Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love)

by Liza O'Connor

  “Maybe I can take her with me on my trips to the vet hospital. Might give my buddy Carlos encouragement.”

  “Did he get hurt in Iraq?”

  “Yeah, he’s a member of our squad, the only one who didn’t come back physically whole. Sam can’t bear to even hear his name mentioned.”

  She turned and faced him. “Why?”

  He sighed heavily and stared at her garden. “Because Sam was the gunner and he believes if he’d shot into the crowd sooner, the person who threw the grenade wouldn’t have lived to toss anything.”

  “Sam fired into a crowd? With civilians?”

  “Yep, and that’s why he delayed action.” Joey breathed out. “You need lighter topics and food. How about we order take-out from one of the many restaurants in your charming town and have a picnic back here? “

  “A vast improvement to my offer.” She rose and returned to the house, catching her reflection in the mirror. “What I really need is a shower. It will only take fifteen minutes.”

  Instead of bitching and moaning, Joey assured her he could wait. As she undressed and stepped into the shower, she wondered why Trent couldn’t be so nice.

  She knew why. His brain didn’t work the same, being a different species.

  So why do I love him so much?

  Even now, after all he’d done, if Trent asked her to come back, she would.

  Why?

  Her brain tried to dodge the question, but she couldn’t let it. She had to understand what drew her so strongly to Trent, and why a very nice man of her own species didn’t interest her.

  Even after she’d washed her hair, shaved her legs, and scrubbed her body from head to toe, she didn’t have the answer.

  When she came downstairs, dressed in slacks and a knit top, Joey sat on the large couch and a frightened Spanish couple sat on the loveseat.

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  Joey tilted his head and continued to study the terrified couple. “The lack of dust on any of your wood furniture struck me as odd. Then I went to your fridge to see what an empty one looked like and lo and behold, vegetables and meats filled every space.”

  Carrie intended to claim it impossible, but realized who this young man must be. She spoke in Spanish.

  “Are you the gardener Trent sent?”

  Relief welled in both their eyes as the man spoke. “Yes, I’m Carlos. This is my wife, Maria. We have stayed here so no vagrants would come. We have taken nothing. I swear to you on my mother’s grave.”

  “I believe you. Thank you so much for your hard work. My garden has never looked better.” She smiled at the woman. “Nor has my house ever been cleaner.”

  Her focus turned to Joey. “This is Carlos and his wife Maria. Trent sent them to care for my house.” She sat down beside Joey, who seemed to mentally struggle with something.

  “What?”

  “If I ask to see their green cards, my gut tells me they aren’t going to have them.”

  “Then don’t ask. You aren’t on duty. You’re here as my friend.”

  His gaze focused on her. “Am I?”

  “What?”

  “Your friend?”

  She nodded. “Can you afford to take me to a restaurant to eat?”

  He rose. “Let’s go.”

  Carrie talked him into ordering a stone oven pizza with artichokes, red peppers, and avocado slices on it at Café Metro, while she ordered salmon with vegetables on brown rice.

  “If you really don’t like it, we’ll stop by Stewarts and buy you a burger.”

  “Can we talk about your house guests?” he asked.

  Her smile faded at his words. “Hopefully, they’ve headed home by now.”

  His stern eyes drilled into hers. “Is that why you asked me to take you out?”

  She met his dark stare and nodded. “I didn’t want you to have to arrest a good man with the same name as your friend.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose. “You nailed exactly what held me back. However, I believe in my job, and I don’t want to become the type of cop who looks the other way when an arrest becomes inconvenient.”

  She sighed heavily. “You’ve had to do a lot of looking away with me.”

  A faint nod told her there lay the crux of the problem.

  “I really like you, Carrie, and I think once you get Master Trent completely out of your life, you’ll settle down—

  “And not break laws every other day.”

  “More like every day,” he muttered.

  “Do you need to arrest me for housing illegals? I didn’t know they’d moved in.”

  He ran his hands through his hair. “You just told me you did.”

  “No, I didn’t.” She breathed in deep and told him about Sam mistaking her garden for weeds. “I thought Carlos came out for the day then returned to Long Island.”

  Joey stared at her a long time. “I believe you.”

  He said it like “I don’t believe you, but I’ll let it slide this time without arresting you, but next time…”

  He leaned back in his chair and motioned the waitress over. “Can you box these to go?”

  Carrie watched her barely-touched food leave the table. He could’ve asked if she’d finished.

  God! He wanted nothing more to do with her. “I can walk home if you like.”

  “No, I’ll take you home. But if Carlos and his wife remain on premises, I’ll ask to see their green cards and when they don’t have them, I’ll call the local police and have them arrested. And if you give the officers trouble, they’ll arrest you.”

  She handed him her keys. “Go to my house and do what you have to do. I’m going to walk home. Hopefully, by the time I arrive, no one will be there.”

  He stared at the keys instead of looking at her. “I’m not the bad guy,” he whispered.

  “No, you’re not, Detective Pascal. You’re a very good man. You just met me on a bad week. What you need is someone who believes in the law as much as you, someone like Officer Jenson. I bet she has similar problems finding an upright citizen to date.”

