Cursed by Love

by Jacie Floyd

  Gabe received words like a bullet to the gut. “Who is it?”

  “Mitch Grayson.” Max headed toward the elevator and Gabe followed. “New to town. Great guy. Fireman. He’s been riding with the Good Riders for a few months. But you haven’t been out with us for a while, so you might not know him.”

  Gabe wondered if his friend meant his words to be an accusation. Probably. Max usually meant what he said. At one time, Gabe had been one of the most active members of their motorcycle club that raised money for local charities. But not lately. “I’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah, I know. Life kind of blew up in your face.” Max clapped his hand on Gabe’s shoulder in a sign of solidarity. “But if you think selling your bike is the answer, then you forgot one of the Hog mottos.”

  Hah. There were hundreds of Hog mottos. No telling which one Max was referring to. “Every day’s a good day for a ride?”

  “A long ride is the answer to a question you will soon forget.” The elevator doors slid open on the ground floor. “Nothin’ blows away the cobwebs better.”

  Gabe nodded his agreement. “I still ride to wipe everything away after a hard day. It’s just impossible to find a Saturday to do a run with the club.”

  “If you sell, you won’t be able to do either one.”

  “True.” As they entered the garage, Gabe spotted a big, broad-shouldered guy hunkered down beside his V-Rod, looking it over. He felt an unexpected pang of jealousy. “Desperate times,” he said, reminding himself and Max that he was about out of options.

  The big guy stood up as they approached. Gabe noted he was a really big guy with bulging muscles. Gabe used to work out to keep fit back when he had the time and the money to belong to a fitness club, but he’d never bulked up like that. Max was a workout freak, but Gabe guessed the newcomer could bench press Max with one hand tied behind his back. Max made the introductions, and Gabe vaguely remembered meeting Mitch at a ride last fall.

  The fireman’s grasp just about brought Gabe to his knees. “Sweet ride.”

  Gabe felt the stirrings of pride. “Thanks.”

  “Why do you want to sell? She giving you any problems?”

  “She’s perfect, but my life doesn’t lend itself to long rides right now. I ride her around town a lot, but it’s not the same thing.”

  “Letting her sit is no good.”

  Gabe knew that. “Why are you looking to buy? You need a second bike or selling the one you have?”

  Mitch rocked back on his heels and slipped his hands in his back pockets. “It’s for my brother. He’s just getting into motorcycles. This one may be too much for him to handle, but I’ll tell him about it and let him decide.”

  “Thanks,” Gabe said with mixed emotions. “Price is negotiable. Let me know if he wants to come look at it.”

  “He lives in Philadelphia, but he’ll arrange a trip over next weekend for a test ride if you haven’t sold it by then.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Want to come up for a beer?” Max asked them. “Shoot some pool or watch the game?”

  “I’ve got time,” Mitch said, glancing at his watch.

  “I better get going.” Gabe remembered the days when he could hang with Max from early afternoon until the wee hours of the morning, doing nothing but having fun, hitting the clubs, and looking for trouble. “Something I need to check out.”

  “Right,” Max said. “Keep me posted, dude.” Gabe received a sharp slap on the back. “Remember my offer.”

  “I will. Thanks, Max. For everything.”

  Max and Mitch back-pedaled toward the lobby. Max offered a parting shot. “Lighten up, Gabe. Things’ll get better.”

  Gabe could only hope.

  Grimly, with no idea of what he’d find there, he steered the Harley toward Uncle Harold’s place.

  Wet, cold, and miserable, Molly pulled her hoodie over her head and squished down the hill to the car. A chilly stinging rain slaked its way down her body, soaking clothes all the way to her skin. The morning clouds had broken open with a sudden downpour midway through the concert, sending everyone scrambling. Molly and her friends scattered in different directions, scurrying for cover.

  She’d given her umbrella to a young couple trying to keep dry while pushing a stroller, carrying a toddler and leading an active puppy on a leash. They needed the protection worse than she did.

