“Lucy, please.” Charlene propelled herself away from the computer by means of the rolling chair. “I was just doing some research. On the history of something, that’s all. Purely a fact-finding mission, nothing to worry your mom about. Trust me, okay?”
Lucy tilted her head. “You’re really not as nice as you pretend to be.” With a flip of her hair, she turned and left the room.
The corners of Charlene’s mouth turned down. She missed the cute, innocent little girl that Lucy used to be only a few brief years ago. Wilting into herself a bit, Charlene turned off the monitor, brushed a kiss to Ben’s cheek, tucked a blanket around him, and left for Creekside.
For someone prone to nightmares, the website had been a terrible thing to visit, but she couldn’t help feeling grateful for what she’d learned. If she ever caught sight of Horace again, now she’d know to run.
As an antidote to the taint of malevolence now in her mind, she prayed St. Michael’s prayer, invoking the warrior angel’s protection.
Call Clay. Warn him.
The thought appeared from nowhere, but couldn’t be brushed away. Despite her promise to Ben, it was only right to let Clay know what she’d discovered about Horace and the knife. She dug out her phone.
Calling him isn’t seeing him.
But he didn’t answer. She drove ten more minutes and tried again. He still didn’t pick up. She continued this pattern all the way home.
She let herself into her apartment with a heavy weariness, not near as alert as she should have been. As she clunked her keys on the kitchen counter, she caught a reflection of movement in the microwave door. “Hey, Brook,” she mumbled, about to call Clay one last time.
“Hey.”
At the unmistakable, hard masculine voice, her head whipped up, her wide eyes landing on none other than Nails.
He smirked. “Long time no see.”
She made a petrified dash for the door, but he cut her off all too easily. He grabbed her close, squeezing her arms, bruising them as he spoke into her ear. “I’ve got a real special job lined up, sweetie. One last perfect heist before I leave the country for good, and I need your help.”
* * *
Her apartment intercom buzzed.
Nails shot Charlene a look. “Expecting someone?”
She gulped. “No.”
“Then we ignore it.”
Several minutes later, as she ran ChapStick nervously over her lips and Nails quietly detailed what was expected of her to help pull off his grand scheme, a sharp knock interrupted.
His gun jammed into her side and he whispered, “Not a word.” He hustled her to the door and checked the peephole. Cursed quietly. “Get rid of him. Make him suspicious and he’s dead.”
Nails cracked the door, keeping a firm grasp on her left arm as he stayed hidden and ready behind the door.
Hyperconscious of the gun, she swallowed and willed her voice steady, willed color back into her face. She couldn’t fail. She couldn’t.
“Clay.”
“Hey.” He already looked too concerned. “I couldn’t get ahold of Brook all evening. Then I saw you tried calling me a bunch of times, and you didn’t answer when I called back.”
Because Nails took my phone.
“So I thought I’d swing by and check if everything’s okay.” His eyes locked on hers. “Is it?”
Nails’s fingers dug deep in her arm. She broke eye contact and clenched her teeth. “We’re fine.”
Clay’s brow dipped, unconvinced. “Why didn’t you answer the intercom?”
“Did you buzz?” She yawned. “I was sleeping. How’d you get in the building?”
“Came in behind someone.” He glanced down the hall. “So you slept through the buzzer but you heard my knock?”
She forced out a breath through her teeth. Don’t do this, Clay. Go away. For your own sake, go away.
“Why’d you call?” he persisted.
Why indeed? Her petrified mind wouldn’t dredge up the reason. No time to think. Tell him something. Anything. “I had a nightmare.”
Head tilting slightly, he seemed to consider that. “Why not call Ben?”
She blinked. Scrounged for an answer. “I tried him first. He didn’t answer.” Her gaze wavered from Clay’s scrutiny. “I needed someone to talk to. Anyone.”
“Where’s Brook?”
A very good question. But for her sake and the baby’s, she lied again. “She’s sleeping. I won’t wake her. You know how much she needs her rest.”
“Right.” Clay paused. He tried to peer past her into the apartment. “Come on, Charlene. Talk to me.” His voice turned gruff. “What’s really going on?”
