by JB Lynn
I let the door close before her mother could see me, but I heard her exclaim happily, “There’s my girl!”
I stumbled away, my vision blurred by unshed tears. What I wouldn’t give for Katie to take my hand again, but because of Jose Garcia, I might never get that chance, and I knew for sure that Theresa never would.
Fueled by anger, I flew up the first set of stairs I found. Clasping the pendant, I stopped at the top of the flight, when I spotted my target.
Jose Garcia stood not twenty feet away, his back to me, busily shining the silver cup which would deliver him to his death.
Chapter Fourteen
REVENGE WAS MINE. I could practically taste it.
“Carry this out on a silver platter for me when it’s time to make the toast,” Garcia ordered a young, pimply-faced waiter. “No one else touches this cup, you understand?”
The waiter nodded nervously.
“No one but me drinks from it, you got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The wine guy knows what I want. He fills it and you bring it to me.”
“Yes, Mr. Garcia.”
Garcia thrust the cup at the young man, who took it with trembling hands.
“You drop that and there’s gonna be hell to pay,” Garcia warned.
Nodding, the waiter clasped it to his chest with both hands before hurrying in my direction. I ducked down the stairs before anyone could see me. I turned my back, pretending to be searching for something in my purse, as the waiter rushed past.
My plan had been to follow him, but that was derailed the moment I turned around, since I almost plowed into little Christina and her mother.
“Hi!” Christina waved at me. “What are you doing here?”
“Christina, where are you manners?” her mother hissed. She looked up at me with a tired smile. “I’m sorry, she’s a bit of a busybody.”
“Not a problem,” I assured her, noticing that she had the same curly hair as her father, but while his eyes had always sparkled with mischief, this woman’s were dulled by sadness. “I have a niece about the same age.”
“Oh really? What’s her name?”
The waiter had already disappeared with the cup and I didn’t think Patrick would approve of me chitchatting with the daughter of my intended victim. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said with a wave to Christina, “my boyfriend must be looking for me.”
Hurrying away as fast as my heels would let me, I raced down the hallway hoping to catch a glimpse of the waiter, but he was nowhere in sight.
“I should have paid attention during the tailing lesson,” I muttered to myself.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” a waitress of no more than twenty asked.
I frowned. When had I become a ma’am?
“Ma’am?” she prompted.
“Where can I find the wine guy?” I asked.
“The sommelier?”
I nodded.
“I believe he’s in the wine cellar getting a special bottle for Mr. Garcia. Would you like me to find him for you?”
“No. That’s okay. Thank you for your help.”
“No problem, ma’am.”
I considered yanking out her perky ponytail as she walked away. Instead I went in search of the wine cellar and/or the sommelier. The necklace weighed heavily on me, each step jostling the pendant, reminding me of what I had to do.
It wasn’t just getting the poison into the cup that caused me anxiety. It was that I’d never killed anyone in cold blood before. Sure, I’d gone looking for both Delveccio’s son-in-law and Gary the Gun with the intent to kill them, but, both times, when push had come to shove, I’d been defending my own life as each man attacked me.
Garcia wasn’t going to attack me. When he died, he was going to be standing in front of friends and family, celebrating.
I physically stumbled at the thought of his loved ones watching him die. Could I really be so cold as to do that to a group of strangers who’d never done anything to me? But then I thought about how my family had suffered, the losses we’d endured, and I suddenly felt a whole lot better about wiping Jose Garcia from the face of the Earth and preventing him from destroying any other families. I clutched the pendant as though it were some sort of magical amulet that would give me the power and resolve to pull off this assassination.
A flash of silver caught my attention, but before I could get to it, the hallway suddenly filled with partygoers as the guests moved from the cocktail hour to the dining room. I was swept up in the sea of guests and transported by the current into another room.
As soon as I could get out of the way of the flow of people entering the room, I stepped to the side, scanning the space for the silver cup. I didn’t see it, but I did spot the waiter ducking through a door on the far side of the room. I made a beeline straight toward it, but before I’d gone ten steps, someone grabbed my arm.
My heartbeat stuttered and fear skittered down my spine.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
I turned slowly to face my captor.
It wasn’t one of Garcia’s badass men who’d caught me, it was the letch from the bar. I breathed a sigh of relief as I tried to shake my arm loose from his grip.
“Still haven’t found that phantom date of yours?” The letch’s breath was laden with scotch.
I leaned back to escape the fumes. “He’s around here somewhere.”
“I don’t believe you. Come sit with me.”
“Can’t.” I glanced at the door the waiter had disappeared through, keenly aware I was running out of time to put my plan into action. “Let go.”
I tried to tug free of the letch’s grip, but he tightened it painfully.
“You’re hurting me.”
He didn’t ease up. “And you’re breaking my heart by not sitting with me. How about we go outside and talk it over?” He led me toward the exit, exerting so much pressure on my arm, I worried it would snap.
Tears of pain filled my eyes. I couldn’t make a scene and risk attracting attention, but I was starting to panic that if I let this guy get me alone, he’d hurt me. “Please,” I pleaded. “Let me go.”
