Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery)

by Reinhart, Larissa

  “Don’t worry about it, baby,” said Todd. “No big deal.”

  “Leave it alone, Cherry,” said Luke.

  “Do you know who the owner is or not, Luke?”

  Luke glanced at Todd. “I’m sure there’s a good reason for this.”

  “Who’s the owner?” I repeated.

  “Max Avtaikin.”

  “What has happened to this town?” I exploded. “Why would he refuse Todd a job? I specifically told him Todd needed one.”

  I began another circle of the kitchen, this time to work off my ire.

  “Don’t get your britches in a twist,” said Luke. “Avtaikin might not even know about the hiring. Probably someone at the store made a mistake.”

  “I know what’s going on,” I stopped between the two men. “Max wanted to get Todd a job with one of his business associates. The Bear’s trying to pull you into his gambling underworld again, Todd. I thought the Bear had learned his lesson with his audit and almost arrest.”

  “This is how you give me ulcers,” said Luke, pinching the bridge of his nose. “A normal woman would tell Todd she was sorry he didn’t get the job and go on with her life. You take not minding your business to a whole different level of crazy.”

  I folded my arms. “Why would I want to be a normal woman? I don’t even know what that means.”

  “Exactly the problem,” Luke strode to the door. “Good luck with her, Todd. If you were any kind of man, you’d stop her.”

  “She’s more fun if you let her go,” said Todd.

  “I’m not a responsibility to pass off. Especially not to Todd,” I stomped after Luke. “I care about people, and I’m willing to do something about it. What’s wrong with that? Isn’t it a sin to look the other way when a wrong’s been done?”

  “Not if it means vigilantism.” Luke swung the kitchen door open. “Or public disturbance.”

  “When have I ever made a public disturbance?” I thought for a second. “Outside high school? And college.”

  “Annoying people is a public disturbance.” He slammed the door behind him.

  I yanked open the door and stepped into my carport. “I can annoy people without breaking the law.”

  Luke ignored me and continued his descent to his truck. A minute later, the jacked up tires spun down my street and into the night.

  I blew out the breath I held. Luke always brought out my fiercest. He was a stick to my bee hive. Which produced a lot of passionate buzzing and sweet honey when we were a couple, but the results had stung.

  I stepped back inside and looked at Todd. “I’m going to Max Avtaikin’s and see if I can annoy him without breaking the law. I’ll take Casey’s car.”

  “You want me to go with you?”

  “It’s late. If Luke’s right about public disturbance, you better stay home. Don’t want that on your record if you’re trying to get a job.”

  He gave me his Labrador impression, nodding with an agreeable smile and expectant eyes. His Cherry Tucker game face. If Luke was a stick, Todd was smoke.

  “Don’t go thinking just because I’m helping you it means anything,” I said. “You snookered me into marrying you once, but it won’t happen again.”

  “I know, baby.”

  “And I’m still not talking to you.”

  “Sure, baby.” His exit smile made me doubt my words.

  I might have lost two battles. Time for a third. Stick. Smoke. How would Max Avtaikin deal with my bee hive? Bears don’t care about getting stung. They’ll tear apart a nest to get what they want.

  Seventeen

  I had never been to Max’s house at night. Particularly around bedtime o’clock. Although I didn’t know Max’s late night habits, I didn’t figure him for farmer’s hours and felt fairly safe in approaching his door this late. The porch lights were off, but the front of the house was lit with security and decorative spotlights. I stood on the veranda, shivering in the cool September night air and wished I had thrown a jacket over my tank top.

  The Bear had confounded me once again. I had explicitly told Max that Todd wanted to apply at the SipNZip. Max had warned me off the convenience store. It made no sense. If Max and I were going to work together, I needed to trust him. Never mind he was doing me a favor. He’d find a way to make me pay him back, which was the conundrum that worried me.

  Therefore, he needed to hear what I had to say. I pressed the doorbell again and listened for the chime echoing in the cavernous foyer. Locks tumbled, and the heavy, wooden door swung open.

