Live a Little!

by Nancy Warren

  Neville gazed at her for a moment, then shrugged. “As I’m certain you already know, Harrison began to sample the merchandise we were bringing in from Colombia, more and more as his cocaine habit grew worse.”

  “He was a drug addict?”

  “It’s an expensive habit. Then he tried to set up his own operation on the side. He must have figured out we were on to him, because he stole a large sum of money and left the country.” Neville shrugged.

  If he’d tried to set up his own operation, Harrison couldn’t have been alone. Things started to fall into place. “Was that what happened to Dominic Torreo, the murdered drug dealer? Did he cross you, too?”

  “Well, well. She is a clever little girl, isn’t she, Doug? Yes. Dominic was working with Harrison. Now they’re both out of business. I just can’t work out what your role was, and if anybody else is going to come crawling out of the woodwork.”

  “Of course I wasn’t working with them. I don’t know them. I really don’t know anything,” she said, kicking herself for revealing that she’d caught the connection between Harrison and the murdered drug dealer. Her brain didn’t seem to be working as sharply as usual.

  Neville booted up the computer and inserted the disk. In less than a minute, the incriminating pension file stared at her from the laptop screen.

  “I didn’t know he’d kept a set of everything for himself,” Neville mumbled, scrolling through the numbers, then glancing sharply at Cynthia. “Maybe it wasn’t drugs you were after. What was it, Cyn? Blackmail?”

  “No. I stumbled on the file and wondered what it was, that’s all.”

  “Right. And you were taking the file home because…?” He gazed at her with phony inquiry.

  “I wanted to look it over at home. I didn’t want to make any rash accusations against my predecessor.”

  “Well, aren’t you the Girl Scout. You weren’t going to ask for a sizable contribution to your own retirement fund to encourage you to keep quiet about our operation?”

  “What operation? All I know is the pension plan seems inefficient. I have some ideas for improving it.”

  “Hey, man,” Eddie said. “Maybe she doesn’t know anything—”

  A snort of disbelief silenced him. “Have you forgotten the packaging she hid under the pallet just over there?” Neville reminded him, jerking his chin toward where she and Jake had checked out the chopstick shipment.

  “This is about packaging? What, I forgot to recycle?” She began to wonder if the blood had not only drained out of her right arm, but her head as well; nothing was making any sense.

  “Don’t play dumb, Cynthia. It doesn’t suit you. Let’s just say we’re big believers in recycling here at Oceanic. Those sheets of packaging coming up from Colombia get recycled in a friendly lab into top-grade cocaine—street value in the millions. But you already knew that. Why don’t you just tell us who else you’re working with, and we can put this unpleasant incident behind us. No hard feelings.”

  No hard feelings? She had the strong feeling that she’d end up recycled as fish food. If she could get them to release her, even if they planned to take her to Neville’s house, at least she’d have a chance to get away. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best she could come up with.

  She tried to look scared, which wasn’t that difficult under the circumstances. She bit her lip and glanced right and left, then dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “If I tell you, they’ll kill me.”

  “Tell us everything you know, Cynthia, and we’ll see if we can find a place in our operation for you.”

  As a doorstop? She tried to look relieved and gullible. “I won’t let you down, Neville. Can you take off the handcuff now?”

  “First tell us what you know.”

  “Hey, look. Oreos.” Ormond had grown bored with the interrogation and was opening drawers. The bag of cookies rustled loudly as he stuck his meaty paw in and withdrew a cookie. She noticed his hairy knuckles and recalled the superintendent’s wife had said one of the movers had hairy knuckles. Too bad Cyn hadn’t made the connection earlier.

  “Mmm. I love Oreos,” he said, chomping loudly. Little black crumbs tumbled down his chin like volcanic ash.

  “Could you manage to hold on to the gun?” Neville admonished him.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” He slumped into a chair, pointing the gun in her general direction. His other hand, which grasped a fresh cookie, hung down like an ape’s.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Cyn saw something scuttle. Something black and furry with a snaking tail. Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, the damn rat had to join the party. A little cry escaped her, and with her free hand she pointed to the cookie-addicted vermin. It ran toward the sound of the rustling bag like a hungry farmhand to the dinner gong.