Fix this, ordered Nails’s jabbing gun.
“I told you, it was just a nightmare.”
“Then let’s talk about it. Can I come in?” He took a step forward.
“No!” She pressed the door and felt her face blanch. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m over it.”
His face tensed. “I don’t like how you look.”
“That’s the nicest line I’ve ever heard.”
“Cut it out. Tell me what’s wrong.”
You’re right, Sam. He’s dang stubborn.
She drew herself up and narrowed her eyes. Forced them to sizzle. “The only thing wrong here is you. Thinking you can come here in the middle of the night and give me the third degree.” She stunned herself at how cold her words sounded. “Go away.”
As she closed the door, his hand shoved it open. She stumbled back, horrified as he pushed his way in.
Nails threw the door shut and brandished his gun. “Not a smart move, Cissy.”
Clay jolted, then froze.
“You must have a death wish.” Nails locked the bolt. “How’s the jaw?”
The thunderous expression on Clay’s face drew weak words from Charlene. “I’m sorry. You should have left—”
“Shut up and sit.” Nails indicated a chair with a thrust of his chin. Obeying, she crossed to the living room and sank down.
To Clay, Nails said, “Hands on the wall.” The gun drilled his back. “Do it.”
He frisked Clay, found the black rosary, and flung it to the floor. “Still a little church boy, I see.” Then he found Clay’s pocketknife. As he took it, Clay went for his gun. Nails immediately cracked him on the back, and he went down.
Nails yanked him up, shoved him to the wall with a beefy forearm, and pressed the gun barrel to his neck. “Stupid, stupid kid. I was generous last time. And the time before that. I let you live.”
Clay’s throat moved.
“I gave you a chance to be a part of this, the job we talked about way back in the joint, but you didn’t want in.” Nails’s saliva sprayed Clay’s grimacing face. “You lost your chance, and now . . . now you’re nothin’ but in the way.”
Charlene heard a click as Nails cocked the gun. Her heart stopped. “No, please. Don’t!”
“Your fault, girl.” Nails’s gaze never left Clay. “You didn’t keep him away. I warned you.”
Clay’s eyes fixated on the gun. Sweat beaded his brow.
She fought for breath. “If you kill him, you’ll never get into the mansion. I won’t help you. I won’t!”
“Oh, but you will. I don’t need Cissy for leverage. We already went over this. I’ve got one of my buddies with Brook. One word from me, and he’ll blow her pretty brains out. Cissy here knows the kind of guys who work for me, don’t you?” The gun pushed his throat, and Clay sucked air. “There’ll be no hesitation, no matter how lovely or pregnant your friend is.”
Clay’s fists balled. A vein pounded in his temple.
“I won’t help you if you kill him,” she repeated in desperation. “But if you let him live, I’ll do exactly what you say. Please.” Her voice faltered. “Please, Lance.”
He shot her a look that made her press herself as far back into the chair as possible. She didn’t know why she’d called him that. Maybe because it sounded more human. And that’s w
hat she needed him to be. So he could find a speck of compassion. But his look told her she should have kept her mouth shut.
Clay picked that moment to gamble. He threw himself to the side, then dove for Nails’s gun arm. With a curse, Nails wrestled him to the ground and kicked him a couple times. “Give it up, kid.” Nails loomed over him, brandishing the gun like he wanted nothing more than to shoot him, and she lost all hope.
But her tongue moved, and she pleaded again. “Please, Lance.”
To her amazement, he thrust the gun in his pants and pulled something from his pocket. “More trouble than you’re worth,” he muttered, crouching down and wrenching Clay’s arms behind his back and zip tying his wrists. Such thin, laughably dinky looking pieces of plastic, but so effective. Then he bound Clay’s ankles before forcing his feet to meet his hands. With one more zip tie, he cinched Clay’s ankles to his wrists.
Nails swiped a dish towel from the kitchen as Clay groaned, opened his eyes, and cursed. “If you hurt her—”
“I’ll do whatever I want.” Nails crammed the towel in Clay’s mouth, wound a strip of duct tape around his face to keep the gag in, then hauled him to the closet, where he shoved him in among the boots and broom and vacuum cleaner and slid the door closed.
