Jennifer Apodaca - Samantha Shaw 04 - Batteries Required

by Jennifer Apodaca

  My legs started to shake. It took all my willpower to get across the kitchen to Angel. I put my arm around her shoulder, to steady myself and offer her comfort. “He might have killed you. What did he want?”

  She turned and looked at me with blazing green eyes. “I’m not sure what he wanted, but I know who he is.”

  7

  Loud sirens blared down the street as Angel and I stood together looking out the back door of her house. We were both on adrenaline overload from being terrorized by the man with the gun.

  “Who?” I had my arm around Angel, and I turned to look at her face. “You know who that was?” I felt a shiver start deep in my chest.

  She dragged her gaze from the darkened night to me. “Zack Quinn. A poker dealer from Daystar. What the hell did he want?”

  It took the police an hour or so to determine that the alleged suspect was gone. Alleged! The fact that there was no forced entry appeared to make the uniformed cops doubtful of our story. They took a report and uttered useless suggestions. We had just shut the front door after the police left, when someone knocked.

  Angel hurried to the kitchen to retrieve the gun she had hidden in her Tupperware cupboard. While she did that, I looked through the peephole.

  “It’s Vance,” I whispered when Angel returned with the gun. She turned and opened a door to the entertainment center. Frowning at her, I said, “You have a permit for that thing, don’t you?”

  Angel pushed her red hair back off her face. “Yes, but it’s less explaining if the police don’t see it. I’m not about to let them confiscate it while they check on the permit. You saw how the cops didn’t quite believe us when they couldn’t find a broken window or a forced door that showed evidence of a break-in.”

  Watching Angel tuck the gun into the entertainment center, then shut the door, I thought about the times I’d seen Gabe unlock doors using some handy little tools he had, so I knew it could be done. But the cops had to know that was possible, too. Maybe they were so busy that they looked for reasons not to believe there was a crime.

  With the gun hidden, I opened the front door.

  Vance glared at me. “You. Of course.” He sighed and walked in without an invitation. “I heard the report of an armed intruder.”

  The faint smell of coconut followed him. I took a look at Vance. Tan pants, expensive-looking black shirt, nice shoes. “You aren’t working; how did you hear?”

  He made a face at me. “I’m a robbery–homicide detective, Shaw. Besides, the guys at the station thought I might have a personal interest in this case since it involved my kidnap victim.” His gaze slid past me to Angel. “They called me away from a date.”

  Uh-oh. His fellow cops were harassing Vance. Did he come here to take that out on us? He wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me here. Wait—he’d been on a date?

  Angel used a fabric-covered rubber band to pull her hair back in a ponytail and walked up to stand beside me. “The police took a report. We told them that the intruder was Zack Quinn, a dealer from Daystar, but they don’t seem to believe us.”

  Vance looked around Angel’s living room, taking in the groceries on the floor, then he focused on the two of us. “Tell me what happened.”

  Angel stepped over the remainder of the mess and sat down on the couch. I followed her to take a seat on the arm while Vance chose a square chair placed at an angle to the couch. He reached into the pocket of his black shirt, then frowned.

  “Missing something, Vance?” He always carried a small notebook and pen to write notes when investigating. Guess he didn’t take that notebook with him on dates.

  He ignored me and sat forward, resting his arms on his legs. “Ms. Crimson, please tell me what happened.”

  Angel shifted, pulling her green shirt and lacy green bodice away from her chest. She’d caught some of the Diet Coke and Zinfandel spray. “I unlocked and came in through the front door carrying a bag of groceries. After shutting the door, I was halfway across the living room to my kitchen when a man jumped out of the swinging doors to the kitchen and came after me. I dropped the bag of groceries and tried to run back to the front door, but he caught my arm and stuck his gun in my face.”

  Hearing the story, even for the second time, since she had already told the uniforms, sent shivers up my spine. God, Angel could have been shot—why?

  “Did you recognize him then?” Vance asked.

  Ah, Vance had been paying attention to what Angel and I had said so far. But I wasn’t really surprised.

