Predator

by Terri Blackstock

  Some of them were on her own page, exchanging comments with other girls who were discussing her Bible studies.

  “Krista, look at this!”

  She turned and looked through the door into the next room, where they had three sewing machines set up. A girl named Flo was wearing the outfit she’d been working on, modeling it like she walked the runway.

  “Flo, did you finish it?”

  “All by myself. Miss Carla helped a little…”

  “Hardly at all,” Carla said. “She did this whole thing alone. Look at the detail, Krista. Flo, you have a gift. I could see you working in fashion design. It’s so unique, and so you.”

  The girl who’d been quiet and shy for the first month she’d come to the center giggled as she regarded her image in the mirror. “I could wear this to my auntie’s wedding.”

  “You should,” Krista said. “It really is pretty. I wish I could sew, but about all I can do is hem pants and sew on buttons.”

  “This even has a zipper,” Flo bragged.

  This was what their work here was all about. Flo saw herself differently now. She was someone with talent, someone who was beautiful…someone with worth.

  If only they could keep her here, locked away, and never let her go back into her drug-infested neighborhood. They couldn’t do that, of course, but maybe they could help her find her own way out of it.

  Flo went to change out of her outfit, and Carla turned to Krista and lowered her voice. “Honey, you didn’t have to come in today. Gus is here, helping. You look really tired.”

  “I was just up late.”

  Carla got tears in her eyes. “Have the police got any leads?”

  Krista blew out a deep breath. “No, I don’t think so. If they do, they’re not telling us.”

  “How’s your dad?”

  Krista wanted to lie and say he was fine, but he needed prayer. “He’s just…horrible. So depressed. I don’t know how much more he can take. It would do him a lot of good if they found the killer.”

  “It would do you a lot of good too. And the rest of us.” Carla walked to the window, looked up the street. “I sometimes wonder if it’s someone around here. But Ella didn’t come here that much.”

  “No, Dad would have had a fit.”

  “But it still could be, you know. Somebody who’s hot because we don’t let men in the club. Or someone who watches. There are always men standing outside…”

  “Megan described him. She said he was white and clean-cut, in his forties, with brown hair.” She looked over Carla’s shoulder toward the mechanic’s shop across the street. The men were of all races, but the white ones she saw didn’t fit the killer’s description.

  “What are you ladies lookin’ at?” Gus’s deep voice shook the room.

  Carla looked over her shoulder. “Nothing. Just looking to see who’s watching us.”

  Gus came over and gave Krista a hug. “You okay, darlin’?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Gus.”

  The burly man looked at his wife. “I switched out that light fixture. It’s workin’ good now.”

  “What would we do without you?” She kissed his scruffy cheek and ruffled his hair.

  “Listen, ladies. We got that shotgun in the office. I want you to use it if you need to. And Krista, if I were you, I’d get a gun to keep with you.”

  “I know. I’ve been thinking that myself. How do you do it? Don’t you have to apply for a license or something?”

  “No, you just walk into a gun store and they’ll give you the paperwork.”

  “Isn’t there a waiting period?”

  “Not in this state. You buy it and walk out with it the same day, after you register it. The clerk at the store will call the registration in.”

  She swallowed. “So I could literally have one today? Would I be able to carry it in my car, or do I have to have some special permit?”

  “You have to have a concealed weapon permit if you carry it in your purse,” Carla said. “But that takes months to get. If you just carry it in your car, you don’t need anything extra.”

  It was a good idea.

  She hung around the place for a little longer, then slipped out and headed for Bass Pro Shop. If she was going to bait Ella’s killer, she was going to need a weapon.

  Thirty-four

  When the board of directors called another meeting that afternoon, Ryan knew he’d have some explaining to do. As he arrived at the meeting, he realized it had been going on for some time without him. The men who drove his company looked somber and angry as he took his place at the end of the table. “What’s this meeting about?”

