Life&Limb (PASS Series Book 2)

by Freya Barker

  Then she swings around and almost bumps into Bree, who looks quite comfortable leaning against the doorframe. With a huff Mercedes passes by her, and a second later I hear the door to the master bedroom slam.

  “How much of that did you hear?”

  “Trust me. More than I cared to,” she says calmly. “Good time to make a few phone calls.”

  “Shit.” I run both hands through my hair. This is not going to be fun. Then something occurs to me. “I fucking knew it. She mentioned something about coming here for me.”

  Bree straightens up. “What do you mean you knew it?”

  “Had a suspicion the moment I saw her coming off that damn plane. This stalker story never sat well with me.”

  “She staged it?”

  “Wouldn’t put it past her. Maybe she had help, maybe she didn’t, but I’d bet my left nut she set this up.”

  Bree shakes her head. “Do me a favor, don’t mention your nuts, I already heard enough to traumatize me tonight.” She turns toward the stairs and says over her shoulder, “Might as well come downstairs. I’ll make another pot of coffee. Have a feeling we won’t sleep much tonight.”

  It’s not until after Yanis reams me a new one, and has me fess up to Bruce Rockton on a fucking conference call, that I realize I never called Willa back to clarify what she may have heard on that message.

  I’m so fucked.

  Chapter Ten

  Willa

  I don’t check my phone again until I’m getting ready for work after a restless night.

  The first thing that pops up is the text exchange with Dimas from last night that finally had me turn off my phone.

  Me: If you have a minute, can you call me?

  Dimas: Busy.

  Me: It’s important.

  Dimas: Don’t have time for you now.

  The abrupt dismissal had been a punch to the gut. It still is this morning. This is the exact reason why I was hesitant to start something in the first place. Christ, I’ve spent one night with the man and already the honeymoon is over. Relegated to the back burner. Well, if he thinks I’ll put up with that shit, he’s in for a rude awakening.

  Then I notice a series of missed calls and a few voicemails left overnight—all from him—and a stubborn sliver of hope springs alive as I check my inbox.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” My cold resolve not to let myself be swayed immediately melts at the sound of his voice. So different from the cold messages last night. “It’s me. Guess you’re already sleeping. Sorry I missed you. Gonna catch a couple of hours but give me a call when you get up, I’ll be awake by then. I—”

  He cuts off and I hear someone talking in the background before the voice comes on to tell me to press one to play again, seven to delete, or nine to save this message. I press one and turn the volume way up high.

  Then I hear the second voice in the background, clearly a woman’s.

  “Who are you talking to, honey?”

  That sonofabitch.

  Seething, I promptly delete my entire inbox and tell myself this is good. I knew I was taking a risk going in. Better to know now what kind of guy he really is, than find out after I lose my heart to him. Although judging from the ache in my chest, it may be too late already.

  I quickly block his number and tuck the phone in my pocket, fighting to keep my eyes dry. I will not shed a goddamn tear over that man.

  “Are you okay?” Rosie asks, when we arrive at the same time and walk into the lobby together. “You look pissed.”

  “Woke up with a headache. Don’t mind me,” I tell her. “I’ll take some ibuprofen and I’ll be right as rain.”

  “If you need to leave, just let me know, okay?” she offers, as she heads for her office.

  Another thing to be angry at Dimas for. I like Rosie a lot. I’m a bit of a loner and don’t easily let people in, but I like having her for a friend. Now that’s going to be awkward as hell since her husband is best friends with him.

  I head for the dining room, where some of the residents are having breakfast, and stop to chat with a few of them before I make my way over to the coffee station.

  “Morning,” I call out to Brad, who is serving up scrambled eggs at the food counter.

  “Hey, Willa. Want some breakfast?”

  “Will you join me?” I ask him.

  He hesitates for a beat as he looks around the room, but finally shrugs.

  “Sure. It’s dying down.”

  We settle at a table near the window, and despite feeling like death warmed over; I dig into the pile of scrambled eggs Brad served me.

  “How are you doing?” I finally ask after a period of silence as we eat.

  “I’m good, Willa. Don’t worry about me.”

  “I can’t help it. It’s in my job description,” I tease, trying to make light of things. “I just want you to know, I’m here to help with whatever I can.”

  “There’s no—” He stops abruptly, looking over my shoulder. I turn to look and see a couple of police cruisers stop in front of the building. His hand grabs my wrist and I swing back to face him. “Call my lawyer. There’s an envelope in my locker I need you to give him.” With his other hand he presses a key in my hand. “You want to help me? Go now. Please.”

  The hair on my neck stands on end when I hear the urgency in his voice.

  “Please,” he repeats before letting my wrist go.

  I don’t hesitate and get up, slipping quickly out of the dining room, just as a group of police officers come in through the front door. I don’t want to risk having to wait so I bypass the elevator, but the moment I hit the stairwell I start running up the stairs.

  I’m breathing hard when I slam through the door on the third floor. Hurrying to the group of lockers on the far side, I look at the key in my hand. Number three-oh-five. I find the matching locker, slip the key in the lock, and open the door. Luckily he doesn’t keep too much in there, and I easily find the large manila envelope with the name, Hank Fredericks, and a phone number written on the side.