  Pushing strands of soggy hair out of her face, she sat her lime green canvas tote on the hood of the car while digging for the SUV’s keys in her jeans pockets. Although she broke a fingernail in the search, she came up empty.

  Hoping she hadn’t dropped them in the park, she stuffed her hands in the front pouch pockets of her zippered sweatshirt. Just as she closed her cold fingers around them, a dark figure dressed all in black emerged out of the sheets of rain. He barged into Molly, knocking her over, then he snatched her bag and jogged on.

  “Hey!” Molly yelled, scrambling up, only to be flattened into a puddle by an overly-friendly black Labrador. “Hey, stop! Stop him. He’s got my bag!”

  As the Lab jumped on her, its leash tangled around her ankles, preventing Molly from taking off in pursuit. The runner with her tote gained distance. He dodged between parked cars and around the other people trying to leave the concert. A couple of alert pedestrians attempted to grab the thief, but they were shoved aside. As she struggled to her feet, Molly watched the black-clad figure and her tote disappear down the hillside.

  “Heel, Demon,” a voice ordered, bringing the Lab under control too late to do Molly much good.

  With tongue lolling, the animal obeyed the command of a sizable older man with graying hair. The man shielded two young teenage girls beneath a golf umbrella. Passing the handle to one of them, he reached out to grab the dog’s leash and offered his other hand to Molly.

  “Sorry Demon made your situation worse. I’m not as fast as I used to be. I let him loose to chase down your assailant, but his training isn’t one-hundred-percent complete yet. He still can’t tell the good guys from the bad guys. You okay, young lady?”

  Molly swiped her stinging palms down her wet jeans and shook his outstretched hand. “Fine, thanks.” Her hands trembled, with anger and fear. “Just shaken, I think. I can’t believe anyone would take my bag.”

  “He’s long gone, too,” the man said. “That’s why I accompany my granddaughter and her friends to these concerts in the park. No place is safe these days.”

  “I guess not.” Molly’s shoulders slumped, feeling more dispirited than she had before.

  “If your wallet was in that bag, you’ll need to cancel any credit or bank cards immediately, and I recommend calling the police.” His voice rang with authority.

  Molly looked at him questioningly.

  “He’s a cop,” one of the young girls said.

  “Used to be,” he admitted. “Retired, now. Bum ankle or I’d have taken off after the jerk myself. Now I train service dogs. Did the bag contain your money, identification, car keys, or cell phone?”

  “No.” The situation could have been worse. “It was just filled with snacks and drinks for the concert. I stuck a few dollars in one of the pockets for an emergency and put all my personal stuff in the glove box. I’ve got the keys here.” She held them up for him to see. “I guess if someone wanted my bag bad enough to commit a crime in broad daylight, he needs what’s in it worse than I do.” She blinked the rain from her eyes as it streaked down her face.

  “That’s it, then. You got off pretty easy,” the ex-cop said. “I’m Joe Connelly. Here’s my card if you change your mind about filing charges and need a witness. It never hurts to make an official record of a crime. If the perp was a repeat offender, we may be able to connect evidence from other purse-snatchings to this one.”

  “Thanks.” She took the card with shaking fingers. “Maybe I will report it after I get over the shock.”

  “Can you get home on your own?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let’s get you
into your car.” He opened the door and gave her a boost up. “Turn the heater on.” She followed the suggestion, but he kept a close on eye on her for a few seconds. “Sure you’re all right?”

  Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she nodded, grateful for the heat blasting out of the vent.

  “Take care, then.” He set off with the girls and the dog. “Come on, Demon.”

  Feeling numb, Molly switched on the heated seats. A sneeze seized her. She pulled a packet of tissues from the glove box, blowing her nose before making a half-hearted attempt to wipe some of the rain off her face and arms.

  She thought about calling her dad about the purse-snatching. But he’d make a big deal out of it, and she was trying to diminish the incident in her mind. She thought about calling Gabe, that’s who she really wanted to call, but he was working and didn’t want her to disturb him. And he didn’t want her calling him. He’d made that pretty clear.

