Sister. And Caleb also called Brent brother. She’d heard that term before. It was a way of acknowledging their shared faith, their belief in God.
But I don’t have the faith you have, Caleb.
Cricket song filled the air around her, and an unexpected peace drifted on the wings of their symphony. She might not have the strength of Caleb’s faith, but she certainly knew the same God.
“Lord, we need help.” Instead of disrupting the melody that surrounded her, her whispered prayer blended in a beautiful harmony. “I’ve tried everything I know, and it hasn’t worked. I’m out of ideas. So if there’s something you want me to do, something that will save Brent and Caleb, please tell me.” She gulped. “Guide me, Lord.”
Even the crickets grew quiet in the silence that followed her prayer. Lauren waited, but no angel appeared to show her the way, no flashing arrow illuminated the night sky.
But an idea did occur, so subtle as to be mistaken for her own thought. She didn’t feel comfortable contacting the police or the local FBI. No doubt there were hundreds of honest officers in both organizations, but she doubted her ability to find them.
There was one group of officials she trusted, though.
Working quickly, Lauren gathered the weathered wooden slats from the dilapidated bench into a bundle and grabbed the ripped bag of charcoal. When she picked it up, her hopes soared into the sky. Beneath it lay a plastic bottle of lighter fluid.
She shouldered the duffel bag and then placed a call on her cell phone.
“9-1-1 dispatch,” the lady on the other line said. “Please state the nature of your emergency.”
“Fire,” Lauren shouted into the phone. “There’s a fire at 5927 Jefferson Avenue. Hurry. There’s a baby trapped inside.”
She disconnected the call, fighting a flash of guilt at the addition of an imaginary endangered child. The presence of a baby was sure to bring a quick response, and that’s what she wanted. That’s what Brent and Caleb needed.
Gathering the boards and charcoal in her arms, she dashed around the corner and across the street, toward Caleb’s house.
TWENTY-FOUR
“What is taking so long?” Gaines slid his phone open, checked the screen and then shoved it back in the holster clipped to his belt. “How long does it take to make a decision?”
Brent watched him pace to the desk and return. The silent gunmen guarding him and Caleb were obviously nothing more than foot soldiers in Gaines’s crooked platoon, but they had both relaxed their postures. The pistol barrel still pointed at Caleb’s head, but at least it was no longer pressed against his temple. Brent couldn’t get a good look at the guy standing behind him, but he felt the presence of the weapon aimed at the back of his skull like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
Caleb had remained almost as quiet as their guards, though he hadn’t bothered to hide his silent prayer. Now he entered the conversation.
“So you set Lauren up to take the fall for Frank’s murder,” he said. “You built a good case against her, and you made sure a whole casino full of witnesses will swear she was with Frank the night he was killed. I get that.”
Brent gritted his teeth and worked hard on controlling his fury whenever he glanced at Gaines. That slimy crook. Caleb’s tone remained calm, though Brent saw his white-knuckled grip on the chair arms.
Caleb continued. “But how’d you get him to agree to be seen in public with an imposter dressed like her? Seems to me he’d get suspicious of something like that.”
“The boss told him that’s the way it was gonna be, that’s how.” Gaines’s voice snapped with irritation. “You don’t argue with these guys.”
“Didn’t you just say Frank did?”
“Yeah, and look where it got him.”
Jarrell crossed the room and lowered himself onto the couch. His movements were smooth, almost fluid, like a woman’s. The jerk even carried a purse, which he tossed onto the cushion. He spared a disdainful glance at Gaines and answered Caleb’s question calmly. “Labetti knew Lauren was prepped to take a fall, but he didn’t know what kind. He thought we were going to pin her with something to do with the finances, and that night in the casino was nothing more than a practice run. I told him I wanted to be sure I could portray Lauren convincingly in whatever role might come up.”
Jarrell’s self-control had a slight calming effect on Gaines. When he spoke, some of his growl was gone. “Even after we laid it out, Frank wasn’t keen on the idea, but the boss told him if he wanted a personal meeting, he had to cooperate.”