  Marvin Bainbridge leaned on the table. “Ryan, we’ve been discussing the things that have gone on in the company the last few days, and as you know, we’re very concerned.”

  Ryan nodded. “As I am.”

  Henry Hearne’s lips had stiffened into thin, hard lines. “Ryan, we understand that you violated Willow’s security in at least three ways.”

  “I can explain,” he said. “I’d told my staff that I was going to ask for permission to run your Data-Gather program—”

  “We told you no. Ian Lombardi hacked into our system and stole our software.”

  “Come on, guys. It wasn’t stealing.”

  “And then you violated security again, by going onto the upper floors without an escort.”

  “That was no big deal. I just wanted to talk to Jeff Hall to tell him why my staff—”

  “Ryan, we’ve been told you let the FBI into the building without a warrant.”

  Ryan froze. “Okay, look…”

  “We’re not really interested in any more of your explanations,” John Stanley cut in sharply. He looked at his colleagues. “Why don’t we just cut to the chase, gentlemen?”

  Marvin drew in a deep breath and folded his hands. “Ryan, we made some decisions today. First, we are terminating Ian Lombardi’s employment.”

  Ryan sprang up. “Come on, guys. He’s my most valuable asset. I can’t do half of what I do without him. He’s impossible to replace.”

  “Oh, we’ll replace him, all right.”

  Ryan couldn’t stand for this. “Don’t I get any say in this?”

  “No, you don’t.”

  He couldn’t believe this. He looked around the room, searching for one pair of eyes that still had some reason left. When he saw only glaring accusation, he decided to play his trump card.

  “Look, guys. If he goes, I go.”

  “That brings us to our next decision,” Henry said.

  “What? You’re firing me?”

  “Ryan, your contract with us states that you have the job unless or until we make the decision that it’s no longer in Willow’s best interest to keep you.”

  “But I built this company! I’m the driving force behind it! Not you. Ian and I are the heart of GrapeVyne…the brains. You’ll be killing it without us.”

  “There are plenty of employees who still know how to keep GrapeVyne running, and we have access to many well-qualified design and computer engineers. We’ll have you both replaced within the next few days.”

  Ryan’s mouth hung open. “You’re serious?”

  “We no longer need your services.”

  Stunned, Ryan gaped at them. “I wouldn’t have sold GrapeVyne to you if you hadn’t agreed to keep me and my staff on board! That was the deal!”

  “We feel that your latest decisions are costing this company its reputation, and you’ve behaved more like a rival than a coworker. We own the company and we can do with it as we please. We’ve decided that you are no longer needed here,” Henry said.

  John’s voice was lower. “We’ve called security to come and escort you off the premises. You’ll have an hour to pack up your personal items. They’ll help you. We’ll expect you to turn in your laptop and phone and your appropriate keys.”

  Ryan just stared. This was really happening. “Couldn’t you have given me a warning?”

  “We did. W
e told you to stop getting entangled with Krista Carmichael, to stop apologizing for our company, to stop all of this, but you wouldn’t listen. We see this as our only option.”

  Ryan looked from one board member to the next, and his eyes settled on Henry Hearne, the man he’d trusted. “Henry? Did you vote for this?”

  Henry’s eyes were cold. “We have a responsibility to our employees and to our stockholders, Kid.”

  Ryan picked up his laptop, shoved it into his briefcase.

  Threats raced through his mind. “Fine. Then I’ll have time to do more interviews. I’ll be free to go on every talk show.”

  “Are you threatening us?” Henry asked.

  Ryan dropped his hands. “No, I’m just telling you, the changes I wanted to make in this company were for the good of it, and doing the right thing is still important to me, even if I’m unemployed.”

  “Then you need to consult an attorney to review your contract commitments—namely, the noncompete agreement, the nondisclosure clauses, and the industrial secrecy clauses regarding anything having to do with Willow or GrapeVyne. If you talk to the press, we will sue you for every penny you’ve ever made with us, and then some.”

