Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  Bare-chested, wearing boxers and looking incredibly scrumptious, he climbed into her bed. She forgave him for all the aggravating things he’d said during the day, since she hadn’t been at her best either. Truth was, she looked forward to spooning with Trent. She needed something good to erase all the horrors of her day.

  Before she succumbed to sleep, she called and ordered his new phone. She made it the same as hers, but asked for the color silver.

  When she turned out the light, he pulled her tight against him and sighed with contentment. “What if I don’t like the color silver?”

  “Then we’ll switch phones.”

  “I’m very glad I arrived in time to save you this morning.”

  “Me too.” With that happy thought, she fell into a restful peace.

  —Friday—

  Chapter 24

  Sam cursed when once again the phone rang while he and Dawn made love.

  “It’s one in the morning. Is there no time you aren’t at the beck and call of Master Trent?” She didn’t even try to hide her annoyance.

  “Let me make sure it’s the asshole and not—”

  “Carrie?”

  “Mars,” he snapped. At first, he’d thought her jealousy of Carrie amusing, but not at one in the morning. If Carrie called at such an hour, she’d have a life and death situation.

  He grabbed the phone from the bed table, where he’d wisely placed it, since Joey had orders to call him if Mars turned for the worse.

  The caller ID said Pascal. “Mars okay?” he asked as he pulled out of Dawn and rolled to his back.

  “He continues his battle against insurgents. I want the bastard behind the doctored chocolate. We may be able to catch him before he leaves the country, but I need your help.”

  “Anything.” Sam sat up and pulled on his pants.

  “According to Carrie, Ivan took the day off.”

  “How would she know?”

  “Mars told her when he caught her cooking in the kitchen.”

  “Makes sense. Otherwise, Ivan would have chopped Carrie into little pieces. He’s a scary dude.”

  “Russian mafia, to be precise. If I can arrest this guy, my career will brighten further.”

  “How can I help?”

  Sam leaned over to kiss Dawn but she rolled to her side.

  He sighed and stroked her hair then left her apartment. “Talk to me.”

  Joey sighed. “I’ve got a search warrant, but no one’s home to receive it.”

  “Where’s Master Trent?” he asked as he quick-stepped the stairs.

  “Not sure. I’m guessing Long Island. I told him it wouldn’t be safe to stay in the penthouse, but honestly, I didn’t think he heard a word I said.”

  Sam would bet money on it. “Where’s Carrie?” He left the apartment and headed to the limo.

  “In the hospital. The doctor kept her overnight.”

  Now he felt like a jerk for demanding she remove his number from her phone “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Exhaustion, stress, lack of sustenance.”

  At least he hadn’t abandoned her entirely. He’d driven slowly behind her as her odd entourage of besotted men saw her safely home. After Carrie had gone inside, he’d returned to Dawn, hoping to make up for their prior interruption.

  “You’re right about not messing with your employees. I think my best barmaid will soon leave.”

  “What’d you do?” Joey asked in his not-again voice.

  “Answered this phone call.” He climbed into the limo and pulled out. “You still haven’t told me what you want me to do.”

  “Return to the penthouse and receive the search warrant.”

  “I’m on my way. Are you planning to hang out and wait for Ivan after you’ve collected any evidence?”

  “That would exceed the parameters of the warrant. So this search will take a really long time.”

  “Got any backup?”

  “Officer Jenson will assist in the search, but then I intend to send her home.”

  Sam focused in on the key word. “Her? Describe her?”

  “Oh you know, typical cop. Blue suit that makes you look heavy at the hips due to all the crap you have to carry. Black clunky shoes, bought for comfort, but don’t come close to a good pair of sneakers. Red hair pulled back in a pony tail or bun so she looks more like the guys.”

  “Sounds like we should send her home.”

  “Intense green eyes always searching her environment. Straight nose spattered with freckles. High cheekbones that don’t require makeup to stand out. Firm chin that juts out when she’s taking shit from the guys. An athlete’s body capable of outrunning most criminals and tossing them to the ground.