  Angel nodded. “Yes. I said, ‘Zack, what are you doing here?’” He jerked me to the couch and pushed me down. That’s when he said, ‘Where is it?’ and right about the time Sam burst in the front door.”

  Vance turned his head to look at me. His gaze slow-traveled down my stained white shirt, jeans, and sandals, then back up to my face.

  I knew how I looked. “I hit him with the wine bottle I brought with me. It broke, the gun flew out of his hand, and I saw his arm bleeding. The gun landed on the ground. Angel tackled Zack, and they fell on the wood floor not far from the gun. I picked up the six-pack of Diet Coke and hit Zack with that. A couple of cans of the soda exploded.”

  Vance stared at me. “Looks like you are wearing most of the soda. Smells like some of the wine hit you, too.”

  The light went on. “Maybe that’s why the cops seemed not to believe us. The smell of alcohol.”

  “It didn’t help,” Vance said. “So how did this Zack escape if you knocked him out?”

  “He wasn’t knocked out, at least not all the way. He managed to get up and grab his gun. He pointed it at me. Angel had run to the back of the house to get—” I remembered then that she didn’t want me to mention her gun. “Uh, to find a weapon and came running back out screaming that she would shoot. Zack shoved me out of his way and ran out the back door. It had been standing open.”

  Vance shifted his gaze right, to Angel. “Shoot him? You had a gun?”

  Angel pulled the length of her red hair over her shoulder. “Pepper spray, but I didn’t tell him that.”

  I swallowed a groan. Lying to Vance wasn’t really going to help us here. On the other hand, why complicate things? Angel hadn’t fired the gun, and I doubted Zack had even seen it.

  Vance narrowed his gaze. “Do you have a gun, Ms. Crimson?”

  Angel stared back at him. “Is that relevant to finding Zack Quinn? The man broke into my house and threatened me with a gun.”

  That a girl, Angel.

  “What is your relationship with Zack Quinn? You recognized him, so you must have spent some time with him. Did you go to the casino this past weekend to meet with him?”

  Angel’s voice was calm. “No. I only talked to him two times at the casino when I was at his table playing poker. He flirted with me but that was it.”

  “Did you flirt back?”

  Angel lifted her chin. “Define flirt.”

  I grinned at Vance in spite of the seriousness of the situation.

  Vance wasn’t laughing. “Did you act in such a way as to make Zack think you were interested in him?”

  “No, I told him I wasn’t interested in dating him.”

  I glanced over at Angel. She hadn’t told me about that. But then, a lot of men hit on Angel. She was used to it.

  “Did he give you anything to hold for him? Do you know what he was referring to when he said, ‘Where is it?’”

  She shook her head. “No, and I don’t know what he was talking about. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  Vance leaned back in his chair. He was tall and well-built, with long legs and those shoulders of a swimmer. I knew that his good looks had forced him to prove himself in the cop world, where strength and loyalty were what counted. No one got by on looks. Looks didn’t keep cops alive out on the streets.

  “The way I see it, you might have picked up a stalker, Ms. Crimson. Or you aren’t being straight with me and you are in some serious trouble here. Do you think it was Zack who broke in to y
our house over the weekend?”

  I turned to look at Angel, too. She’d been so convinced that it had been Hugh who had done that.

  Angel answered, “There was no real forced entry that time, either.” She turned to look at me. “You found the back door open then, too, right?”

  I thought back to the scene and nodded. The back door had been open. “How is Zack opening the back door?”

  Vance stood. “Let’s go take a look.”

  Angel rose, too. “The cops looked and took some pictures. The door wasn’t forced open.”

  Vance started toward the kitchen. “Do you leave it unlocked?”

  Angel followed. “No. There’s an alley behind my fence. That would be stupid.”

  I was behind Angel and Vance. By the time I passed the table, I saw Vance had the door open and was looking at it. “It’s not forced. Someone with good skills could have picked it.”

  I was tired. All the fear and adrenaline had drained out of me. My shirt was stiff with dried wine and soda. Great, more clothes ruined, and no one seemed to know what the hell was going on. “Vance, what are you going to do? Angel could have been killed!”

