by Stacy Finz
“This is good, right?” Gia sat upright. “It clears me.”
He shook his head. “Not really. All it shows is that you don’t have the money. It doesn’t prove you weren’t in on it.”
Her face twisted in frustration and disappointment. “So why was Sloane here?”
“Laughlin’s getting desperate. I was afraid he might show up here to hide . . . to use you to get to the money.”
“You don’t think I would help him? For God’s sake, Flynn.”
“Not voluntarily. Gia, this is a man capable of murder. No way was I leaving you susceptible to him holding a gun to the back of your head.”
Her mouth opened wide and Flynn watched it sink in. “What about Cleo’s widow? Does Laughlin know that she controls the account?”
“Pretty good chance he does, yeah.”
Gia jumped to her feet. “We have to call the police. She’s not safe, Flynn.”
“I already did. Initially I hoped we could lure him out and nab the bastard . . . make him prove you had no part in his crimes. But it’s too dicey now, especially because he tried to move on the money. So we wait and pray the feds get him and he clears your name.”
“You really think he’d come here?”
“It’s a long shot, but I’m not taking any risks.” He held her gaze. She might not care about him the same way he did her, but he’d never let anything happen to her. “More than likely he’ll go to Florida. . . try to force the widow to move the money. Still, you need to be on high alert.”
Flynn’s phone rang. He recognized the number instantly and took the call in the adjoining room. When he returned Gia sat on the couch, her eyes faraway, as if she was in another world.
“That was the FBI,” he said, trying to keep the excitement out of his voice. He didn’t want to get her hopes up. “They’ve got eyes on Laughlin.”
“Where is he?”
“In Florida. They think he’s been hiding in either Mexico or Belize, close enough to the money without being obvious.”
“Then I’m safe,” she said, relieved.
“I can’t get into the details, but the feds are laying a net for him. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t keep your guard up.”
“The feds think he’ll make contact with Cleo’s widow, don’t they?”
“Laughlin’s itchy for the money. That’s all I can say.”
According to Flynn’s source the SOB had come in on a boat at PortMiami, gotten into a Lincoln Town Car, and driven to a condominium building two blocks away from where Cleo’s widow lived. They were just waiting for Laughlin to move on the widow before they nabbed him. The streets were crawling with agents.
“When they get him what’ll happen to me?” Gia asked.
That was the million-dollar question.
Chapter 24
Gia put on a pot of coffee, stuck two slices of bread in the toaster, and gazed at the clock. Flynn had said he’d call as soon as he got word. He’d left early for Sacramento to see what intel he could dig up.
He was all business now, just as he’d been after her arrest. It hurt, but it was what she’d asked of him. Gia kept telling herself it was for the best; they never would’ve worked out anyway.
Besides, she had Evan’s arrest to worry about. It held the key to her freedom. All he had to do was tell the truth about her.
Flynn had warned that in all probability Evan wouldn’t lift a finger to help. “Guys like him cover their own asses. He’ll know his best defense is to keep his mouth shut . . . maybe even hang the whole thing on you if he thinks he can get a deal out of it.”
It made her queasy.
She poured herself a mug of the coffee, buttered the toast, and took a few bites, telling herself that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. The bread tasted dry as sawdust. After a few sips of coffee to help wash it down she dumped the toast in the garbage disposal, turned on the switch, and watched it get sucked through the drain. Then she left for the barn.
Rory stood in her stall and Gia led the mare into the center of the barn to saddle her. She wanted to see the seedlings Annie had planted. Last time she’d checked the ground had just been tilled rows of dirt. Still exciting because it was the start of something. Roots. A way to make a difference.
The day had turned out so lovely, she was anxious to get going before it got too warm and too buggy to ride. Before climbing onto Rory she checked her cell in case she’d missed a text or email from Flynn. She was scrolling through her messages when a sound made her jump.
“I’ll take that.” She didn’t need to look up to know whose voice it was. “Miss me?”