  “Ah shit!” Sam honked a pedestrian out of his way.

  “What?”

  “You’re breaking your own rule. You’re falling for a policeman…woman.”

  “Major difference there, bud.”

  “I meant policewoman.”

  “Not talking about your gender confusion. I meant our situations. Dawn works for you. Jenson doesn’t work for me. She has a whole different chain of command.”

  “It’s still shitting in your sandbox.”

  “Well, my sandbox doesn’t have much going on right now so don’t worry about it. I did ask Carrie out tonight, but she turned me down.”

  “Carrie? Why would you even go there?”

  “Because I like her. She’s amazingly understanding.”

  “Oh, so when I liked her, I had some sick obsession with Master Trent’s toys, but when you like her it’s because she’s really nice.”

  “Yeah, you summed it up well.”

  “Jerk. I hope you had the sense not to do it front of Master Trent, because he’s crazy possessive over his toy.”

  “I noticed, but you never mentioned he’s abusive to her.”

  Sam choked. “Carrie? He treats her like his prized possession. He’d never hurt her.”

  “My eyes saw different. She’s in a verbally and physically abusive relationship.”

  “Well, we’re just going to have to agree to disagree. In fact, you’re wrong about many things. She’s not particularly good-natured either. However, when she smiles, it does feel like candy to the soul.”

  “I’ll agree with the last part.

  Sam pulled into the penthouse parking lot. “I’m headed up now and will be home in five.”

  “Great. By the way, does the penthouse have a back entrance?”

  “Servants enter through the front lobby? My God man, have you lost your mind? We nameless, faceless workers of the rich enter through the far left-hand corner elevator in the parking lot. It’s labeled ‘deliveries,’ so no proper person might wander inside by mistake.”

  “So Ivan will come up the back way?”

  “Yep. And phones don’t work here so—”

  Sam’s phone declared itself out-of-service. He closed his cell and shook his head. Phones worked just fine in the proper elevators, but not in this clunky servants’ crate, which crawled upward at one inch a minute, determined to make the poor and downtrodden late to the job they desperately need to keep.

  Leaving the crate, he hurried to the back entrance where he had to use both a security card and a physical key in a dead bolt. Upon entering, he turned and secured the lock, hearing the click as the security bolt fell into place. However, the click that echoed it sounded all too familiar and had nothing to do with a door.

  He slowly raised his hands. “Take my money. I’m not going to fight you over it.”

  “I don’t want your money. I want my chocolate bars,” a man with a familiar Russian accent replied.

  “Ivan?” He lowered his hands and faced the chef. “Damn man, you scared me half to death!”

  “You will be dead if you don’t return my chocolate.”

  Chapter 25

  Sam really didn’t want to die yet, and certainly not for bars of chocolate, but that outcome seemed all too likely. Some serious firepower stared a
t him down a well-used, battle scarred silencer.

  “With your left hand, slowly remove the gun you carry under your left arm.”

  “I’m not terribly flexible.”

  “Do it or I shoot you in the kneecap.”

  Sam twisted his left hand to reach underneath his left armpit and, other than a bit of discomfort, found nothing. He’d left his gun at Dawn’s house. “I forgot my gun. I had a fight with my girlfriend and stormed out of her apartment.”

  Ivan didn’t believe him until Sam stripped down naked. The bastard wouldn’t even let him keep his briefs on.

  Once convinced Sam was truly unarmed, Ivan nudged him with his gun to the main room. Two U.S. army duffle bags, stuffed to the brim, one his, one Mars’, sat on the floor

  “Am I going somewhere?” Sam asked.

  “No, but they’ll get me through customs and out of the country faster.”

  Ivan’s plan to take the duffle bag Sam had earned with four years of hard service in Iraq pissed him off more than threats of death or forced nakedness.

  “Mars and I are kind of attached to those bags.”

  “Cut the bullshit and tell me where my chocolate bars are.”

  Sam decided to play dumb. “I’ve heard of people addicted to chocolate, but Ivan, you’ve gone way overboard, man. You need professional help.”

