid him big money. And… his reputation mattered; certainly enough where he’d need to cauterize loose ends, like a witness who could place him as the killer.
Blake stopped at a red light, and a beautiful woman crossed in front of his assigned SUV. The way she sauntered – the swaggering carriage of her fine body – brought another to mind, Special Agent Charli Madison.
Hold it bud, get it right. Her name used to be that. Now she’ll be known as plain old Charli Steele.
Which would be an oxymoron of huge proportions; that chick was anything but old or plain.
Her image appeared from memory, and his hands tightened on the steering wheel. She had a way about her that drew him in and repelled him all at the same time.
He envisioned capturing the gaze from her melting brown eyes while he scattered light kisses over the high cheek bones that gave her a model-like appearance. Then he’d shift his attention and place scalding, searching kisses on her lush lips, drain her resistance. He wouldn’t stop until she sighed his name with delight.
Shifting his butt, he turned up the air conditioner.
Earlier, he’d teased her about her curls, but when he’d touched the silkiness, his hands had itched to dig in and clutch the mass, to draw her closer so he could teach her a lesson.
Then she’d spoke, and the craving had faded. He’d wished to be anywhere but in the same space as her all-seeing eyes and smirking, knowledgeable stare that saw deep inside him, into places no one got to inspect… not even himself.
Waiting for the light to change, he again questioned his reluctance to push Charli on their accommodations. He’d sensed her dislike and it intrigued him. Not one to brag or take smug, self-satisfied selfies, nonetheless, women liked him. All of them. He hadn’t met one yet who didn’t. Correction – he’d just met her.
And as much as he’d have enjoyed continuing to stick pins in her prickly attitude, to get her to retaliate, the look of horror on Kayla’s face had prompted his surrender.
For some strange reason he didn’t want to investigate too closely, he’d taken to the kid. And she’d gotten all dreamy-eyed about staying at his house. She’d been thrilled, and something had told him that Kayla didn’t often get her wishes granted.
Only a cad would have burst her bubble and let Charli follow through on her challenge to leave. He couldn’t do it. He liked looking at himself in the mirror every day without recriminations.
A screech, followed by a tell-tale thud, caught his attention, drawing his mind away from the introspection he’d been caught up in. He turned in the direction of the noise in time to see an older-model red Ford Focus back away from the pedestrian lying on the pavement and shoot up Las Olas Boulevard, swerving in and out of lanes, a heavy foot on the gas pedal.
Blake veered to a stop, and saw a nearby officer on foot, heading to the victim. He threw his vehicle back in gear and took off after the perpetrator of the hit and run.
Pushing the button on his steering wheel, he voice-activated the car phone to get headquarters. Calling in the crime, he asked for back-up and gave the particulars of the vehicle he was pursuing, his location, and the license plate number he’d read when he’d gotten close enough to see the plates.
Then he backed off, rather than push the wild driver into doing something they’d regret… like hitting someone else. Fuck! Too late. The erratic driver plowed into a vehicle just pulling out of a parking spot and creamed the driver’s side badly. Before the maniac could pull back into traffic, Blake exited his SUV and ran up to the driver’s side. His badge in front, he’d palmed his gun, just in case.
Once close enough to the driver, his warning rang out, “FLPD, let me see your hands. Get them both on the steering wheel. Do it now, man!”
The inebriated driver peered up, his eyes wild, dirty-blonde hair standing out around his scruffy, flushed face. He ignored the demands and tried to open the door. Stuttering explanations, his voice whiny and cajoling, he played the fool card like so many stupid offenders do, thinking the cops would stand down.
“It’s okay, ocifer. I’m on business and in a hurry. Give me my fine, and I’ll b-be on my way.”
Blake held the gun out front now; making sure it was in full sight of the idiot so he’d follow orders. “No fines, the charge is hit and run, sir. We’ll be taking a little trip downtown.” Blake’s slight adrenalin rush gave him a high he’d missed. God, it was good to be back on the streets, making an arrest, protecting the innocent.
While absorbed, self-satis
faction working its influence, the skinny driver saw his chance. He slammed his door open hard, smashing it into Blake. Caught off guard, Blake flew back and barely managed to retain possession of his gun. Once he got his bearings, he saw the driver running, hell bent for freedom, hightailing it up the street to disappear inside a local bar and restaurant.