  He rose from the table and reached out, accepting the food bags from the waitress. Carrie remained seated.

  “You coming?”

  Despite her desire to stare at her feet, she met his gaze. “I can’t afford to get into anymore trouble. Thank you for dinner.” She wished she’d eaten more than a bite.

  Handing her both sacks, he sighed. “Not sure which is yours, so keep them both.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Stay out of trouble now, okay?”

  She nodded. Just leave already.

  Finally, after another long stare, he walked out the door. She stayed for five minutes at the table then carried her food to a bench in the park and enjoyed her still-warm salmon.

  Better than being arrested.

  Again.

  She hoped Carlos and Maria had enough time to escape, but she’d never know for sure, and their fate would eat at her conscience forever more.

  Maybe she could call Mars—the other one—in a few days and ask if Carlos and Maria had returned safely. Only she didn’t know his number. The guard had confiscated her cell phone. All the phones numbers in her life had disappeared, just like the people.

  Just as well. I need a new start.

  Step 1: Find a sane boss of my own species.

  Step 2: Keep the relationship professional.

  Step 3: Work hard and stop getting arrested!

  If she could do these three simple things, she could recover from her current debacle and move on with her life.

  Chapter 31

  Carrie could barely lift her legs to climb the steps into her house. Besides exhaustion from her long walk, depression weighed heavy on her soul. However, on the good side, her house showed no signs that a struggled had occurred. She opened the fridge to place her food inside and discovered no room. Fruits and vegetables filled every space available, while meats stuffed the freezer.

  When someone banged on
her door, she jumped, hitting her head on the freezer door.

  She had a great desire to yell at the rude person. However, one glance through the peephole at hard faces and black suits changed her mind.

  The Russian mafia has tracked me down!

  She backed away and picked up her cordless phone.

  “911.”

  “The Russian Mafia’s at my door,” she whispered.

  “Ma’am?”

  “Russian mafia,” she repeated and dropped to the floor as one of the men stared through her bay window. “Two men are at my door and I think they plan to kill me.”

  “Stay calm, ma’am. Where are you in the house?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  “Can you move to someplace safe? Do you have a basement?”

  Carrie scurried downstairs to what used to be her basement. Now it looked like home sweet home, Mexican style.

  “I’m in the basement,” she whispered and looked for some place to hide. She eyed the basement door to the outside. “Should I try to escape out the basement door and run for safety?”

  “Hold on… Ma’am, the police have arrived and the men at your door are FBI agents. So you need to go upstairs and let them in.”

  “FBI?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “What do they want? Is this about the bomb? Because filing cabinets aren’t bombs. I only called ‘bomb’ to save lives.”

  “I don’t know, ma’am, but I’m sure they’ll explain once you let them in.”

  “Okay, thanks.” She hung up, hurried upstairs, and opened the door. While the men had looked mean before, they looked doubly so now that a tall, handsome Denville policeman stood in front of them.

  “Miss Hanson?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Officer Pete Grawehr and these gentlemen are Agent Troy and Kemper from the FBI. Can you unlatch the screen door and let them in? They need to ask you some questions.”

  “About what?”

  “Just let us in and we’ll tell you,” Agent Troy snapped.

  She stared at the nice cop. “Will you come in too?”

  He smiled. “If you want.”

  “Yes.” In this case, the more the merrier. They still could be Russian Mafia with fake FBI credentials.

  She motioned them to her couch, but no one paid attention. They wandered off in different directions like dogs off leash.

  Carrie located a soft drink from the refrigerator. She rarely drank colas, but right now a sugar rush would definitely help. She’d just finished pouring the soda into her glass when the nice Officer Grawehr returned. “Why did you think the agents were Russian Mafia?”

  She started to explain about the chocolate drug fiasco but stopped. The story sounded insane even to her.

  “Their suits,” she lied. “I saw a movie about the Russian mafia, and they wore similar suits. And they had really mean faces.”

  The officer struggled not to laugh. Finally, with a rub of his chin, he got his humor under control. “Well, I double-checked their credentials. They’re FBI agents.”

  “Thank you. I apologize for calling 911, but they scared me.”

  “Miss Hanson,” Agent Troy spoke from the dining room doorframe. “Do you have a child?”

  “No.”

  “Someone about four-six, ‘cute as a button’?”

  “No.” She tilted her head wondering why they sought a child.

  Officer Grawehr cleared his throat and softly asked. “How tall are you, Miss Hanson?”

  “Four-six.”

  He looked woefully at the agent, which only pissed the guy off more.

  After a stare down with nice officer Grawehr, Agent Troy focused his displeasure on her. “We need you to sit at the table and answer our questions.”

  Gripping her soft drink, she hurried to the dining room and sat on the one chair with a cushion. Remembering how long her prior interrogations had gone, she wanted the cushion. These wood chairs became a literal pain in the ass after thirty minutes of sitting.

  Except for her cola and a cushion for her butt, matters went much the same as her last interrogation: repeated questions answered over and over again.

  Finally, they asked a new one.

  “Do you know a Mr. Trent Lancaster?”