  “Artist?” Max stepped on to the porch and glanced behind me. “What brings you to my house this time of the night? Again, you do not call first.”

  He wore a black, cotton bathrobe. My eyes dropped to his bare feet, traveled up his legs, and landed on the curling chest hair exposed in the open V. I closed my eyes, said a prayer that he wore a pair of shorts under his robe, and opened my eyes. He appeared to be examining my trucker bar fashion with a critical gaze.

  “Did I wake you?” I said.

  “I am watching movie,” he sighed, overcome with Eastern European melancholia. “It’s not so good. And my popcorn machine is broken.”

  “Sorry to hear it. I have a bone to pick.”

  “Your odd phrases,” he said. “Come inside before you start picking the bone.”

  He led me through the foyer and into a sitting room. Paintings hung in clusters in Victorian style arrangements. Like Rupert’s formal room, red and gold pervaded the wall color and accessories. However, Max’s room did not appear garish, only cluttered. The art of varied genres, mediums, and sizes was chosen with an appreciation for quality. He waved me to a leather sofa and sank onto a chair opposite.

  “You have the artistic temperament and much passion,” he quirked a slight smile. “But the necessity of speaking your mind whenever the mood strikes is not always convenient.”

  I blinked in confusion. “I’m busy tomorrow. This can’t wait.”

  “I speak of my convenience, not yours.”

  “You said you were watching a bad movie.” I waved away his complaint. “I just found out you are the owner of the SipNZip.”

  He eased back into his chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. I was careful to keep my eyes on his face for fear of robe exposure.

  “How did you come to know this information?” he asked.

  “Not important. Todd McIntosh tried to get a job at your establishment. He was hired and fired in the same day. Before he even got to try to screw up anything at work.”

  “I see.” He spread his arms over the back of the chair, drawing the robe open and revealing a set of powerful pecs.

  I held in my gasp.

  “I told you I would help the Todd McIntosh find a job,” said Max. “Not at SipNZip.”

  “And I told you he wanted to work at the SipNZip. Why would you turn down his application? He was willing to take the graveyard shift. Which would have helped our current sleeping arrangements.”

  “Sleeping arrangements?”

  “Four people. Two bedrooms.”

  “Tomorrow I will make some calls,” Max shrugged. “He’ll have new job by Monday.”

  “He would have started at the SipNZip tomorrow.”

  “What does it matter the when and where? If he’s willing to work at this convenience store, he will appreciate my finding him a better paying job elsewhere.” He drew forward, dropping his leg and leaning on his elbows. “Where have you been tonight?”

  “Me?” I felt thrown off by his sudden segue. “The Gearjammer. Why?”

  “Your decorative leather is missing.”

  “What?” I looked at my crossed legs and realized he referred to my torn fringe. “I was dancing and fell. And sort of took down some folks with me. Then there was a fight...”

  “Why do you go to such a place? It sounds rough for a young woman such as yourself.”

  “I’m a little rough,” I smirked. “And we were questioning truckers.”

  “You are such a s
trange girl. Why do you question truckers?”

  I hesitated, but the hijacking and composite sketch were public knowledge now. “There was a hijacking of a truck in Forks County. I actually sketched the hijacker’s face from witness testimony.”

  “A hijacking?”

  “Driver was shot and truck stolen.” I dropped my gaze, knowing I should hold my tongue, but the quiet of the room and Max’s lack of judgment worked better than a confessional. “I saw the witness later that morning at the SipNZip, actually. He told me he was going back to the scene of the crime. Later he was killed there. I didn’t say anything to Luke or Uncle Will. Now his grandma and son are one step from government intervention. I feel responsible.”

  Max remained silent. I glanced up to find him rubbing his temples.

  Noticing my gaze on him, he dropped his hands. “You are not responsible. Evil exists everywhere. Even in your precious Forks County.”

  I shivered. “I cannot turn a blind eye to evil.”

  “I have noticed. You refuse to turn the blind eye to anything. However, not all of us are evil.”