  With the envelope tucked in the waistband of my jeans covered with my shirt, I pull open the door to the stairs when I hear the elevator ding behind me.

  I don’t stop running until I’m in my office, closing the door behind me. I copy the handwritten number into my phone and slip the envelope and the locker key in my drawer, just in time, when there’s a sharp knock on my door.

  “Come in!”

  A flustered Rosie opens the door.

  “They’re arresting Brad. They have a warrant to search his room and locker. I already called Jake but he was halfway to Palisade. What should I do?”

  Jesus. A few seconds later and whatever’s in that envelope would’ve been found.

  “Cooperate,” I tell Rosie. “Can’t stop them if they have a warrant. Is Ron in?”

  She acknowledges with a nod. “He’s out in the lobby keeping an eye on a small mutiny threatening to break out. Some of the other guys aren’t exactly fans of the cops.”

  “Ron can handle it for now. Why don’t you head upstairs and make sure they only go through Brad’s stuff. I’ll give his lawyer a call, and then I’ll give Ron a hand with the residents.”

  She nods and ducks back out of my office. I hit send on my phone.

  “Good morning, Fredericks and Associates, how may I direct your call?”

  “Hank Fredericks, please.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m afraid Mr. Fredericks is busy. Can I take a message?”

  “It’s urgent I speak with him. It’s about one of his clients, Brad Carey.”

  “One moment, please. Let me check for you.”

  Only seconds later I have him on the line and quickly explain who I am and what is going on.

  “Also, I have something he asked me to give you,” I add.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s an envelope. I have it locked in my desk here at the shelter.”

  “Keep it there. I’m heading out to the police station to wait for him. I’ll
swing by the shelter after.”

  He doesn’t wait for my acknowledgement and ends the call.

  I turn the lock on my drawer, slip the key in my pocket and head out to the lobby, where Ron is doing his best to keep a few of our residents from getting themselves arrested. They’re blocking the door to prevent the cops from taking Brad outside. The poor guy is already in handcuffs.

  It takes some convincing, but eventually the two of us get our guys away from the door so the officers can take Brad outside. I follow behind them, but all I can do is give Brad an assuring nod when they place him in the back of a patrol car. Feels pretty helpless to watch them drive off.

  The lobby is empty when I walk through on the way back to my office.

  “Be careful.”

  I’m about to step inside and swing my head around at the sound of the whispered voice. Dave is leaning casually against the wall behind me.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I saw you. Upstairs,” he clarifies, and my heart jumps in my throat. “Dangerous game. Don’t wanna see you get hurt.”

  Before I even have a chance to react, he turns on his heel and disappears back to the lobby. I dart into my office, slam the door shut, and take a deep shaky breath in.

  What the hell was that all about?

  Was that a threat?

  Dimas

  “The number you have dialed cannot be reached.”

  For fuck’s sake.

  I slam my phone down on the kitchen counter, drawing the attention of Bree, who is bent over her laptop at the dining table.

  Life couldn’t get any fucking better already, and to top it off, now it appears Willa has blocked my number. What a shit show.

  Fucking Mercedes is still holed up in the bedroom upstairs after her father demanded to speak with her. He’d already finished with me and that hadn’t been pretty. She’d sworn high and low she had nothing to do with the threatening messages and notes, but it didn’t look like her father was buying it this time. She threw a temper tantrum and ended up stalking to her room.

  Yanis had been the voice of reason and suggested before we call this whole thing a hoax, we make absolutely sure. Rockton was going to talk to his head of security in Dallas, and Yanis and Jake were on their way here to have a sit-down with the princess.

  “It’ll blow over,” Bree says, a sympathetic smile on her face. “It always does with Yanis.”

  I grunt. It may blow over with my brother, but I’m not so sure about Willa. Although I have to say if she’s that quick to dismiss me—even after I left her another three messages to explain the situation—I’m not so sure she’s the woman I thought her to be.

  On the video feed I can see my brother’s Yukon approaching.

  “You’re a fucking pain in my ass,” he tosses at me, when he walks in the door moments later. I’d expected much worse than that, to be honest. “Better hope you’re right and she staged this whole fucking thing, because that’ll be the only thing that will get us paid. Think of that next time you can’t keep your fucking dick in your pants.”

  Okay, that sort of stings—especially since he makes it sound like I make a habit of it—but before I can voice an objection, footsteps come pounding down the stairs and Mercedes throws herself crying into my brother’s arms.

  “Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here. Everyone’s been so horrible to me.”

  Shit. The look on my brother’s face almost makes me laugh out loud, but I hold back. Bree has no such compunctions and snicker-snorts behind me, earning her a dark glare from Yanis, who is trying to pluck Mercedes off him.

  Jake walks in, takes a look at my struggling brother and busts out laughing.

  Yanis eventually manages to coax the woman back upstairs, and Jake sits down beside me.

  “Before I go up there, take me through it from the beginning.”