  “Whaa?” Ormond jerked his head in the direction she was pointing and suddenly all hell broke loose. He gave an overweight, middle-aged thug’s version of a squeal of fright, and the rat, which was just about to take the cookie, ended up taking a bite out of his knuckle instead. He knocked the rat flying with one hand, roaring in rage, and then the gun went off.

  Cynthia closed her eyes and instinctively recoiled, trying to make the smallest possible target. Was this it then? Her life was about to end in this horrible warehouse?

  A hoarse scream rent the air, but it wasn’t coming from her throat. Eyes jerking open, she realized it was Eddie doing the screaming. He fell to the floor, grabbing a bleeding thigh. “Son of a bitch, you shot me.”

  And then an explosion rocked the front of the building. Almost immediately she heard the howl of an alarm.

  The rat darted back among the boxes, taking Ormond’s dropped Oreo cookie with it.

  “What the—” Neville glanced at her, then his eyes narrowed into ugly slits. “Keep an eye on her,” he ordered the groaning Eddie, grabbing a gun out of his suit jacket pocket. “Come on!” he ordered Ormond, who followed, sucking his knuckle and cursing.

  Cyn didn’t have time to worry about whether the explosion was caused by friend or foe; all she knew was this was her one and only chance to escape.

  Along with the other contents of her purse, her key ring was on the table, the little silver key winking at her like an unreachable star. It was the key Jake had put there. The key to her sex-shop handcuffs. She knew Neville shopped at the same store. Was it possible that’s where he’d purchased the cuff currently on her right hand? She gazed up at where she was attached to the pipe. The handcuff looked identical to the ones she had at home. Did they have a universal key? She had no idea, but this was her best bet for an escape.

  Eddie groaned, more interested in his problems than hers. If she could just get rid of him… “Eddie, let me help you.”

  He muttered a curse.

  “You could bleed to death. Those two just ran off and left you. Unlock these handcuffs so I can bind your leg.”

  “Don’t got the keys.” He stared helplessly at his own sluggishly bleeding thigh.

  To trust or not to trust? She glanced down at him and realized he had a gun in his hand. It didn’t bode well for trusting him. “You need to put pressure on that. I think there are some towels in the bathroom, and maybe a first aid kit.”

  He gazed up at her, obviously assessing the risk of leaving her there. But it was clear she couldn’t go anywhere without the key to the handcuffs. With much grunting and groaning, Eddie managed to haul himself upright and hop painfully to the bathroom.

  Come on, come on, she urged him silently, knowing the other two could return at any moment.

  Eddie made it to the bathroom, but didn’t shut the door. He couldn’t see her, but she imagined he’d be checking on her from time to time. Quickly, she reached forward with her free hand, yanking and straining, but there was a good six inches between where her fingers ended and the table began.

  Trying a move she’d seen in an action movie, she raised both arms, gripped the water pipe and swung her body forward. And what she learned immed
iately was that those movie stunt people must do a lot more sit-ups than she. Her stomach muscles screamed in protest as she tried to hook her foot under the table, missed and swung back with all the grace of a sack of onions.

  She sobbed with frustration and tried again. Failed again.

  “FBI! Freeze!” Even through the thick fire door, she recognized the voice.

  “Jake!” she cried, shuddering with relief. He was here. He’d rescue her. Everything would be all right.

  Gunfire exploded.

  Seconds later the alarm was silenced.

  “Oh, my God. Jake. No.” He wouldn’t have turned off the alarm; he wanted the authorities to investigate. Neville must have turned it off. Which meant Jake could be bleeding, hurt, needing her. She took a deep breath and jackknifed forward once more, gritting her teeth with the effort. She hooked her toes under the table and with every muscle in her body screaming, managed to pull the table inch by agonizing inch toward her.

  Gasping, she reached forward, and this time was able to grasp her Pacific Northwest Accounting Association key ring. With no time to worry about whether the rattling would alert Eddie, she grabbed hold of the little silver key and inserted it into the lock.