  Ryan clicked his briefcase shut, then stormed to the door. When he opened it, two bulky GrapeVyne security guys he’d hired himself were waiting there for him.

  Ryan looked up at them. “Jose…Andy…”

  They both looked apologetic, and under his breath, Jose whispered, “Sorry, boss.”

  They walked him across to the GrapeVyne building. Silently, they rode the elevator up to the top floor. When they got off, he saw the crowd around Ian’s desk. His staff looked stunned, and some of the women were crying.

  He crossed the Rumpus Room floor. “Ian, I’m so sorry.”

  Ian gave him a doleful look. “It’s not your fault, man. They’re lunatics, is what they are. Without us, this business wouldn’t even exist.”

  Ryan looked down at his feet. “They’re deluded into believing they can run it better.”

  “They’ll run it, that’s for sure. Right into the ground.”

  As Jose and Andy stood by and watched, Ryan filled three small boxes with his personal items. He didn’t have the heart to get anything else out of his office. He supposed whoever occupied it next could have his things if they wanted them. Otherwise, they could pack them up and send them to him.

  “We’ll need your laptop,” Jose said.

  Ryan thought of trying to talk them out of taking it, since it had all of his code for GrapeVyne, as well as other startup ideas he’d had. But he knew better. Instead, he said, “Give me a minute to delete some personal files.”

  Since he’d always been good to the security guys, they gave him the time. He quickly typed in the command to erase all the computer’s data. He waited as the computer deleted everything.

  Andy checked his watch. “Time’s almost up, Ryan. We’ve got to walk you out.”

  “Just a few more minutes.” He glanced out his glass wall, saw Ian at his desk doing the same thing. They’d always thought alike.

  Jose came around his desk, saw what he was doing. “I don’t think you’re supposed to do that.”

  “I’m not doing anything to hurt the company,” Ryan said, “but I have a lot of coding on there that isn’t owned by GrapeVyne. They were ideas I was playing with, and I don’t want GrapeVyne to have them if I’m not on staff, so I’m deleting them.”

  “But the GrapeVyne files—”

  “Bridgit has everything that belongs to GrapeVyne.”

  Jose sighed, but he didn’t push it any farther.

  Ryan handed a box to each guard and started for the door, but then thought better of it. Going back to his desk, he picked up his phone and dialed the number that would give him intercom access across the offices. “Hi everybody, this is Ryan,” he said, and through the glass wall he could see everybody on his floor turning to look at him. “Willow has just given Ian and me pink slips. I just wanted to tell you what an honor and privilege it’s been to work with all of you. You’re the greatest team anybody could ever have, and you guys are responsible for making this company a success.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “I’m sorry my part in it has to end this way, but that’s how it goes. But I wanted to say good-bye. I consider you all friends. Stay in touch.”

  His mouth was shaking as he retrieved the remaining box and backed out of the office.

  “One more thing,” Andy said.

  Ryan turned back.

  “Your Blackberry.”

  Great. He’d forgotten they’d want that. He reached into his pocket, pulled it out and quickly did a hard reset, erasing everything on it. Then he tossed it to Andy. Now what would he do? His Blackberry was like a third arm. He didn’t even have a land-line at home. He’d have to go directly to the phone company and buy another one.

  Unbelievable.

  Ian was headed his way as he pressed the elevator button. Suddenly, applause erupted from those in the Rumpus Room. He turned and saw that all the employees were standing and clapping from their desks. Many of them were crying.

  He and Ian offered sad waves, then shifting his box, Ryan got on the elevator. Ian stepped on behind him, and their four security guards squeezed on with them.

  “Ain’t over, man,” Ian said.

  Ryan didn’t want to hear Ian’s bluster. It felt over. He leaned back against the wall as he took his last elevator ride down. Then he stepped out to the parking garage…an unemployed man. The brainchild he’d developed was no longer his.

  Thirty-five

  Krista had never expected to wind up in a Bass Pro Shop. She pushed through the turnstile at the front of the store, then stood just inside, looking around at the rustic decor and the merchandise that was as foreign to her as an unknown language.