  The next moment, Ivan slammed him against one of the foursquare pillars in Trent’s excessively large living room.

  Sam flinched from the pain of the silencer pressing into the skin beneath his chin. “You should file the end of your silencer better. It’s cutting my neck.”

  “That’s the least of your worries,” Ivan growled.

  “Ivan, this is crazy. I didn’t take your chocolate. What are you really mad about?”

  He pressed the gun harder, his crazy glare suggesting he was seconds from pulling the trigger.

  Sam closed his eyes. He really didn’t want Ivan’s ugly face as his last memory. Instead, he thought of Dawn and their last moments together. Beautiful Dawn, dodging his kiss and rolling to her side, away from him. He moved to a memory of Carrie yelling at him. God, didn’t he have any good memories?

  Finally, one came to him: He, Joey, and Mars, hunkered down in an abandoned Iraqi hut, exhausted to near-death, laughing over a letter from Joey’s sister, complaining about her day. They couldn’t stop laughing over the girl’s silly complaints. Even their best day in Iraq was a hundred times worse. It reminded them of why they fought—so Bethie could have such a ridiculously bad day.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Ivan placed his finger to his thick, pale lips as he moved to the door, all the while aiming his gun at Sam. He glanced through the peephole and frowned.

  Sam knew precisely who stood on the other side. While he wouldn’t mind a rescue, Joey wouldn’t expect enemy fire the moment he walked through the door. Sam refused to let his friend die over this.

  Ivan yanked him into the servants’ section. “One word and you’re dead.”

  “Okay,” he whispered then hoped to God Ivan hadn’t meant his warning literally. “A cop’s out there, right?”

  Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “Because he asked me to come back here to let him in.”

  “Why?”

  “You remember Trent’s latest toy?”

  “The bitch who wouldn’t eat my Russian dumplings for breakfast?”

  Sam nodded, not mentioning he hated the mystery-meat dumplings himself. “Well, she got herself into trouble yelling out bomb today. Shut down half the city.”

  Ivan frowned. “I saw that on TV.”

  “The cops want to search her belongings.”

  “So do I. She probably stole my chocolate.”

  Sam cringed. He didn’t want the Russian mafia after Carrie. “I don’t think so. The cops have had her in lock-up since this morning.”

  “Still take me to her room.”

  “Sure. Mind if I put my clothes back on? I’m not really comfortable walking about naked unless I’m with a woman.”

  Ivan grunted and shoved him with the gun. When they passed Sam’s discarded clothes, he stopped and put them on, even though Ivan had never actually agreed. Sam went by the philosophy ‘do what you want and ask permission later.’ Mars had almost broken him of the behavior in Iraq, but he’d regressed under Master Trent’s reign.

  After he dressed, Sam slipped his hand into his pocket, planning to send Joey an SOS. Unfortunately, the phone rang the moment he opened it.

  He answered it even as the gun pressed to his skull.

  “Where are you?” Joey barked. “I’ve been standing out here twenty minutes.”

  “I’m sorry, officer. Master Trent’s in a terrible mood, what with Carrie arrested and all.”

  Ivan leaned in and listened as Sam continued talking.

  “He’s demanded I drive him out to Long Island to see Father Johnson and we’re stuck in traffic. It’ll be at least five hours before I can return to the city. Could we do this tomorrow?” He prayed to God Joey caught the ‘Father Johnson’ comment, which was code for ‘I need saved’. Otherwise, he’d be dead in about five seconds.

  “I’m not happy about having my time wasted. Why didn’t you call and let me know?”

  “I apologize, officer. I need to go. Master Trent is getting testy. Thank God he doesn’t own a gun, or I’d be a dead man tonight.”

  Ivan’s eyes narrowed at the last comment. He forcibly slammed the phone shut. “You think you’re a funny guy, but I’m not laughing.”

  “Sorry, it’s how I handle stress. Working for Master Trent results in a great deal of aggravation. I’m thinking you know that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be at risk of dying over some stupid chocolate.”