Through his anger, Brent saw the logic in their plan. Frank had apparently bought into it, and that’s why he’d shipped the money to Lauren’s attention instead of his own. If discovered, it would add more fuel to the case against Lauren.
Jarrell crossed one leg over the other and locked his fingers around his knee in a posture Brent had seen Lauren adopt many times. “We selected that blackjack table because it was near the casino entrance, in plain sight of the elevators, where we could be seen as people went up to their rooms for the night.” Scorn creased his features. “Of course, he proved himself to be as low class as I expected. He drank so much he couldn’t walk straight. We weren’t putting on an act when I had to practically carry him up to his room.”
Brent almost laughed at the irony of a hired thug calling Frank low class. But he couldn’t manage even scornful laughter. The sight of Jarrell sitting there pretending to be Lauren made him sick.
“What about the other guy?” Caleb asked. “David Reynolds. What did he do to tick your bosses off?”
“Not a thing. He gambled moderately, and never more than he could pay. My associates tell me he was cooperative when they came to collect.”
At the sight of Jarrell’s cold smile, the hair at the back of Brent’s neck prickled to attention. This man might adopt gentle gestures, but inside he was nothing but a cold-blooded thug.
“He paid his debts, huh?” Sarcasm gave Brent’s voice a sharp edge. “Oh, yeah, I can see why you wanted him dead.”
The guard behind him apparently took exception to his tone and shoved the gun barrel into the back of his skull. Gasping against the pain that resulted from the sudden movement, Brent’s head was forced forward until his chin rested on his chest.
Jarrell brought a pink polished finger up to tap on his lips. “Hmm. I see your point.” A smirk twisted the lips beneath the finger. “Unfortunately, Reynolds was in possession of a dangerous piece of information. He knew our organization had short-listed Lauren for the job at Sterling Foods. He thought our goal was simply cautionary, to protect the database being stored there. But when she was arrested for Frank’s murder, he might have decided to make that information public. By eliminating him, we’ve removed the one possible angle that could be used to prove her innocence.”
Gaines barked a brusque laugh. “Yeah, and actually, Reynolds unwittingly helped us come up with a convincible motive to pin the girl with murder. We’ve made it look like she and Labetti were having a love affair, and it’s no secret that she and Reynolds were seeing each other in the past. So we paint her as a crazed, jilted woman who’s out to blow away all her exes.”
The detective stepped in front of Brent, grabbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger and jerked his head back. He towered over him, glaring.
“It’s gonna work out great when we pin her for your murder, too.”
The boards in her arms clanked together as Lauren ran, and sounded like cannon shots to her nerve-sensitive ears. All the way across the street, she felt as though she was running in a spotlight. Surely someone would peek through the blinds any minute and see her.
She dashed into the cover of the deep shadow at the side of Caleb’s house and skidded to a halt in the sandy soil. Her heart thundered, more from fright than exertion, and she spent a precious few seconds catching her breath and willing her pulse to slow. A peek around the corner showed everything exactly as it had been. As far as she could tell, even the two guys st
anding outside of the house up the street hadn’t noticed her.
The fire department would be here any minute. She had to get a respectable fire going quickly, so they could locate the house by the flames. And it had to be convincing.
Moving as quietly as possible with an arm full of rotting wood planks, she slipped around to the back of the house. A quick glance at the door, and she allowed herself a relieved sigh. The mini-blinds were still closed. At least she wouldn’t be seen if someone happened to glance toward the window. They’d have to open the blinds in order to see outside.
She set the wood down in the dirt rather than risk a noise when it hit the cement porch. Then she built a careful pile around the awning post directly in front of the back door. The wooden post was sturdier than the bench planks, but it looked old, with peeling paint and a few splintered places. It should catch fire, with a little encouragement.