  Mustering up patience I don’t have a spare supply of, I describe events leading up to last night. At that point, I’m grateful for Bree to jump in occasionally, confirming she was witness to most of that exchange. Being stuck in a he said, she said scenario is never a comfortable situation.

  When Jake heads upstairs, I take my phone outside and call Radar.

  “Have you found anything on Krupcek or Raw Vice?”

  “Been working on it hard since I heard your buddy got arrested.”

  It takes me a minute to realize what he’s saying.

  “Arrested?”

  “This morning. Charged with first-degree murder. I just heard from Hank.”

  “Jesus F. Christ. I didn’t think they had enough to pin on him.”

  “Apparently the cops were dumpster diving on garbage day. Pulled a T-shirt with your buddy’s name written in the collar, and covered in the victim’s blood out of a trash bag a couple of days ago.”

  “Why the fuck would his name be in the collar?”

  “All the residents put their names in their clothes to make it easier to sort the laundry.”

  “Unreal. The guy is smart as a whip. Even if he did this—which he didn’t—he’d never be fool enough to stuff a bloody shirt with his goddamn name on it in the garbage, right outside where he lives. Son of a fucking bitch. He’s being railroaded.”

  “I’m on it, but, Dimi, you’re going to have to get the others in on this. I won’t bore you how I got there, but I found a chat room, where crazy fuckers looking to get their heads bashed in can sign up to challenge a selection of fighters, for a price. They use zip codes and intersections to identify locations. They’re all over the fucking states.”

  “How many around here?”

  “Depends on what date you’re looking at. Most of these dates look to be Wednesdays and Saturdays. I count twelve in Colorado for this month alone. I have to look a bit closer, but it appears to be a league of some sort. Let me dig into it a bit more.”

  “When is the next fight in this area?”

  “You sure you wanna do this, man?” Radar asks cautiously.

  “Can’t leave Brad in there too long, Radar. We don’t have much time. Next fight?”

  “Next Wednesday. East of town, out in Loma.”

  “Book me in.”

  “Got two grand? That’s your buy-in.”

  “Book me in,” I repeat.

  Now I really want to talk to Willa and see if there is anything at all I can salvage from this fucked-up day.

  “Bree, can I borrow your phone?” I ask, walking into the house.

  She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t question me. I take the phone back outside with me and dial Willa’s number.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, sweetheart, it’s me. I had to borrow—”

  And click.

  Fucking brilliant.

  Chapter Eleven

  Willa

  Bastard.

  I slam my phone facedown on my desk. Then I drop my head in my hands.

  It’s been a crap day so far and unless I find something to keep me busy, I might lose it.

  What I’d like to do is have a look at what is in that envelope—the key to my desk drawer has been burning a hole in my pocket—but so far my sense of propriety has kept me from peeking. I’m about to throw propriety out the fucking window.

  First I close my door with a soft click before sitting back down at my desk. I fit the key in the lock and slide the drawer open to slip out the envelope. It would’ve ended there if it had been sealed, but it isn’t. The flap is tucked in. Inside are a couple of sheets of paper with what looks like a schedule.

  Dates, numbers, and under each of those, anywhere from four to eight names. Or rather, nicknames, since I’m pretty sure no parents would be so cruel as to call their kids Hulk Walker, Bone Crusher Perez, or Lights Out Davis.

  I grab my phone and snap pictures of each page when I notice a name handwritten on the back of the second page. Jason Krupcek. I take a shot of that too.

  I jump a foot in the air when I hear someone at the door.

  “Willa? Are you available?” Rosie c
alls from the hallway.

  I scramble to get the papers back in the envelope, tuck under the flap, and shove it back into the drawer.

  “Come in,” I call out, flipping my phone upside down as she pushes open the door.

  “Sorry,” she mouths, as she walks in followed by a tall gray-haired man in a suit. “I don’t think you’ve met Hank Fredericks yet.”

  I get up and round my desk.

  “We spoke on the phone. Willa Smith.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking my offered hand.

  His gray hair threw me for a second, because when he smiles it takes a decade off his age. Too bad I’m not into suits and ties, or I might at least flirt a little.

  “I’ll just leave you to it.” Rosie backs out of the office, closing the door.

  “How’s Brad? Please, have a seat,” I throw out as an afterthought, indicating a chair while I slip back behind my desk.

  “Hanging in there. He says you know he was held captive for months, so being locked up is not easy for him.”

  “He’s talked to me,” I confirm, without going into details.

  “Right, he said he trusts you, which is why he gave you that envelope.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  I pretend to unlock my drawer and pull it out, handing it over. He pulls the sheets out, giving them a brief look before tucking them back. I do my best not to fidget in my seat and draw attention to the fact I must have guilt written all over my face.

  I almost let out a sigh of relief when he gets up.

  “Well, I’d better get going. Better start the wheels turning if I want to get Brad out of that jail cell.”

  I stand up as well.

  “If there’s anything I can do…”

  “Other than keeping this…” He pats the envelope. “…to yourself, I’ll let you know if there’s anything else.”

  “Of course.”

  I move to open the door for him and with a smile and a nod; he walks past me and down the hall.