  Ivan shoved Sam down the hall. “Which room is hers?”

  “She stays in Master Trent’s room.” Sam pointed them back to the living room. The master bedroom opened directly into the living room. He frowned when he didn’t see the suitcases he’d brought her. Joey said she was in the hospital. He hoped she hadn’t taken her luggage with her, because Ivan needed to sort through it.

  “Well?”

  Delaying his death, he suggested she must have moved to a guest bedroom. If he was lucky, he might get a chance to disarm Ivan before the lunatic lost patience and killed him.

  In the first guest room, Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Carrie’s stuff. He had no idea why she moved or how she got Trent to agree, but he thanked God the lethal chef had something other than himself to abuse.

  The phone rang and he picked it up with a curt “What?”

  Ivan returned to his side and listened to the call.

  “It’s Dawn. I’m standing outside your door. Let me in.”

  His heart jumped into his throat. Why would Joey involve a civilian in this situation?

  “Dawn, I’m not at the penthouse. I’m stuck in traffic.”

  “Traffic my ass! Your limo’s in the parking lot. And all these lies are pissing me off. You’re with Carrie. Aren’t you?”

  “No! Carrie’s in jail.”

  “You just lied to me about being in traffic. Why should I believe a word you say? I know you like her.”

  “I don’t. Dawn, you’re the only one. I promise you. Just go home and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “I’m not going anywhere until you open the door and prove to me you aren’t with Carrie…and make things right between us.”

  Sam groaned and stared up at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. What was Joey thinking? Using his angry girlfriend in this situation could go wrong so easily.

  He looked at Ivan, unable to hide his fear now. “Give me five minutes and I’ll get rid of her. She’s a nice girl. I don’t want her involved in this.”

  To his shock, Ivan agreed. Upon returning to the living room, he stared through the peephole, moved to the wall, and nodded for Sam to open the door.

  Sam considered crushing the bastard
with the steel door when he opened it but, as if reading his mind, Ivan stepped further away.

  Pressing his forehead to the door, Sam sent up yet another prayer. God had to be really confused. Sam hadn’t spoken to him through four years of Iraq. Why the bombardment of calls now?

  Because he really, really liked this woman.

  A flicker of Ivan’s gun warned him the chef grew tired of marinating and wanted to move matters along.

  God, please don’t let me get Dawn killed. I might want to marry her one day. And kick Joey’s ass for me if we both die during his stupid plan.

  Swallowing hard, he opened the door, and stared at a tall redhead with high cheekbones and piercing green eyes, wearing baggy sweats and running shoes. Before he could even speak, she slammed her hands into his chest, pushing him backwards into the room and onto his ass.

  “Bastard! Where is she?” Not-Dawn screamed.

  Sam watched in horror as Ivan moved quickly from his wall toward her.

  “I know she’s here.” With the frightening speed of a jealous woman, she moved toward the servants’ section. Ivan rushed after her.

  Not-Dawn turned and shot him six times in the chest. A second later, men in blue poured in from all sides, like a turn-on-the-light-cock-roach-run in reverse.

  Joey pulled him to his feet and patted his back. “You okay?”

  Sam nodded and rubbed his bruised chest. “Did I just meet Jensen?”

  Joey smiled.

  The pain in his chest made him worry she might have cracked a rib or two. “Don’t ever fight with her. You’ll lose.”

  Jensen sauntered up, looking proud as hell. “Sorry, sir, but I couldn’t talk the suspect into surrendering.”

  Joey patted her back. “Don’t worry about it. We saved the un-armed civilian being held at gun point.”

  Sam glared at his smirking friend for calling him an un-armed civilian. Before he could voice a complaint, the real Dawn burst through the door and wrapped herself around him. “Sam, I’m so sorry for being a bitch tonight.”

  He looked at Joey to make sense of her arrival.

  “I knew you left her place in a hurry. I, better than anyone, know how apt you are to forget your gun. So I called Dawn and asked if it was sleeping over.”