As she placed the planks around the base of the post, a memory surfaced sharply. Years ago, when she was a young teenager, she and Daddy had spent a week at a ski lodge in Switzerland. Daddy had shown her how to build a fire in the fireplace. The wood had to be arranged precisely in order to ensure an evenly distributed flame. A sloppily laid fire might result in a burning log rolling off and out of the fireplace, and that could burn the house down.
Lauren permitted herself a grim smile. That was the goal.
She laid the planks in a crisscross pattern around the post, then added some of the longer pieces in a tepee shape. A little sand mounded around the base would help keep them in place. Hopefully, when the flame caught, they’d burn all the way up the post.
Now, for the kindling.
She picked up the duffel bag. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead. This money belonged to the Mafia, and she was about to make a bonfire out of it. But what choice did she have? If she sprayed the wood with lighter fluid, it would flame for a second, but it might not catch. She needed something that would burn quickly but last long enough to allow the fire to do its work on the wood. According to her father, the trick to a good fire was the kindling. And in this treeless, barren yard, she had nothing else available.
With her teeth set together, she started shoving cash between the boards.
When she was satisfied that her work was as good as she could make it, she picked up the lighter fluid. Judging by the weight, it was about half-full. She flipped the lid open and doused the woodpile, money and the center post all the way up to the crossbeam to which the awning was attached. A little fluid remained when she judged she had enough, so she squirted the rest on the two outside posts, just for good measure.
A distant sound reached her ears as she snatched the disposable lighter off the plastic table. A wailing siren. The fire department was on the way.
She squatted on her haunches and held the lighter near a couple of one-hundred-dollar bills protruding from inside the wooden planks, and flicked. Sparks erupted, but no flame.
Oh, no! Maybe the boys left this lighter here because it’s empty. God, please, help!
She held her breath and tried again. A feeble blue flame flickered to life. Her hand trembled as she held it at the edge of the money.
Please let this work.
It did. Fire curled the edge of the bills and crept backward toward the wood.
In an instant, a flash of heat blew Lauren backward and sent her sprawling on her backside in the dirt. She covered her eyes and pressed her singed eyelashes, smelled burning hair and frantically doused a flame in her blond tresses.
When she looked up, her mouth fell open. The fire she’d created was truly awesome. Furious flames licked upward toward the awning inside the porch and leaped into the sky outside. Those wooden planks must have been truly rotten to catch so quickly. And the frame of Caleb’s porch wasn’t far behind. Already, she could see tongues of fire licking the crossbeam. In a matter of minutes, the entire porch would be engulfed in flame.
Maybe she shouldn’t have burned the money after all.
The siren’s wail grew louder. Scrambling to her feet, she ran toward the front of the house, confident her fire would draw the attention she wanted.
TWENTY-FIVE
Gaines’s cell phone chirped. Brent’s pulse pounded loud in his ears and caught Caleb’s eye. Was this the call that would end their lives?
Gaines snatched the phone off his belt and slid it open. “Yeah?”
His lips tightened into a white line as he listened. He ducked his head and half turned from the rest of the room, his entire body tense. Brent saw cords standing out in his neck, and a red flush crept across his face. Apparently the detective was receiving a dressing-down from his Cicalo bosses, and he didn’t like it one bit. No one in the room spoke, and another sound reached Brent’s ears beyond the silence. A siren outside. Sounded pretty close.
Finally, Gaines jerked a single nod. “Understood.” He ended the call and faced the room.
Before he could speak, Jarrell sat up straight on the couch. “What is that, an ambulance?”
The detective dismissed his concern with a wave. “It’s nothing. We get calls for this lousy neighborhood all night long. Some tweaker probably overdosed on meth.” His gaze slid to Caleb. “Maybe even your buddy Mush.”
Caleb didn’t reply, but his jaw bunched with the effort. Brent listened to the siren growing louder. Hope flickered in the midst of the tension that filled him. Did that siren have anything to do with them?