  The Bear wanted to knock down my hive. Or at least get the queen bee to look away while he foraged for honey.

  “Speaking of evil,” I said, “Shawna has started her attack. But I am no longer comfortable with you promoting my art.”

  “I am happy to assist in publicizing your talent. It is good for the value of the art.”

  He rose from his seat and crossed the room to stand before me. “Don’t speak nonsense. This county is not big enough for both you and the Shawna Branson. I will enjoy defeating her attempts to humiliate you. She is a nuisance to me.”

  He chuckled and held out his hand. “Come.”

  I ignored his hand and tilted my head back to glare at him. “How can I trust you with my reputation? You lied about the SipNZip two seconds after agreeing to help me. Your job for Todd is most likely a plan to use him in some scheme. Just like you used him to cheat in your poker games.”

  “I did not lie about SipNZip. I simply did not tell you I own it.”

  “Why would you keep such a little thing from me? And why don’t you want Todd working there?”

  He dropped to the couch, perching on the edge, not quite touching my crossed knees. His size and masculinity unnerved me, but I remained still. Still for me, which included an agitated shaking of my foot. But I did not edge away from his intimidating presence.

  “Artist,” his voice dropped to a low growl, “you do not need to know everything. We have played this game before.”

  “Yes, sir. And you lost.”

  His polar blue eyes honed in on my smirk. “Retreat is not loss. You would be best to remember this.”

  I leaned toward him and caught the scent of a spicy cologne. “That’s not what I’ve been taught. We Tuckers don’t skedaddle in the face of danger.”

  He placed a hand on the couch near my hip, angling his prodigious body toward mine. The sleeve of his robe brushed my thigh. “Do you even realize when you face the danger?”

  My gaze left his icy scrutiny to drop to his lips. They relaxed and curled.

  My heart began beating one of Todd’s breakneck rhythms. I pressed my hands together, willing the palpitations to slow. My eyes fell to the hollow of Max’s throat, then down to the dark, curling hairs of his chest. A thick, hard muscled chest. Barrel shaped, as my Grandma Jo would say.

  I blinked Grandma Jo’s memory away and realized Max watched me.

  The slight tilt to the corner of his eyes revealed his natural cunning, but there were also light laugh lines I had not noticed before. And I couldn’t decide if his eye color was closer to king’s blue deep or blue light.

  Maybe phthalo blue touched with magenta for depth and lightened with white, I thought dreamily.

  The lines around his eyes creased, and I pulled in my breath. What was my mother’s hand-me-down libido doing messing around with the Bear? I had serious problems with men. I was barely over Luke. If barely meant not.

  “You’re laughing at me,” I said, covering my indiscretion.

  “Do you hear me laughing?” he murmured. “I am concerned for your safety. Your pride will be your undoing.”

  I caught his double meaning and fought the blush that threatened to creep up my neck. The man was in his robe, for heaven’s sake. My refusal to retreat landed me practically in his lap. Or maybe he meant something else entirely, and I was the one with the dirty mind.

  I really needed to see if there was surgery for removing stupid from my DNA.

  “My pride will be my undoing?” I hedged. “On the contrary, I think it’s more an issue with being stubborn. Or my mouth. I’ve got a lot of flaws to choose from.”

  He chuckled and rose. “Let me show you what I mean.”

  This time I took his offered hand, allowing him to pull me from the couch. My legs had lost some circulation in that heated moment. We passed through the foyer again, his giant paw still clutching my hand, and he pulled me toward his study. Dropping my hand, he opened the door and ushered me inside.

  I followed him to his desk, where he switched on the monitor to his computer and tapped a few buttons on his keyboard.

  “Look,” he said.

  I circled his desk to examine the monitor. The screen had been divided into quarters, each section showing a video shot of a different area of his property. Max moved the mouse to click on one quadrant and the grainy picture enlarged. I recognized the street outside his gate. A German hatchback was parked across from his drive.

  “Your neighbor?” I asked.