  He shut the door. When he looked at me, his brown eyes narrowed on my ruined shirt. “You could have been killed, too, Shaw. What have you two gotten into?”

  I took a breath, inhaling the sharp wine smell that drenched my shirt. But it was Vance’s flat expression that scared me. “You don’t believe us.”

  He shrugged and headed for the door. “I’ll see what I can find out about Zack Quinn.”

  I followed Vance to the door, feeling helpless. What was going on? What did Zack Quinn want? My thoughts spun as Vance opened the door, then stopped. Suddenly, he bent over and picked up a shopping bag. “This must be yours. I saw it when I came in.”

  Uh-oh. I remembered the sex-toy kit I had confiscated from Grandpa. I grabbed for it. I did not want to explain that sample sex-toy kit to Detective Stick-Up-His-Butt.

  The bag tore open, spilling out the container of chocolate-covered strawberries, a romance novel, a candle, and a tumble of loose red rose petals.

  But no sex-toy kit. I stared down at the mess. At first, I had the sick thought that Vance already had seen the sex-toy kit. Then I realized—

  Grandpa.

  He must have pickpocketed it back from the bag when I was on the phone. After everything else that had happened that night, that didn’t seem important.

  Vance bent over and picked up the novel.

  I fought a groan. It was the latest romance by R. V. Logan, aka Logan Vance. Cripes! I stood frozen to the spot, desperately trying to think of an explanation. No matter what I said, Vance was going to think I lusted after him.

  He handed me the book and leaned in close with his coconut and male scent. “I can give you the real thing.” Then he straightened up and left.

  I watched him stride across the flagstone atrium and out the gate. The book felt like a steamy rock in my hand.

  Once the gate clanged shut, I bent over to pick up the container of strawberries and the candle. I left the rose petals scattered on the stones and headed into the house.

  On her knees, Angel scooped up the rest of the eggs, coke cans, and assorted foodstuffs and tossed it all in the trash can she had brought out from the kitchen. Then she picked up a spray bottle and started cleaning the wood floor. Glancing up at me, she said, “Maybe if you slept with him, he’d believe us.”

  “Ha ha.” I tossed the book and the other stuff onto the couch and crouched down to help. My bruised thigh complained, but I ignored that. I grabbed another rag and helped Angel get the spills off the floor.

  Angel scrubbed at some dried egg. “We’re going to have to investigate on our own.”

  I looked up. “I’ll call Gabe. Maybe he’s done with his job. He’ll—”

  A phone rang. It sounded like my cell phone. Where was my cell phone?

  Both Angel and I looked around. I remembered yelling at the 911 operator, then dropping the phone. I scrambled around on my hands and knees, following the sound of the ring.

  I found it under the couch. It must have been kicked under there during the fight with Zack. Grabbing it, I said a breathless, “Hello!”

  “Sam? I almost hung up.”

  “Grandpa! Sorry, we’ve had a problem here.”

  “Before I forget, I wanted to let you know that the boys are home. They said the skate-boarding pro didn’t show, so another mom brought them home.”

  The sex-toy kit surfaced back in my head. “Grandpa, did they catch you with that blue velvet box?” That stupid sex-toy kit was turning out to be a pain in the ass.

  Offended, he answered, “Of course not! My hands are quicker than that, Sammy.”

  Relief poured through me. “Thanks Grandpa. Uh, did you open it?” Too much had happened for me to be mad at Grandpa.

  “No, the boys came home too soon.”

  I smiled at his petulant voice. “Hide it in my room, OK? I’m not sure when we’ll be home.” I explained about Zack from the casino.

  “Hey, I’ll see what I can find on Zack Quinn. Might be able to get some information from Daystar on him.”

  “Grandpa, don’t do anything illegal.” I had enough to worry about as it was. “Besides, Vance is looking for Zack. Just put that blue box away.”

  “Never hurts to just look,” he said, then hung up.

  I groaned and turned off my phone.