Shit!
He spoke to the injured person, who’d left her car to stumble over and sit on the curb, blood running in a thin line from her forehead. “Are you okay Ma’am? Can you call an ambulance?”
“I’m fine, officer. Just go and get that son of a bitch before he kills someone.”
He heard the sirens just then and within a few seconds, two cop cars pulled up to the scene. Leaving her in good hands, Blake took off after the assailant.
At full speed, he headed inside to see a table upturned and one of the waiters on his ass in a mess. Another employee, shocked and scared looked on.
“Which way did the guy go?” Blake’s tone cut through their distress and the one on the floor pointed to a hallway leading to the kitchen. “Out the back.”
Blake ran there in time to see the culprit cut through to the next street and dodge the first lane of traffic. Running to catch up, Blake cleared the parked car in front of him, his ass sliding across the hood like a stunt man in a movie.
A thud, sounding the same as the earlier commotion, told him what had happened. Sure enough, the Karma God’s were smiling. The idiot on the pavement, cussing, howling, clutching his leg, was the perpetrator of the first hit and run.
Satisfaction settled in as Blake approached the accident and calmed the female driver who’d correctly exited her vehicle and was approaching the victim. “I swear officer, I didn’t see him. He came out of nowhere.”
Blake smiled and patted her arm, “I’m your witness, ma’am. You didn’t have a chance. He ran right in front of your car, didn’t he?”
“Fuck you, man. I only did that because you were chasing me.” The whiner spit out his vitriol, madder ’n hell at being caught. He tried to stand and fell backwards, then swore again.
Blake smiled and held out his badge. “Sir, I showed this to you at your window. I gave you instructions, and you not only ignored them, you left the scene of yet another accident. So guess what? It’s my pleasure to inform you, you’re under arrest. And when I get through writing my report, you’ll be sporting white hair and a walker by the time the judge consents to give you back your license.”
The gathering crowd began to clap, and it brought Blake’s attention to the many cellphones pointed in his direction.
His famous grin at the photo-takers appeared at dinnertime on the nightly news.
Chapter Fourteen
That evening, after an afternoon spent lazing by the gorgeous white-walled, enclosed yard that housed the kidney-shaped pool and reminded Kayla of photos of a Greek Island hotel, Kayla and Charli scrounged for food in the kitchen.
Earlier, Charli had slept in the shade of the royal blue umbrella, catching up on a well-earned rest, while Kayla played on her new burner phone. With implicit instructions not to search for her old friends or contact them in any way, she resisted temptation.
How she’d have loved to send selfies with the pool in the background, an unmistakable finger to those bitches who thrived on meanness. Instead, she’d watched her new protector rest easy. Even if she was young, anyone who cared could see that Charli needed to relax.
Kayla would stay quiet and give her space so she could rejuvenate and not be sorry for taking on her safety. In her book, Charli was aces. Alicia, Kayla, whoever they wanted her to be, needed her.
Chuckling to herself about the instructions that she contact no one in her past, she pushed away the sad. Like she cared about anyone enough to bother? She had no problem following those instructions. Not only her safety depended on her behaving, but Charli had put her life on the line, and that mattered.
She’d never met anyone like Charli before. A woman who wore a hard shell for the world yet had lowered the screen to let Kayla inside her boundaries.
Kayla knew that nowadays many women played major roles in society, that they held positions of power and were respected by their peers. But in her experience, most of the females she’d encountered had been losers, blamed by their men for all the wrongs in the world.
As far back as she could remember, not one person, man or woman, had shown her any real kindness, other than an occasional social worker, and it was their job. She was just another kid on their long list of orphans, a responsibility… a chore.
The last worker, a motherly-type, had begged her to behave, to kick in and play the role she’d been given. Get her diploma so she could leave the system with something to benefit her – an education.
Those words had made sense in a time when nothing else had. She’d started to act out, make stupid choices, hang out with a gang destined to be in jail before their twentieth birthdays.