  “Yes, he’s my boss…former boss. He fired me today.”

  “Why?”

  His question rekindled her pain. “I don’t actually know why. He didn’t have the decency to fire me in person. He had his lobby guard stop me and pass along the message.”

  Agent Kemper moved forward, like a dog on the scent. “Are you blackmailing him?”

  “What? No!” Why would they even think such a thing?

  “Then why did he transfer $80,000 to your account?”

  She shook her head. The FBI missed this one by a mile. “Last I checked, my bank account had $323 in it.”

  The agent pulled a sheet of paper from his briefcase and pushed it in front of her. “Your account received $80,000 from Trent Lancaster two hours ago. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he felt bad about firing me. Beneath all his bellowing, he’s really a nice guy.”

  Agent Troy snorted. “That’s a lie.”

  “He is! His parents raised him badly then left him an obscene amount of money, which only worsened matters, but deep down, he has a good character. I don’t know why he did this. I don’t even know how he got my account number. He’s not exactly computer savvy.”

  “He paid me a thousand dollars to steal the information needed,” Agent Troy said.

  Carrie opened her mouth, better judgment closed it, but then out came the words she’d tried to repress. “Aren’t you supposed to solve crimes rather than commit them? I realize you can get the information, but I’m pretty sure you aren’t supposed to sell it to anyone who offers you a thousand dollars. If someone bought Trent’s account I dread to think of how much they could steal.”

  Agent Troy stood and leaned on her table, towering over her like an angry lion. “We participated in a sting, Miss Hanson. We only gave him your number once we determined you had nothing in it to steal.”

  “Okay, but for the record, if I lost three hundred and twenty three dollars, it would affect my life much more than if Trent lost a million. Since I got fired before my Taiwan business trip could be reimbursed, I’m in serious financial—” She hit her forehead with the palm of her hand and grimaced. “I know what the money’s for! Trent…” She had to pause while tears threatened to burst forth again. “Trent fired me, but he knew my trip to Taiwan had maxed out my credit cards. So he wired me money to cover them.” She tried to dry her eyes with the sleeve of her knit top, but it repelled water. “Okay, if I get a tissue?”

  “Just be quick about it,” Agent Troy grumbled.

  After grabbing the box of tissues, she returned to table. “He wouldn’t have a clue how much my expenses were, so he sent more than enough, trusting me to return the excess.”

  Agent Troy’s glare darkened. “Are you serious?”

  She nodded. “Under all his bad behavior resides a really good man.”

  “How much were your expenses?

  “My credit cards have a total of $38,435 on them, but I won’t expense the outfits he made me buy, since he let me shop at Macy’s, so it should be a little less. He may have also intended to include my last paycheck in the amount, but he can’t do that because I need taxes and stuff taken out properly. I’ll just have to wait until he hires a new accountant to get my money.” She slammed her fist on the table making all three men jump.

  “I can’t even dislike him when he fires me.”

  Agent Troy shook his head. “Well, I sure can. We’ve wasted a fucking week on this.”

  “I guarantee you, my week can top yours,” Carrie growled.

  Agent Troy sorted through his briefcase and slid a document over to her. “Well, mine will be better when you sign this.”

  “What is it?” She squinted at the tiny print. God, who could possibl
y read this? The illegible print reminded her of the ingredients label on foods containing partially-hydrogenated oils. They made the print so small that the letters bled into each other, and you only discovered what it said when your arteries clogged.

  “Just a document acknowledging Mr. Lancaster obtained access to your account without your knowledge or permission.”

  Little warning bells went off in her head. She wished she had a lawyer on retainer, because she needed some advice right now.

  The image of three starving people in an elevator eating eight bodies flashed in her mind. She knew the number for Trent’s lawyer! She stood up. “I have to go to the bathroom. I’ll take this as reading material.”

  She retrieved her magnifying glass and the wireless home phone before locking herself in the bathroom.

  When Mr. Sedita came on the line, she gave her name and told him about the FBI agents in her dining room. “They want me to sign a document.”

  He interrupted her. “You’re not my client.”

  “No, but Trent Lancaster is, and I’m worried the document they want me to sign will somehow hurt him.”

  Sedita let out a long weary sigh then asked her to send him a copy.

  “I can’t. I’m hiding out in the bathroom. I do have a magnifying glass so I can read it.”

  Mr. Sedita stopped her after the first paragraph. “If you sign their complaint, they will arrest your boss.”

  “He fired me, so he’s not my boss, but I promise not to sign it. Will they arrest me when I refuse?”

  The grumpy man asked her a ton of questions then sighed. “In my opinion they should not arrest you.”

  “I hoped for a bit more certainty.”

  “If they do, call me. I’ll take you on.”

  She started to tell him she didn’t have any money, but realized she could legitimately use some of Trent’s wired money for this expense, since he damn well caused it.

  “I will.”

  She hung up, opened the door, and discovered Agent Troy looming over her with a deadly glare.

  Swallowing hard, she spoke with certainty as she handed him the document. “I have spoken to my lawyer, and I won’t sign this. May I show you to the door?”