  “Can I help you find anything?” the elderly man at the turnstile asked.

  “Guns.” The breathiness in her voice embarrassed her. “Where are the guns?”

  “Upstairs. Hunting.”

  She headed for the stairs. Why did she feel like she was doing something wrong? She’d never planned to own a gun, never wanted to. The thought of all that could go wrong made her heart thud. Things like…forgetting it was loaded and having it go off. Or firing it for target practice, and having it jam and explode in her hand. What if someone broke in and stole it?

  She got to the top of the stairs and looked around. The room was appropriately dark, with rustic walls and low lights. Why did men love having the lights dim? Her father had always loved closing the blinds and watching TV in the dark, while she and her sister loved the light pouring in.

  Now she kept the blinds closed too. The killer had snuffed the sunshine out of their home. That was why she needed a gun.

  She cut through the hunting clothes and found the area with the rifles and shotguns lined up on the wall. A glass-front counter stood in front of it, with handguns on the glass shelves. She approached it and looked inside, saw dozens of firearms in various shapes, sizes, and prices.

  A salesman approached her. “Help you, ma’am?”

  “Yes.” She adjusted her purse on her shoulder, then set her hands on the counter. “I’m looking for a pistol. A small one that I could handle. Maybe like this one.” She pointed to one in the glass case.

  “So…you want an automatic or a revolver?”

  Had he pegged her for an impostor? An ignorant pacifist masquerading as an NRA member? “Oh…sorry. Why don’t you tell me the difference?”

  He pulled out a handgun and showed her the cylinder with the holes. So they still had those? She thought they were only in old western movies. He put that one back, and pulled out one with a label that said “Automatic.” He removed the clip and showed her how it was loaded.

  “I see.” She stared down at the glass, looking around. “What do you recommend?”

  “You’re a beginner,” he said, without a trace of humor in his eyes. Either he’d been trained not to l
augh at newbies, or it was no big deal. “Do you want it for self-defense and target practice?”

  No, she thought, I want it for hunting down my sister’s killer. She cleared her throat. “Yes.”

  “Some of these have a lot of kick and might not be comfortable for you.”

  I don’t care if it’s comfortable, she thought. All I need is one shot.

  “Clips sometimes jam, unless you clean the gun after you use them. I’d recommend a revolver for you. You’re pretty small.” He pulled another one out. “This is a popular model for women. It’s not very powerful, only a .22, but it’s good for self-defense.”

  She took it, hoping he didn’t see the tremor in her hands. It was a little heavier than she expected. But somewhere she’d read that a gun was more stable if it was heavier. She looked at the price. It wouldn’t put her savings account into overdraft. She studied the gun, didn’t even know what to ask. “It says ‘LR.’ What does that mean?”

  “Long range. And it’s a six-inch barrel, for more accuracy. Its weight might help you take better aim. And this one here is a double-action. You don’t have to cock it. You just pull the trigger.”

  That had to be good, didn’t it? She looked around at the others in the case, glanced at the case next to it, read the tags. There were .357s, .38 Specials, .44 Magnums. She’d heard all those numbers before, but didn’t know what they represented. It overwhelmed her, and she wasn’t in the mood for being overwhelmed.

  Quickly, she made a decision. “Okay, I’ll take this one.” She handed it back to him.

  “All right. I’ll get the paperwork for you to fill out.”

  Dread sank through her. He brought her papers, and she filled in the blanks. As he called the registration in, she paced in front of the counter. What would the state police know about her? Would they have notations next to her Social Security number, reminding them that her sister was murdered? Would they guess how she planned to use it? What if they turned her down?

  But the sales clerk came back and boxed up the gun, shoving the finished paperwork in. Relief flooded through her.

  When she finished the purchase, he walked her out, as store policy dictated. She supposed he had to make sure she didn’t snap the bullets in and fire like a maniac.