“Wha . . . what are you doing here, Evan?”
He held out his hand. In the other one he gripped a gun. “Give me the phone, Gia.”
She had no choice but to hand it to him.
“What, you’re not happy to see me?” He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, curving his lips in an unctuous grin. She questioned what she’d ever seen in him.
“Can’t say I am.” Her eyes darted around the barn, looking for a weapon.
A hay hook dangled from the gate of a stall two feet away. He followed the direction of her gaze and laughed.
“Gia, you really think you can overpower me with that?” He backed up to examine the hook, running his fingers over the sharp edge. “I’ll tell you what; I’ll give you a three-second head start.” He moved some distance away from the hook and grasped the pistol with both hands, aiming it straight at her heart. “Go!”
She stood stock still. “You’re supposed to be in—”
“In custody? Is that what you were about to say? So you know about all those agents climbing up my ass.” He laughed again. This time it sounded rusty, like old nails scraping a tin can. “Not the sharpest tools in the shed, those FBI guys. In fact, they couldn’t find their own dicks with a magnifying glass.”
“What do you want, Evan?”
“For us to do a little business together.”
“That’s not going to happen,” she said, trying to determine her next move. Knowing she’d never make it to the hay hook before he squeezed off a shot, Gia contemplated her alternatives.
“If you want to keep dear Iris alive you’ll reconsider,” he sneered and she froze.
“What are you talking about?” Evan had to be bluffing. She’d just spoken to her mother this morning and Iris had been fine.
“We’ll talk in the house.” He hitched the gun at her, demanding that she lead the way.
“There are people in the house.” Gia liked her chances better in the barn. At least Annie or one of her workers might notice Rory saddled with no rider. The horse had wandered over to the entrance of the stable where anyone could see her.
“Gia! After all we’ve meant to each other, why do you lie? I saw the cowboy leave this morning.” He raised his brow over the barrel of the gun. “A little earthy for your taste, don’t you think?”
Flynn was twenty times any man.
“And Little Orphan Annie is out in the field, digging in the dirt.”
Gia wondered how he knew Annie’s name. He’d obviously been doing reconnaissance and it scared her to think she wasn’t the only one in danger. She had to think of a way to stop him.
“Let’s go.” He tapped her with the muzzle of the gun and she reluctantly led the way.
When they got in the house Evan glanced around the kitchen. “Let’s go in the living room.”
He evidentially knew the layout. As they entered his eyes wandered to the open-beam ceiling and the animal heads mounted on the walls and let out a whistle.
“I like what you’ve done with the place. Sit down.” He still had the gun trained on her so she did what he told her.
Her fervent hope was that someone would see them through the windows and call for help. A long shot, she knew. Annie and the others would be in the field for much of the day and Gia didn’t expect any visitors.
“What do you want, Evan?”
He pulled
her phone from his jacket, scrolled through it, and pushed the screen in front of her face. It was a picture of her mother, bound and gagged. The front page of the Miami Herald lay on her lap. The corner of the paper showed the date. Today’s. Gia felt her face drain of blood.
“You bastard.”
“She’ll be fine, Gia, as long as you do exactly what I tell you. I’ve got a plane waiting at that piece of shit you mountain people call an airport.”
It was a private landing strip in Beckwourth that Gia had passed many times without giving it a second thought. All she knew was that Clay had a couple of hangars there.
“In an hour you’ll be getting on that plane and flying to Miami to persuade Tiffany Cleo to transfer money to a new account,” Evan continued. “As long as I have that money by the end of the day, sweet Iris goes free. If not . . .” He pretended to pull the trigger and suddenly she had trouble breathing.
“You’re crazy, Evan. Cleo’s house is swarming with agents; there’s no way.”
“Gia, Gia, Gia, when did you become such a pessimist? I have the utmost faith in you.” His smarmy smile reminded her of a snake. How had she not seen the evil in him?