  After the heat had melted away some of her tension, she pulled into traffic, thinking about stopping somewhere for some warm soup. She knew of a new little diner down by the river where some coworkers were renovating a converted warehouse into a café. It hadn’t had its grand opening yet, but they’d welcome her to the new Soup’s On, even in her drowned-rat state. It wasn’t too far from the park.

  If she could just remember the exact location.

  Molly headed in the right direction, or so she thought, but she must have taken a wrong turn. Or two. Navigation had never been her strong suit. And her mom’s GPS was worthless for locating the location of a new restaurant.

  She pulled into a parking lot to get her bearings. The day had gone from slightly gray to downright depressing starting with her difficult chat with Dad at breakfast to the uneasy feeling she had about her parting with Gabe—that bone-melting kiss notwithstanding—to getting wet, pushed down, robbed, and now, adding insult to injury, lost.

  Somehow her departure from Gabe stood out as the biggest issue. She’d feel a whole lot better about that kiss if it hadn’t tasted like good-bye. His hot and cold behavior was starting to give her vertigo.

  Totally lost now, Molly instructed the GPS system to provide the directions for home. Not much backtracking necessary, according to the disembodied voice.

  Peering through the rain that had slacked off to a drizzle, Molly prepared to pull onto the road, waiting as a nondescript gray car passed by.

  A gray sedan with an Ohio Buckeye bumper sticker!

  The gray sedan she had seen circling Gabe’s office the other day. The one that had nearly run her down the night of the break-in.

  Was this car following her? Again? Was it just coincidence that a car that might have been following her previously, that might belong to someone who had broken into her house, was in the same vicinity in which her tote bag had just been stolen? Was all that too much of a coincidence for even Molly to buy?

  Touching through each of the charms on her bracelet, she thought back. She hadn’t seen the sedan at The Broken Egg, or in the park. But she was driving her mom’s SUV, not her own eye-catching yellow Beetle. So unless someone had seen her leave Mom’s, no one would know to be following her.

  She loved her car and had never understood her mom’s fascination with this hulking mass of metal with its tinted windows, four-wheel drive, and automatic everything. But as Molly watched the sedan roll past, she felt tall, powerful, and in-command of the road and her surroundings.

  She’d follow the Buckeye bumper sticker. She’d follow the tail that had been following her. Hah, that had a nice symbolism to it.

  The sedan was halfway down the street before she pulled out, ready to keep it in sight, but not draw attention to herself. She reviewed any knowledge she might have gleaned from detective novels about tailing a suspect and realized she didn’t know much. Don’t get caught ranked right up there at the top of the list.

  A quick adrenalin rush made her head swim. The car turned left into a seedier area, away from the river, toward more run-down warehouses with less noticeable security.

  It turned left again and made another quick turn into an alley that ran between two square, metal warehouses, one in better repair than the other. She continued down the street, circling the block to get a better lay of the land. The gray sedan parked beside a big overhead door at the back of the dilapidated building. She had just a glimpse of a man entering a smaller door on the side.

  An assortment of vehicles dotted the street behind the warehouse. Molly pulled up behind an old Thunderbird down the block. Good vantage point, but now what? She scrunched down in the seat and settled down to wait.

  She didn’t know what she was waiting for, but maybe she’d know it when she saw it. One thing she wanted to know was the identity of the gray sedan’s driver. Maybe that would tell her if they had really been following her for the past week.

  And if so, why?

  After Max had put the bug in his ear about Harold, Gabe rode his Harley up his Uncle Harold’s driveway feeling lower than the gum on the sole of a shoe.

  Okay, back to square one. Max’s offer notwithstanding, there was no easy money, no free lunch, and no truckload of collateral coming his way from recently discovered family heirlooms.

  Even hard work wasn’t taking him where he needed to go, because the tangible results of all of his hard work had been lost, sold, or stolen. Now, who besides Uncle Harold would benefit from such a thing?