  Angel took the trash and the rags to the kitchen, then returned and asked, “What’s that about the blue velvet box? Do you mean the sex-toy kit Mitch St. Claire gave me?”

  “Yep. I caught Grandpa and his friends getting ready to break it open. I put it in my bag to come over here but—” I shrugged my shoulders and noticed that my neck was tight.

  “Barney pick pocketed it back from you,” Angel finished for me.

  I nodded, then rolled my neck and shoulders. Nothing like a struggle with a man who has a gun to tighten up my muscles. I was beginning to think that Gabe was right: I should get some serious training.

  Or was that jealousy because he was training another woman?

  Damn right.

  I picked up my phone and started dialing. “I’ll call Gabe and the three of us will figure out what to do next.” After hitting send, I put the phone to my ear.

  A female voice said, “Pulizzi Investigations. How can I help you?”

  Huh? I had dialed Gabe’s cell; why was a woman answering? I finally managed, “I’d like to speak to Gabe.”

  “Mr. Pulizzi is in the field right now. If you’ll leave a message, I’ll see that he gets it.”

  Swear to God, I could feel steam coming out of my ears, just like in cartoons. “What are you doing answering Gabe’s cell phone? Does he know you are answering? Just put him on the phone!”

  “I’m sorry, but Mr. Pulizzi is in the field. You’ll need to leave a message.”

  Breathe. Yoga breathe, then kill the bitch. “This is Samantha Shaw, Mr. Pulizzi’s—” What? Girlfriend? And what if the bitch on the phone happened to be naked with Mr. Pulizzi? Calling myself his girlfriend would be humiliating. God.

  “I know who you are. I will tell Mr. Pulizzi that you called.” Click.

  “Die, bitch.” I slammed the phone down on the couch and leaned my head back against the headrest.

  “Sam?” Angel sank down next to me.

  “Is your gun still in the entertainment center?” Nothing was going right. But Gabe was not doing the naked Italian dance with his assistant. I trusted him.

  I just didn’t trust his assistant.

  Angel reached over to touch my arm. “Tell me what’s going on.”

  I looked over at her and felt a wave of guilt. Angel had been attacked in her own house and here I was thinking about myself. “Gabe’s new assistant is screening his calls. I don’t think he can help us right now.” Pushing away the sick feeling that that produced, I looked over at Angel. “It’s not safe here. You have to stay at my house
.”

  Angel didn’t move. “What new assistant?”

  “The one he just hired. They are supposed to be chasing a cheater at some motel.” I fought to keep away visions of Gabe naked in front of another woman. What did she look like? Who was she? Why was she still alive when I wanted her dead?

  “What motel?”

  I closed my eyes. “I don’t think Gabe told me.” What with all the sex, who had time for questions? My stomach burned.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “Her name is Dee. She’s answering phones, doing paperwork, and training to get her PI license.”

  Angel lifted her eyebrows. “To replace you?”

  “Only if she wants to die.” I would not slip back into being the woman I’d been for most of my marriage. I’d told myself the story of my life that I wanted to believe, instead of facing the truth about my husband, my marriage, and myself.

  Those days were over.

  “Besides,” I added, “Gabe gave me the key to his house.” That had to mean something, right?

  Angel perked up. “Why?”

  “He said in case you needed a place to stay. I don’t think he ever bought the theory that Hugh trashed your house.” Which meant Gabe was right. Again.

  “So we could take a run over to Gabe’s house and see if we can find out which motel Gabe and the skank are doing their cheater chasing at?”

  “Angel!” Laughing, I knew I was in trouble now. I handled stress by ruining clothes. Which was better than in the old days, when I used to bake something chocolate and eat it—although if the stress got bad enough, I still did that. Angel, however, handled stress by stalking. Usually, it was Hugh she spied on. But I’d just offered her a fresh victim—and a challenging one at that.

  Stupid!

  “Too risky. Gabe might show up at any time. He . . . uh . . . kind of suggested that he had plans to handcuff me to his bed.” Probably he didn’t think I’d share that detail with my best friend. Men were really naive.