Crossing his arms, Nails strode to her side, kicking Clay’s rosary out of sight. “There now, happy?” He looked like he expected an answer.
“Not happy,” she managed around a lump in her throat. “But grateful.”
“You should be. Now it’s time for you to make good on your end of the deal.” He whipped out his gun and leveled it at her. “Let’s go visit Gramps.”
* * *
Charlene drove her car. Nails sat in the passenger seat, his gun aimed at her the entire ride.
He said, “You might not want to hit any potholes if you can help it.”
Each minute of the drive felt like an hour.
Glancing at him, she caught a very strange expression on his face. A pensive blend of savage hunger and pleasure. Suppressing a shudder, she knew she didn’t want to know what he was thinking.
* * *
He’d come close. So close.
He’d imagined himself squeezing the trigger, the blast, the blood. The kid’s expression, the scream.
She’d saved him. With that voice. Those words. So like Beth. How often had she suckered him in with those same words?
“Please, Lance. Could you open this jar for me? Oh, and could you reach that box on the top shelf ?”
“Please, Lance. Will you help me mop the floor?”
“The little kids want you to play hide and seek with them. Please, Lance.”
It had been forever since anyone had called him Lance.
He shifted in his seat and steadied the gun, kept it trained on the girl. He didn’t intend to shoot her. But guns talked. They put the fear of God into people like no priest ever could, no matter how much fire and brimstone they spouted. Guns got things done.
He’d never killed before, but he’d always been willing to, if it came to it. And he’d always been curious, but that was never quite enough. Too risky. Although he’d come close with that one CO. With his bare hands. If the other COs hadn’t shown up when they did . . .
But when he’d held the gun on Cissy, drilled to his neck, hard metal to pliable skin, it was a feeling like no other. More than the usual intoxication of power, tonight he’d had a craving to destroy. He hated the kid with a passion, and wasn’t sure why. Normally, he didn’t feel anything. He’d trained himself not to. Anger was okay, but this was more than anger. More primal. Something about the kid and his attitude, his piousness, needed obliterating.
He could only hold out so long, he realized.
If Cissy ever crossed him again, he wasn’t going to be able to resist.
* * *
Charlene didn’t know where her audacity came from, but she heard herself speaking. “I want my necklace back. The pink pearls. You have no idea how much they mean to me. Please, it was my mother’s necklace. It’s all I have left of her.”
“Ain’t that sweet.” Nails didn’t look at her. “Shut up and drive.”
At last, there it was: Grandfather’s grand estate, regal, gated, and guarded. One misstep or misplaced word, and Brook and her baby would die. Charlene didn’t need a reminder. She planned to follow Nails’s plan to the letter.
At the gate, she buzzed the guard.
“Who is it?” he asked through the intercom.
“Charlene Perigard and a friend, to see my grandfather on a very urgent matter.”
Knowing how she’d last fled here, it was suspicious that she was now asking for entry. What would she do if Grandfather refused? She swallowed. Nails would be far from happy, and someone would pay.
To her relief, the gates swung open, enabling her to proceed up the driveway.
Nails grinned. “One last thing I should mention. We’re on a time constraint. If for any reason my buddy doesn’t hear from me with the all clear by four a.m., it’s buh-bye Brookie. And then I’ll send him over to work on Cissy.”
Her teeth clenched together. Lord, help us.
Her heart went out to Brook, wherever she was, with an agonizing sympathy. As one who’d been kidnapped, Charlene wouldn’t wish the cruel experience on anyone. To save Brook and her unborn baby, this robbery had to be a success. Money was expendable; lives were not.
She hoped Grandfather would see it that way.
Heaving a bracing breath, she parked at the top of the drive. Nails followed her out of the car, his gun hidden, but still ready. He planted himself behind her at the towering front door.
Her old nemesis, bulky bodyguard Frank, opened the door with an assessing gaze, but he stepped aside. “Follow me.”