“You must be truly desperate,” she said, trying to bide time so she could come up with a plan. “How do I know you won’t kill my mother anyway . . . or me, for that matter?”
“You don’t. But rest assured, if you don’t get me the money you’ll both be dead by nightfall.”
Gia flinched. The man was diabolical.
“Doesn’t it make more sense to pay off someone at the bank to move the money? What makes you think Mrs. Cleo will listen to me?”
“I’ll be real honest with you, Gia. I tried the bribery route . . . didn’t work. You’re my last-ditch effort. What do you have to lose . . . unless you count Iris?” His expression was mocking. “The way I look at it, even if you have to kill the Cleo bitch you’re already looking at fifty years behind bars. Yeah, I read the papers. So what’s a few more for murder? At least Mommy dearest gets to live out her twilight years in that fancy Boca condo you paid for.”
“I don’t know how I didn’t realize it before, but you’re mentally disturbed,” she said.
He shook his head. “You always did have a smart mouth. Don’t worry, Gia. If you pull this off I’ll have plenty of money to get the help I need.” He glanced around the room again. “This is nothing like your penthouse.”
She followed his gaze to the moose head and saw the Winchester hanging on the wall. Flynn had said it wasn’t loaded and she still didn’t know where the safety was. But if she could get to it . . .
“I have to go to the bathroom,” she said.
“Gia? What do you take me for?”
A sleazy son of a bitch. “What do you want me to do, hold it in?”
“I want you get me a cup of that coffee I saw in the kitchen. And if you behave I’ll let you go to the bathroom when we board the plane.”
He jerked up the muzzle of his pistol, letting her know to get off the couch. Then he followed her toward the kitchen. This was her chance. But as long as his gun was pointed at her back . . .
The Winchester was just an arm’s length away. Gia’s heart pounded and a trickle of sweat dripped down the valley of her breasts. Though Evan wasn’t a particularly large man, she was no match for him strength wise. She saw her mother tied up in that chair, she thought about Flynn and how he would misinterpret her involvement, and she feared what might happen to Annie if she returned to the house before they caught Evan’s plane.
Her panic was so palpable she wondered if Evan could smell it on her. She certainly felt his breath on her neck. That’s how close he was. One step . . , two . . . there was the rifle, right in front of her, just hanging on the wall. She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling. All I have to do is grab it.
“Move!” Evan jabbed his pistol between her shoulder blades and she passed the rifle, losing her only chance.
When they came to the kitchen he ordered her to pour him a cup of the leftover coffee. He sat on one of the barstools at the center island while she got a mug down from the cupboard. The pot was still hot. She filled the cup and noted that he’d put the gun down on the counter. The grip lay next to his elbow, which was propped on top of the granite. In her head she calculated how much time it would take for him to grab it and pull the trigger. Mere seconds, she suspected.
“What’s taking you so long?” He eyed the coffee mug in anticipation. “And while you’re at it, make me something to eat. I’ve been crawling around your bushes all morning and we’ve got forty minutes before takeoff.”
That didn’t leave much time. The tiny airport was at least ten minutes away.
“Where’s your car?” she asked. No way could he have driven in with the locked gate.
“Gia, food for fuck’s sake!”
Back in his banking days he hadn’t sounded like a Neanderthal. It must’ve taken a lot of spit and polish to pull off the refined stockbroker act.
She took a few steps forward, threw the hot coffee in his face, and ran as fast as she could, listening to him scream as she struggled to get the rifle off the wall. Her hands shook and sweat dripped into her eyes. Finally able to pry the gun loose, she made it as far as the front door when she felt a hand clutch the back of her shirt.
“You little bitch,” Evan said.
She spun around, wielding the Winchester, waiting for a shot to ring out from his own gun. None came. There was nothing in his hands.
“Forget your gun, Evan?” She shoved the muzzle into his gut. His face was red and still dripping. She wondered if the coffee had been hot enough to make his skin blister. “Back up.”