  Her hands were shaking and sweaty, so she fumbled and the key wouldn’t turn. Please, please, she whispered urgently, almost sobbing with nerves. Jake needed her. She had to get to him.

  Frantically, she turned the key left and right with her trembling fingers. Just when she was certain the key wouldn’t fit, she heard the click as the lock gave. She thought that metallic click was the most wonderful sound she’d ever heard.

  She pulled her arm free and ran forward, glancing into the bathroom to see Eddie sprawled on the floor, passed out. She hesitated only a second. Jake, too, could be lying on the floor, bleeding. It was no contest as to whom she’d tend first.

  As she raced for the door, she noticed an open toolbox beside one of the hydraulic lifts. Thinking she might need a weapon, she grabbed a wrench, then paused. Eddie had a gun; she could go back and take it from him. Then she remembered she didn’t even know how to use a gun.

  Against the arsenal out front, a wrench wasn’t much, but it felt reassuringly heavy in her hand.

  She opened the door just wide enough to squeeze through. All the lights had been turned off in the main office; there was only the dim illumination from the emergency lights to guide her. She crept down the corridor, eyes adjusting, ears superalert. She heard nothing but the low hum of the building’s heating system and her own shoes scuffing the carpet.

  She rounded the corner and heard voices. “This is the last time I’m asking. Where is she, you son of a bitch?” It was Jake’s voice, angry and menacing and very, very alive. Her heart pounded and her knees sagged. He was all right. Jake was all right. They were going to get out of here. She’d be able to tell him she loved him, after all.

  She sped down the corridor and stopped. There he was, healthy and commanding, his big, scary black gun pointing at Ormond’s privates.

  The big man cowered. “Who?”

  Both men were in profile to her and she saw Ormond’s eyes move. He had to be looking for Neville. Where was Neville?

  As she opened her mouth to warn Jake, Ormond said, “She’s—”

  “She’s dead.” Neville rose just behind Jake, his own gun now trained on Jake’s back.

  “No.” Jake said the word softly. Then he roared, “No!”

  “I’m afraid you’re too late, old boy.”

  But Jake didn’t seem to take it in. His face was suddenly ashen, his eyes lifeless. “Not…not Cynthia.” His voice sounded hoarse and old.

  “Don’t worry, lover boy. You’ll be joining her shortly.” Neville laughed, a wry chuckle. “She had me fooled. I thought she was working with Harrison, when all the time she was a stooge for the FBI. Very convenient.”

  Jake shook his head, as though a bee were buzzing around his ear. He seemed to pull himself together, stashing the raw pain she’d witnessed behind the granite mask. “Drop the gun and place your hands on top of your head,” he ordered Neville.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Jake jerked his head toward Ormond. “Then your friend here’ll be singing soprano.”

  “Nev, for Chrissakes, man.” Ormond’s voice rang out in horror. With his hands on top of his head, she saw him try and cross his legs to protect himself.

  “That’s right.” Neville went on as though Ormond hadn’t spoken. “You shoot him, and I shoot you. Then I’ll make it look as though Ormond here killed an FBI officer as well as engaging in smuggling, right under my innocent nose. I’ll be very upset, of course, and will cooperate fully with the FBI. I must remember to order a new suit from my tailor. Something I can wear to both your funerals.”

  Do something, Jake, Cynthia urged him silently. Say something. But he didn’t seem able to concentrate. “Tell me what you did to Cynthia,” he said at last.

  And in that moment she knew he loved her. So much he couldn’t think straight even with his own life in terrible danger. Tears filled her eyes.

  “He didn’t do anything to me,” she said, loud and clear, stepping forward and throwing the wrench at Neville.

  “Get down!” Jake shouted, even as she saw Neville’s gun swing her way.

  She watched the wrench arc through the air in slow motion like a bad shotput, and heard the twin explosions. She dropped to the floor, heard the bullet zing past. Neville reared back, eyes wide and mouth open on a groan as he clutched his shoulder and keeled over.