Nostrils flared, Nails strode in with a powerful, in-charge air. When Frank stopped outside the sealed doors of Grandfather’s office, about to knock, Nails drew out a Taser and zapped him. He went down in a stiff, stunned heap on the marble tile. In a second, Nails drew his gun. He threw zip ties to Charlene. “Cinch him up, ankles and wrists. Good and tight.” He watched her do the job, and she felt like a criminal-in-training.
Nails smiled. “Show time.”
She swung the office doors wide and led the way into Grandfather’s spacious, book-lined lair. Grandfather sat not at his desk, but in a brown leather chair, a thick robe over his pajamas, his hands blue-veined talons on the arm rests. “What have you gotten me out of bed for at this ungodly hour, Charlene, and who—”
His eyes went wide as Nails drew both guns.
“Open your safe, Gramps.” Nails flashed a toothy grin.
Grandfather sputtered and turned five shades of tomato red. “Frank!”
“Pointless,” Nails remarked.
Grandfather leapt to his slippered feet. Snarling, he turned to Charlene. “What’s the meaning of all this? Why’d you bring this scum here? What’s the matter with you, always taking up with lowlife convicts . . .” as he chastised her, he stealthily backed up to his desk.
“Stop right there, old man,” Nails ordered, wagging his firearm. “Any alarm you plan to trip, or gun you plan to grab, I recommend against it. ’Less you like the idea of being riddled full of lead.”
Nails thrust his chin at her. “Tie Gramps up. Wrists and ankles.” He tucked one gun away and tossed her two zip ties. Apparently, he had a limitless supply.
Thinking of Brook and her baby, she followed orders and plucked up the thin plastic strips. While Grandfather blustered, she secured him to his rolling desk chair.
Nails began to spin him around tauntingly so that his wispy gray hair zinged out by centrifugal force.
“Stop it,” she said, disgusted. “That’s not necessary. Just get what you came for and leave.”
“Old man’s gotta tell me where the safe is, first. Then the combination. Just tell me what I need, Gramps, and I’ll stop the ride.”
“Never!” Grandfather’s skin took on an increasingly sick gray hue
.
Nails remained amused for less than a minute. “My patience is wearing thin, old man. Ready to talk yet?”
“When hell freezes over. With you in it.”
“Stubborn old geezer.” Nails threw back his shoulders and sent the chair, with Grandfather in it, careening across the floor. It smashed into the wall, and Grandfather let out an Oof.
“Bet that felt good on your old bones, didn’t it? I’ve got lots more where that came from.” A flicker of thought shadowed Nails’s brow. “Or . . .”
He turned to Charlene. “I could use the method that’s always the most effective. Damsel in distress.”
She tried to scurry from his grasp, but he caught her in two swift steps. An arm bear-hugged her upper body, pinning her arms to her sides. He smelled of decay and sweat.
“Talk, Gramps.” Nails pressed the cold gun barrel to her temple.
Her heart crashed against her ribs. Her brain screamed with panic as adrenalin ricocheted through her. If she’d learned anything from her kidnapping experience years ago, it was that Grandfather would not come through for her when it mattered the most.
I’m as good as dead.
She closed her eyes, forcing a stream of tears down her cheeks. Twenty-three years of life. Exactly. That was all she was going to get. A prayer on her lips, she prepared to be blown apart.
She heard a growling noise that turned into Grandfather’s angry voice. “The fourth bookshelf on the east wall, behind the row of encyclopedias. That’s where it is. The combination is . . .”
Her mind muted his words with a drone of sheer relief as Nails released her. He prodded her forward, the gun now on her back, a slightly less frightening spot. Weak kneed, she moved to follow the directions.
Her hands moved mechanically, tipping books from the shelf, punching in the combination, opening the safe, revealing a bountiful, astonishing stash of thick wads of cash.
“Get it all.” Nails pulled a folded canvas bag from within his coat and threw it at her. It flopped open to a huge size. Greed dripping from his gaze, he watched her fill the bag, hurrying her with threats. The satisfaction on his face was sickening, yet she clung to the hope that this entire episode was almost over.
After the Thaw Page 29