If he hadn’t been watching Caleb’s face, he would have missed the sudden widening of his eyes. The big man’s gaze fixed on something behind Brent’s head for a moment, then slid back to lock onto his face. An unreadable message lay in those eyes. Brent fought an almost irresistible desire to turn his head and see what Caleb had noticed.
“We’ve been given the go-ahead,” Gaines told Jarrell. “You got the weapon?”
Jarrell nodded and grabbed the handbag he’d tossed in the corner of the couch. From it, he pulled a handgun. Brent didn’t know much about guns, so he couldn’t identify the brand, but one thing was immediately recognizable. The barrel of this pistol was extra long, because of the silencer screwed onto the end.
“Now, here’s how it’s gonna go.” Gaines took a step closer, a twisted smirk on his face.
He’s enjoying this, the jerk.
“Mr. Jarrell here is going to shoot both of you. After I make sure you’re dead, my associates and I will leave. Five minutes later, Mr. Jarrell will remove the silencer and fire two more shots into your bodies.”
Fear throbbed in Brent’s chest, and the ache in his ribs intensified. “You’re going to shoot us again after we’re dead?”
Jarrell snickered. “Don’t worry. You won’t feel it.”
The detective ignored the interruption. “When those shots are heard by neighbors, our fake Lauren Bradley will be seen running through the front door and squealing tires during her escape in a white Grand Am.” Gaines looked at Brent. “Your rental car, which we removed from the Hollywood Casino’s parking lot.”
“What about the money?”
Jarrell asked the question absently as he rose from the couch and made his way across the room, his gaze fixed on the front window. Outside the sirens had grown much louder. They must have been going somewhere on this street.
Were they coming here?
Brent locked gazes with Caleb. The shadow of a smile played about the corners of the man’s lips.
“We’ll get it back when we catch up with her. And if a straight cop gets her first, then her possession of the money will serve to further incriminate her. They’re willing to let the fifty K go if it makes the case more solid.” The sirens were so loud now that even Gaines took notice. His brow creased as he fixed a quizzical look on the closed front door.
The sirens wailed to a stop.
Jarrell lifted a finger and raised one of the mini-blind slats to peek through. Then he jerked around in the room, his eyes round as eight-balls.
When Lauren rounded the house, sh
e saw the flashing red light from an approaching fire truck. An ambulance followed closely behind.
“Here.” Her shout didn’t carry above the shrieking sirens, but she ran out into the street, waving her arms above her head. “It’s here.”
Was anyone looking out the window of the house? Probably. Any minute she’d feel a bullet in her back, but she couldn’t think about that now. She’d committed herself to this plan, and if it didn’t work, they were all going to end up dead anyway.
Lord, please!
The fire truck screeched to a halt in front of her, and the sirens of both vehicles dwindled to silence. She turned to point at the house and experienced a momentary flash of satisfaction. The flames from her fire were clearly visible, leaping into the black sky from the rear of the house.
She had no idea what was happening inside Caleb’s home, but she needed to ensure a dramatic entrance.
Half a dozen fully geared firefighters leaped off the engine and took off at a run down the driveway, toward the backyard.
She grabbed a man’s strong arm as he dashed by her. “The back of the house is in flames, and I can’t get the front door opened. There’s a baby!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the man whirled back toward the truck to grab an ax and shouted to his partners. “There’s an infant inside. We gotta go through the front.”
Two of the men continued down the driveway, but the rest ran to the front door. The firefighter with the ax ran up the walkway in two giant steps, raised his ax and brought it down. The doorknob shattered. The second he stepped back, another firefighter rushed the door and hit a powerful blow with his shoulder.
The door crashed open.
TWENTY-SIX
Jarrell didn’t have time to utter a sound. A loud crack filled the house, and in the next second, the door crashed inward. Brent watched as the heavy wood slab swung violently on its hinges and smashed into the impostor. The sound of shattering glass and a moan emitted from behind the door as yellow-clad firefighters rushed into the room.
Dangerous Impostor Page 16