He looked down and smiled malevolently at my fear and pain.
“Where are you going, Uncle Mo?” a familiar voice asked. Christina’s mom stepped into our path.
My captor stopped in his tracks, but squeezed my arm even tighter. “We were just going to step outside to get some air.”
“My father is going to make his toast soon. He’d be disappointed if you weren’t here to hear it.” There was no mistaking the implied threat in her tone.
While he didn’t release me, the letch’s grip slackened.
Christina’s mother stared pointedly at where his fingers curled around me. He released me immediately. “You can walk me to my table.” She extended her arm.
The letch had no choice but to go with her, leaving me free to make my escape.
I made my way across the room on rubbery legs. Frightened both by the violent encounter and by the fact that Christina’s mother had now seen my face twice.
I could hear Patrick’s voice in my head, urging me to abort if I thought I was going to be caught. I was ready to do just that when the cup appeared before me, served up on a silver platter.
The waiter carried it right past my nose and I followed closely on his heels.
He went into the kitchen and so did I, knowing that if I lost sight of it again, I’d never get my chance with the cup. He put the tray down on a counter and disappeared around a corner.
My hand trembled as I snatched up the cup. This was it, my chance. I reached for the pendant, ready to unscrew it and pour a few drops of the deadly poison.
“What the hell are you doing?” an angry male voice boomed.
Startled, I almost dropped the goblet. Instead I bobbled it like some lame-ass juggling act.
“What are you doing back here?” A man in a high white hat, which I took to mean he was a chef, glared at me. “Give
me that.”
Two of Garcia’s goons, alerted by the chef’s raised voice, hurried over. They loomed menacingly. I tried not to stare at the bulges beneath their jackets, which I knew were poorly concealed guns.
I’d been caught!
“Are you on the guest list?” the bigger goon asked suspiciously.
I swallowed hard, trying to come up with a plausible story to save my butt, but came up blank. I considered fighting my way out of the situation, but the only weapon I had was the cup and I doubted I could do any serious damage with it. I thought about making a run for it, but knew I’d never outrun a toddler in my heels, let alone hired muscle.
“Let’s go have a chat,” the goon said. They each grabbed one of my arms.
The chef plucked the cup from my hand. “Stay out of my kitchen.”
The two scary men propelled me out of the kitchen. I probably should have screamed for help at that point, but my mouth had gone dry and I couldn’t seem to make my vocal cords work.
They half carried, half dragged me down the once again deserted hallway, and I knew that worse than getting caught, I was getting myself killed. I hoped Patrick would keep his promise about God and Doomsday. I prayed that Abilene would take care of Katie.
“Let me see what the boss wants me to do with her,” the goon said.
“Now?” his partner in crime asked. “He’ll be pissed if you interrupt his party.”
The bigger goon nodded slowly. “We’ll keep her until it’s over.”
I took a big gulp of air, grateful for the momentary reprieve.
“Put her in the coatroom,” the big guy said.
“Can I have some fun with her,” the smaller one asked, staring at my legs like he’d never set eyes on a pair before.
“As long as she doesn’t scream.”
I tried to scream then, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. “Help! Help!”
The leg man chuckled. “You’re going to be fun.”
I kneed him in the groin. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it.
Grunting in pain, he bent over, loosening his grip on my arm. Wrenching free, I stumbled away.
He made a grab for me, but I ducked away. I didn’t think I’d get so lucky with the bigger guy, who lunged for me as I dodged around the corner. I turned to see how close behind me he was.
From behind me, an arm snaked around my waist, lifting me off my feet. I was spun around so that my back was to the wall.
Chapter Fifteen
I SAW A flash of bright blue eyes, but as I opened my mouth to warn Zeke about the impending danger, he crushed his mouth to mine, effectively silencing me. One of his hands cradled the back of my head as he increased the pressure of the kiss. To anyone else it probably looked as though our tonsils were touching, but in reality, he kept his tongue to himself and I did the same with mine. He tilted me backward slightly and I wobbled on my heels. Instinctively I looped my arms around his neck and allowed my eyes to flutter closed, just as the bad guys came around the corner.
Even as I tried to figure out how to use this latest development to my favor, I was aware that he smelled delectable. Coming up for air, he placed a finger on my lips, keeping me quiet and smiled at me. “Thought you could hide from me, didn’t you?”
Confused, I blinked at him.
Suddenly he became aware of the two men standing there staring at us. Instead of getting flustered, he nodded in their direction. “Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” the bigger goon asked.
“Kissing my girl,” Zeke answered smoothly, wrapping a possessive arm around my shoulders, and angling himself so that his body was between me and the men. “What’s it to you?”
“Are you on the guest list?”
“Busted,” he muttered.
The goon’s gaze narrowed dangerously.
“Fifi here said that crashing this party was a bad idea, but I insisted.” He leaned toward the man and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re looking to get married here and we got the official tour and tasted the official menu, but I really wanted to get a feel for how they handle a hundred guests. I mean anyone can serve a perfect dinner for two, can’t they?”