He laughed at her. “You won’t shoot me. I doubt that thing is even loaded.”
“Only one way to find out. Now back the hell up.”
She saw the wheels in his head turning; then he slowly inched away. Just when she thought she had the upper hand he grabbed the barrel and began twisting the rifle away from her. She struggled to keep a firm hold on the butt, but it was a tug of war. And Evan was winning.
* * *
“What the hell do you mean they lost him?” Flynn hung a U-turn on the highway, tires screeching, as he yelled into his Bluetooth. “Why didn’t you call me last night with this news?”
“I literally found out five minutes ago,” Toad said. “The feds were acting squirrelly, but I figured they had a bead on him. Then this morning I find out that the whole operation is FUBAR. They let him slip through their fingers, the idiots.”
“Jesus Christ! So Laughlin’s been in the wind for at least fourteen hours.”
“Roger that.”
“I left Gia alone.” Flynn wanted to smash his fist into something.
“Laughlin won’t come to California. Too risky and too far away from the money.”
“Still, the Bureau should’ve told me. I should’ve been on top of this.”
“I hate to break it to you, boss, but you’re no longer on the FBI’s payroll. No way you could’ve known. It wasn’t as if the feds wanted to publicize their mammoth screwup, especially to Gia Treadwell’s defense attorney.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Flynn banged his hand on the steering wheel. Laughlin’s arrest might’ve helped Gia’s case. Now they were back to square one.
“I’m returning to Rosser Ranch. You stay in Florida and keep your eyes and ears open. Maybe they’ll get a lead on him.”
“No problem,” Toad said. “I’ll check in later today.”
Flynn disconnected and immediately punched Gia’s cell number into his phone. When she didn’t answer he tried her landline. He thought about leaving a message, but she was probably riding Rory or overseeing the planting of the Christmas tree seedlings with Annie. Why freak her out when he’d be there soon and could explain everything in person?
He’d left before she’d gotten up this morning. The night before it’d been difficult keeping his distance. He’d wanted to tell her how he felt about her. How he
thought they’d started something good. But that would be a violation of the state bar’s ethical code. Anything that could be perceived as coercion or extortion was strictly out of the question. Gia was the client and got to call the shots.
He passed the Nugget sign and turned off on Gia’s road. Less than a mile from her gate he saw light glinting off something metal out in the field. Probably a pile of tin cans left over from someone’s target practice. But the ex-cop in him couldn’t let it go. He pulled over and grabbed his sidearm from the glove box to investigate. A few yards off the road he found a car neatly tucked behind a cluster of trees, hidden from the road. If it hadn’t been for the fender reflecting off the sun the car would’ve gone unnoticed.
Flynn circled the Chevy Malibu. It had a bar code sticker on the back windshield, a telltale sign that it was a rental, which could mean anything. He used his phone to shoot pictures of the car’s California license plates, sent them off to Rhys, and called the chief at the police department. “Can you run the plates I just texted you?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Flynn imagined Rhys was looking at the photographs.
“I’ll run them,” the chief finally said. “In the meantime, I’m sending a patrol unit. Could be nothing, but I’m thinking more snoopy reporters.”
“Thanks, Rhys. I’m on my way to the ranch now. I’ll leave the gate open.”
Before he returned to his truck Flynn peeked inside the car’s windows. There was a bottle of water and a map on the front seat. On the passenger-side floor, a Miami Herald.
Miami. Florida. His gut clenched.
Flynn punched in Rhys’s number again, blurted his discovery, and took off running for the gate. For fifteen hundred yards he barely breathed, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a bullet train.
“I’m getting too old for this shit,” he muttered to himself as he vaulted over the fence and took cover behind the trees that edged Gia’s driveway. At the house he crouched along the log siding and hunkered beneath the windows to circle to the back, undetected. The mudroom door was unlocked and he snuck inside, ducking behind the side of the washing machine.