  No run-of-the-mill thieves would want to rip off their equipment, almost any other local business would reap more lucrative results. Who besides Harold would have set them up for a hit? A man with his history and habits might have any number of reasons for dropping out of sight since Friday. But that, too, added to Gabe’s suspicions.

  So, his uncle went to the top of the list, even though Granddad and Gabe felt sick at the idea.

  After knocking on the door and ringing the bell, Gabe used Granddad’s key to enter Harold’s sparse and shabby condo. All of Harold’s, and a lot of Gabe’s and Granddad’s, money went into the bottomless pit of his gambling addiction. Obviously, home décor wasn’t a priority.

  Searching the apartment would reveal to Gabe things he didn’t really want to know about his uncle, but keeping a polite distance was no longer in the cards.

  Feeling distinctly voyeuristic, he dreaded uncovering whatever secrets the bedroom, bathroom and medicine cabinet might expose. He’d definitely prefer to check out the kitchen before subjecting himself to that.

  Mail, dirty dishes, and assorted flyers littered the kitchen counter, along with some crusty chili carry-out containers. Gabe opened the blinds over the kitchen sink, then flipped through the mail and flyers. Not much there, beyond the usual past-due bills and gym-club offers

  In the living room, a notepad on the coffee table had some cryptic notes scratched on it. Well, hell. Could it be that easy? Why hadn’t he started here first? An amount of $150,000 had been written on the sheet with numerous underlines and exclamation points. The word Sunday was written beneath it, also underscored and followed by D&D = Murray. An address was scrawled below that.

  Gabe knew his detecting skills were limited, but this clue was so obvious it might as well be labeled with a neon arrow pointing to it. Would Harold have left this type of incriminating evidence in plain sight? But, then, why would he think anyone would be checking out his place? It seemed a little too good to be true, but Gabe couldn’t afford to look a gift clue in the mouth. He snapped a picture of the page with his phone, ready to head over to the address provided.

  Pulling open the door, he found a wall of muscle on the doorstep. A thick-fingered hand attached to a torpedo-sized arm grabbed Gabe by the neck. “You’re not Harold. You got our money?”

  “What money?” Gabe asked inanely.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the muscle answered. “You’re coming with me.”

  Gabe’s feet barely touched the ground as Muscle Man hustled him toward the car.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sit
ting at a stakeout was about the same as sitting anywhere else on the planet while watching no one doing anything—mind-numbingly boring, with a capital B. Adding to the boredom, Molly was tired, damp, probably catching a cold, and emotionally exhausted. Sitting outside a dilapidated warehouse waiting for the reappearance of someone she probably wouldn’t recognize had dropped right off her list of Top 100 activities for the day.

  A hot bath, followed by dry clothes, and then sipping a cup of tea while snuggled in bed sounded more and more appealing.

  All right, time to pack it in. She was not only wasting her time and stiffening up more by the moment, but the windows kept fogging up, so she couldn’t see out of them. The option of turning on the defogger made her fearful of drawing attention to herself in case someone wandered out of the building. Just then, a car drove up and parked by the door.

  Two men climbed out. The driver appeared to be about the size of a small apartment building. Although he had on a purple jogging suit with red stripes down the sides, Molly thought the only jogging he’d done in the past few years had been to fast food hamburger joints and doughnut shops. The other, more reasonably-sized person was preppy-dressed in a blue oxford shirt and khakis, just like Gabe had worn to breakfast this morning.

  She did a double-take. Gabe!

  He dragged his feet entering the warehouse, then he stumbled into the big guy and shoved him hard, pushing him backward. As Gabe turned to make a run for it, Harold and a man dressed all in black came around the corner of the building and stopped him in his tracks. Harold said something to Gabe, then he and Jogging Suit jerked Gabe inside the building with them.

  Molly considered her best course of action. The police, probably, but that didn’t feel right until she knew what was going on. Gabe had mentioned his uncle could be a little shady sometimes, and she didn’t think he’d want her to drag in the police if it turned out to be a family dispute he could smooth over.