But Mrs. Hashill had talked with her, not down to her, gave her a dose of harsh reality. She’d made sense, words Kayla had needed to hear at that exact moment in time.
“Alicia, honey, listen to me. Hear what I’m telling you. I’m not sugar-coating it any longer – the time for that is long past. Instead, I’ll tell you exactly what my husband told my son before he finally saw the light. No one truly gives a fuck about you. You understand?”
Hearing these words from the mouth of the middle-aged, motherly type got her attention.
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Don’t “yes, ma’am” me, child. Most people only care about themselves. You don’t even show up on their give-a-shit radar, unless you’ve got something they want.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t, girl. You’re still pissed because you think the world owes you a good life, and you’ve been short-changed.”
Unable to lie, Alicia had nodded.
“What you haven’t figured out yet is this. Everyone is too busy worrying about their own shit. But, there is one person who truly cares and can do something about the mess you’re in. You know who that is?”
Still feeling sorry for herself, tears escaping that she couldn’t stop, Alicia shook her head. “No.” The word came out low and with a sniffle.
“You. And if you’re the only one you can depend on, then you better step up. You need to take over, be in charge, rather than let life play you. No matter what your circumstances, work the game in your favor. Get that education. You’re smarter than most, Alicia, we both know it and that makes you lucky. You can be anything you want to be, because you do have choices.”
Paying attention, she’d laid awake all that night replaying the words that made a wacky kind of sense. No one else gave a fuck, so she’d better start. From then on, she’d kicked in and brought her grades up. That had been the easy part.
Not making any waves, keeping her mouth shut… not so much. Living with the Whites had been a huge challenge. Thankfully, she’d had Buddy, who’d been the best part of that life. Over time, realizing she’d taken control, she’d begun to feel good about herself.
Until a sicko killer had shot holes through her chances, right in the forehead of a beautiful stranger. For a short while, she’d been in such despair, she’d thought again about ending everything, giving up completely.
Thankfully, she backed down, because now she had Charli in her life. Every time she thought about the Special Agent, how she’d jumped in to protect a stranger, how she accepted the role of babysitter for a teenager who had nothing, and how she’d hugged Kayla so gently, tears surfaced and Kayla dreamed.
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a real sister like Charli, one to live with and be a part of her life? Someone who did give a fuck… really cared if she lived or died.
Someone she could love.
***
“The man keeps a nice house, but he certainly doesn’t eat here very often. There’s no real food here.” Charli came out of the pantry with a package of noodles and
a can of tomato sauce. “I guess I can rustle us up some spaghetti. So you won’t be disappointed, Kayla, I suck at cooking. Gramps used to look after that part of our lives. He taught me how to cook a few meals, but I wasn’t much interested.”
“I can cook. I had no choice at some of the dumps they put me in; it was either cook or starve. What got me, there were others, smaller children who had no choice but to eat whatever garbage they put out. I began watching the cooking shows and picked up a few things. Even the Whites relied on me to make a lot of their meals.”
“Then the job is yours.” Charli handed over the can and noodle package and teasingly gave a yank on Kayla’s long ponytail she’d gathered and wore in the front. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll be your helper. I can set a mean table.”
“Such accomplishments. I’m impressed,” Kayla laughed.
“After supper, we need to go over the package again that Chief Prowler passed on.”
“I’ve memorized it all, Charli. I’m even forcing myself to think Kayla rather than… ahhh, you know who.”
“Good, kid. You’re doing it right. But we still should perfect our stories because making a slip can be fatal. So… we’ll eat and study.” Charli watched the young girl searching for the tools she needed to prepare the meal, helped her find certain spices and picked up the remote control for the television in the corner, hanging from a stand over the table.
When the picture flashed; the grinning face of the man, who just that day she’d wished in hell, flashed on the screen. Kayla caught Blake’s image and her excited exclamation stopped Charli from changing the channel… not that she would have.
The announcer spoke about an arrest that had happened a few hours earlier. A film started from where a wild-eyed culprit dashed out from between two parked cars, across the first lane to barrel into a car coming from the other direction.
It panned to where Blake followed from the same direction, flew over the hood, his ass sliding across like a scene in an action movie, just in time to overpower and arrest the protesting criminal.