He waited a beat, but the goon didn’t answer him.
“Anyway, I told Fifi that if we were going to lay out the kind of dough this place wants just for a freaking deposit, that we had to be sure it was the right place for us.” He made a show of squeezing my shoulders. “I don’t mind paying for the best for my girl, but it’s gotta be the best. You understand that, right?”
“She ain’t got no ring on her finger,” the smaller goon observed.
Instinctively I glanced down at my naked fingers, wondering if he’d have thought differently about assaulting me if I’d been wearing a metal band.
“My fault,” Zeke replied smoothly. “I made her breakfast in bed this morning . . . well, not really made it, but I picked some up from the bakery and put it on a tray for her.”
For once I admired his gift of gab as the shorter goon hung on every word of the story he was spinning.
“When I cleaned up afterward,” Zeke continued, “thinking I’d spoil her and do the dishes for once, I knocked the ring down the kitchen drain. I’ve got a plumber at the house right now, charging me a fortune to take apart the pipes and find it.” He shook a finger in front of my face. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times that you shouldn’t leave it lying around, haven’t I?”
I nodded obediently.
“Women,” Zeke said to the two men. “Pretty to look at, but not the most practical, if you know what I mean.”
The bigger goon chuckled. “You can say that again.”
“C’mon, honey. Let’s get out of here.” He slid his hand down to the base of my spine and gave me a little shove to get me moving.
He kept it there, the warmth of his palm burning through the material of my dress, as we made our way toward the exit. The two goons followed behind.
“Where’s your car?” Zeke asked, quietly enough that only I could hear him.
I thought of Patrick in the white panel van. “I don’t have one.”
“Perfect.” As we stepped outside, he slipped his hand into mine and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “One foot in front of the other, Maggie. We’re almost home free.”
I held on to him for dear life as he led me across the parking lot. I imagined that Patrick was watching our progress, but I couldn’t think of a way to signal that I was in no danger from Zeke.
Reaching a fancy red sports car, Zeke opened the passenger door for me. Before I could slide inside he stepped in front of me, pulling me close to him. Off-balance, I steadied myself against his chest. I looked up at him, unsure of what was going on or what his intentions were.
“We’ve got to sell it,” he said, lowering his mouth toward mine.
I didn’t know whether it was a result of the adrenaline rush of almost getting caught or because Patrick had gotten my hormones racing in overdrive earlier, but the moment Zeke’s lips touched mine, I melted into him with a soft moan of pleasure.
Almost immediately he pulled away, much to my disappointment. He looked down at me with stunned amusement, and that’s when I remembered he was gay, and I was making a fool of myself mooning over him just as I had when we’d been teenagers.
Tearing away from him, I hopped into the car, not caring how my skirt rode up, giving Zeke and the goons a generous peek of skin. I fumbled with my seat belt, but had it on by the time Zeke climbed into the driver’s seat.
He didn’t speak while he started the car and pulled out of the lot. We were a quarter mile away before he asked, “Where’s your car?”
“At home.” I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a white panel van pull up behind us.
“What the hell were you doing there?” Zeke asked, with more than a tinge of annoyance in his tone.
“I could ask you the same.”
“Business,” he ground ou
t between clenched teeth.
“Me too.” I fingered the pendant, remembering I’d just failed at my attempt to kill Jose Garcia.
He glanced over at me. “What kind of business?”
“The kind that’s none of yours.”
“Seriously? I save you from being manhandled or worse by those two thugs and you’re telling me to MYOB like you did when we were ten?” Disbelief and amusement warred in his tone.
I hung my head, feeling guilty for acting so churlishly ungrateful when he had in fact saved me. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I said slowly.
“You want to thank me?” he asked with surprising intensity. “If you really want to thank me, promise me you’ll never go back there.”
“Why?” I asked, curious as to why he’d been there.
“There are some unsavory types. Questionable business activities.”
“And how do you know that.”
“I told you. Business.” Jerking the steering wheel, he pulled over to the side of the road in a sudden stop.
“What?” I asked, alarmed.
He twisted in his seat to look at me. I watched the panel pull slowly past behind him.
“Promise me, Maggie. Promise me you’ll never go back there.”
“Okay.” It was an easy thing to promise. I’d missed my chance to kill Garcia there. My next attempt would have to be somewhere else.
“Why were you there?” He searched my face intently.
I knew he’d spot a lie, so I told him a half truth. “I don’t make that much at the insurance company. I need a second job.”
“And you figured dressing like that would get you the job?” He motioned at the length of my bare legs.
I fought the urge to tug my hem down. “Like what?”
He opened his mouth to answer and then snapped it shut. “I’ll take you home.” He pulled back on the road with a spray of gravel. “Where do you live?”
We didn’t speak again after I gave him my address. In the silence, I alternated between watching the reflection of the panel van, which had pulled up behind us again at the first cross street we passed, and admiring Zeke’s profile. He was definitely no longer “cute.” Unfortunately, he was still gay.