  Jake swung his gun back toward Ormond, but the man hadn’t moved. He looked as if all the fight had been knocked out of him. He couldn’t stop staring at Neville. “You were gonna let him kill me. I thought we were partners.”

  In two steps, Jake had crossed to Neville’s side, kicking the gun from his lax hand and retrieving it.

  “You all right?” he all but shouted at Cyn.

  She nodded, not trusting her voice.

  Jake dropped to his knees to check Neville’s pulse.

  “Is he…is he dead?” Cyn managed to ask, her voice trembling as badly as her legs.

  He shook his head. “Doesn’t deserve to, but he’ll live.” Glancing around, he stalked over to a computer, pulled one end of a cable out of the machine and the other end from the wall socket, then swiftly hog-tied her former boss. Neville’s eyes fluttered open and he groaned.

  She retrieved a second computer cable and passed it to Jake. Without a word, he took it and tied up Ormond.

  The trembling that had begun in her legs spread upward. She wrapped her arms around herself and tried to breathe while Jake ignored her and got on with business. Grabbing his cell phone, he punched in numbers and gave orders. She heard words—ambulance…local cops…DEA—but her mind wouldn’t decipher them. Everything was coming from far away and she felt as if she had water in her ears.

  Her gaze cut to Neville, groaning on the floor. There was a big red patch on the front of his shirt. She looked away. The sight of the gunshot wound reminded her of Eddie, lying there in the bathroom. “Eddie’s hurt.”

  “Who?”

  She was shaking so badly she could barely stand. “Eddie.”

  “Where is—” Jake glanced at her and he was at her side in an instant.

  “Hang on, Cyn, don’t faint.” His arms wrapped around her, warm and strong. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. It’s all over now.” He rubbed his big hands up and down her arms.

  A dark shape materialized, then another. She gave a squeak of alarm, then noticed the FBI insignia on the black jackets. “Eddie’s in the warehouse bathroom. Shot,” she told Jake softly, unwilling to talk to anyone else, unwilling even to move from his arms.

  “We’ll get him. You all right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” After a final squeeze around her shoulders, he said, “I’m going to have someone drive you home. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

  “My keys, my purse. They’re i
n the back.”

  Jake gave low-voiced orders over her shoulder, and before she knew it, she’d been ushered out of the building and was on her way home.

  She hardly noticed the drive with a fresh-faced young man who was obviously dying to get back to the excitement at Oceanic and resented being put on chauffeur duty. Still, once they’d arrived at her house, he opened her front door for her and, after she punched in her alarm code, walked her through the house.

  “This isn’t necessary,” she assured him. The official tour only reminded her of the other night, when the police officer had done a walk-through as well, just before Jake had dumped her.

  The rookie’s skeptical look said he agreed with her completely. “Jake’s orders, ma’am.”

  She would much rather Jake had escorted her home himself, but at least he’d been thinking of her safety. That warmed her cold limbs somewhat.

  “Can I make you some tea or something?” the young man asked, shuffling from foot to foot.

  She felt old enough to be his mother. “No.” She smiled at him reassuringly. “I’m fine. I’m going to have a hot bath and go to bed early. But thanks. You go on back now.”

  If she’d given him a gift-wrapped box from Tiffany’s he couldn’t have looked any happier. Come to think of it, he was probably the type who’d rather risk life and limb than fool around with jewelry, anyhow. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. Thanks for bringing me home.”

  He was gone in an instant and Cyn was alone. She still felt shaky and hollow, but part of that had to be hunger.

  She warmed a can of soup and forced herself to eat it, knowing she’d feel better. Then she brewed a pot of chamomile tea and poured a cup, pale as weak sunshine.

  After the day she’d had?

  Crossing to the liquor cabinet she dug through dusty bottles until she found brandy that was probably older than she was. A liberal dose gave a certain body to her herbal tea and started a slow warmth spreading through her.

  Next, she dragged herself upstairs, noting how each and every muscle in her body ached, and drew herself a hot bath, letting the faucets run until the tub threatened to overflow. Lavender bath crystals perfumed the steam coming off the top, and with a sigh, she lowered her body into the lusciously hot water.