  “The car that follows you,” said Max.

  “What car that follows me?”

  “Sorry. My English. You are being followed. By that car.”

  Eighteen

  “Why is someone following me?” I asked Max.

  He looked up from his monitor. “Should I not ask you this question?”

  “I have no idea. I’m not really stalker worthy.”

  We watched the car for a moment, but nothing happened. Max rose from his chair, clasped his hands behind his back, and sauntered to one of his Old Reb cases for an introspective gander.

  “Do you think the stalker is a fan of my art?” I said excitedly. “A deranged fan?”

  “I suppose anything is possible,” said Max. “Perhaps you have other ideas, though?”

  I dropped into Max’s vacated chair and spun in a lazy circle. “The only deranged person I know is Shawna Branson. But that’s not her vehicle. She’s got a yellow Mustang convertible. And if she swapped it out, she would have done it at the Branson dealership and I’m pretty sure they’re not doing European imports.”

  “She has the success in your humiliation without the need to follow you. No, I do not believe this is Miss Shawna Branson.”

  “Maybe it’s not following me. Maybe they are stalking you and it’s just a coincidence they drove up at the same time as me.”

  “Possibly,” Max turned from the case and faced me. He pushed forward his shoulders and stood with his legs spread apart, head raised. He was in full-on Bear mode. “It would be helpful if you had been aware of them while you were driving.”

  “Why would I check to see if I’m being followed? I live in Halo. Everyone knows what I do without following me.” I took another spin in the chair. “Maybe they are following Casey. I am driving her Firebird.”

  Max grunted. “That is even more unbelievable than someone following you.”

  “True,” I said. “She’s more of the stalker type than the stalkee.”

  Max unclasped his hands and strode to the desk. “We have several options. I can confront the individual. You can drive home and see if you are followed. I can drive you home in a different vehicle and see if we are followed.”

  “You don’t want to confront one of my lunatic fans. What if they throw paint on you?”

  “Why would they throw paint on me?”

  “I’ve just been imagining what a crazy art fan might do.”<
br />
  Max raised an eyebrow. “You must take this seriously.”

  “Then let’s call the Sheriff’s Office.”

  “No,” said Max. “No police.”

  “You’re so touchy when it comes to the law. If you’d stop trying to straddle the line, the cops would be your friend.” I took his chair for another spin and jerked myself to a stop. “Why don’t I sneak out and see if I know them first?”

  Max nodded. “Let’s see who is this bozo.”

  “You’re coming, too?”

  “Of course. One moment, please.” He moved around the desk, pulling a key ring from the pocket of his robe. I scooted the chair back as he leaned over me to unlock a bottom drawer. Before I could peek inside, Max pulled out a handgun, slammed the drawer shut, and relocked it.

  “Is that a Glock? Forty-five or forty?”

  “Forty has a bigger magazine.” He dropped the speedloader into his hand, checked for bullets, and then slid it back inside the grip. Satisfied, he nodded at me. “Let us go.”

  I waved a hand at the robe which now fell open to his waist. “You want to put some clothes on first, Cowboy?”

  Max was a lover of security. A gated, iron fence circled his beautifully landscaped lawn. Acres of undeveloped forest surrounded his property on three sides. An inner fence cloistered his pool and backyard. Small security cameras were scattered throughout, and every exit and floor had an alarm panel. There was also a big-ass cannon sitting in his front yard, which possibly worked. However, stealth was not his forte. Max’s idea of sneaking up on the stalker? Walk to the end of his drive, cross the street, and stick a gun in his face.

  In his robe and flip-flops.

  My idea? Don cat-prowler gear and ninja our way to the car.

  Our compromise was to exit from a side gardening gate and use the wooded area bordering his property as cover. Once we started, I could tell Max enjoyed playing G.I. Joe. He spoke with his fingers and jerks to the head. He had slipped on a black t-shirt, jeans, and a shoulder holster for his Glock. I could not convince him to wear a ski cap to cover his thick brown hair.