Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series)

by Loy, Tracie Ingersoll

  “I just wanted some me time with you with no one else around,” Margery Anne cooed. “You’ve been gone.”

  Montana couldn’t hear his reply, but heard shuffling and rustling. Bodies bumped up against the deck.

  “Oh, Big Daddy, I’ve missed you.”

  Montana covered her mouth to keep from laughing. With the way Margery Anne purred, Montana could only imagine how big his male body parts were. More groans, feet movement, and all the sounds that came with kissing. Somehow this wasn’t exactly the scenario she had in mind to report to Ray. Margery Anne didn’t sound very tortured.

  “Come on, pretty please? We have time, Big D.”

  Oh, Lord, this wasn’t just about copping a feel.

  “Jesus, Sweet Cheeks, you’re wearing me out.”

  “That’s exactly what I want to do.”

  This was so not what Montana wanted to hear. She pressed her hands over her ears and cringed. There was no question on why MAMW was hanging with Rob Armstrong. From the sounds of Margery Anne, Big Daddy satisfied her for a long time and had the stamina of a marathon runner. He finally reached the finish line. Silence. Then, more cooing.

  Montana fished out her phone and texted Jeannie to please call MAMW house and find out when MA was due home.

  Jeannie finally texted back: “MA back @ 6 o’ ferry. @ Bible Study in Bellingham. Why?”

  Bible Study my butt, thought Montana. “MAMW aka Sweet Cheeks & RA aka BIG Daddy r going @ it. I have 2 pee. Hiding.” Montana thought that pretty much explained it without having to get graphic.

  “Serves u rite, Nancy Drew. Now we know why!”

  Creaking and shifting sounds grabbed her attention. Oh, please not again! Margery Anne cooed something, and Big Daddy grunted back, but they didn’t move from the top of the steps. Her phone said four, which meant Sweet Cheeks had two more hours to dally with Big Daddy. Her bladder would never make it. Montana closed her eyes and concentrated on putting her mind in a Zen state.

  Jeannie read her phone text and continued to laugh. Each time she tried to explain to Ray Carlson and Kip, she laughed harder. Wiping her eyes, Jeannie handed her cell phone to Kip, who read it and grinned. He handed it to Ray, who laughed and said, “She did have three teas at lunch.”

  “She might need rescuing,” Jeannie said. “But she doesn’t say where.”

  “I have a pretty good idea,” said Ray. “I’ll go home and get my dog and we can play Frisbee on the beach. Luke should be able to sniff her out.” He chuckled again. “She’s all worried Big Daddy is coercing Sweet Cheeks. I wonder what she thinks now.” Ray left the café, still laughing.

  He parked his unmarked Mustang squad car next to Montana’s at the Ryan’s and opened the passenger door. Luke, his black lab jumped out.

  “Ready boy?”

  He jogged toward the beach with Luke running along next to him, throwing the Frisbee and making a ton of noise. After a good thirty minutes of walking the beach, he and Luke headed back toward the Ryan’s.

  The whistling and calling of Luke broke Montana’s meditation. She peered around the old wheelbarrow, looking for legs and listening for the copulating couple. Convinced they’d left, she crawled to the edge and peered out. Everything looked clear, so she sprinted as fast as a full bladder allowed to the wood pile.

  “Ah,” she sighed softly, relieving herself.

  A large black something swooshed through the brush and almost knocked into her. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the black lab was laughing at her.

  “Who are you?” she asked, pulling up her pants.

  “Luke,” a familiar voice yelled, and then whistled.

  “So you’re Luke, and I’m in hot water. Come on, Luke, let’s go find Ray.”

  Montana stayed low, ran to the large tree, and then to the next, almost bumping into him. He held his finger to his lips to stay silent and pointed back at the Ryan’s. He jogged ahead with Luke and Montana trailing behind. When they reached their cars, Ray leaned against his with his arms folded.

  “So tell me, is she being tortured by Big Daddy?”

  She shrugged. “Well, not exactly.”

  “Is Big Daddy taking a beating from Sweet Cheeks?”

  She’d tried to suppress her laughter but couldn’t. “He indicated she was wearing him out.”

  “Oh, boy, so you probably heard plenty. Do you think she’s still a victim?”

  Montana shook her head. “Pretty much symbiotic.”

  “That’s kind of what I’ve been thinking. Sex is a powerful drug. Many a career and marriage has been ruined by the potency of it all.”

  Montana wondered if he were speaking from experience. Ray was a good looking man with a body that had muscles in all the right places. Hartz Island wasn’t exactly a career move for somebody who looked and acted like he did. To her, he seemed on par with Jack and Kip.

  “Are you done snooping for the day?”

  “I am.”

  “I will follow you out.”

  “By the way Ray, how come I never see your…big gun?”

  “I like to keep mine hidden.” He grinned and pointed to her car. “Next time, I might not be available to save your sweet cheeks.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  Like he promised, Ray followed her out and stayed behind until she pulled into her drive. He honked, waved, and gunned the Mustang.

  Chapter Eighteen

  "So, I see you have satellite radio.” Cassie adjusted her seat and fiddled with her air vents.

  “I do.”

  “Any chance you enjoy…country music?” He was from Colorado. She loved country but kept it hidden.

  He smiled. “Is that what you want to listen to on the ride down?”

  After the ice cream episode, Cassie wasn’t taking any chances. “Yes.”

  He hit a button and music filled the cab. So he did like country. She wondered what else he had programmed.

  “If you have a favorite station, you can turn that on. Otherwise, I’m surprised you like country.”

  “It’s soulful, grabs your heart. Each song is a story.” She could never marry a man who didn’t like country. Sergei hated it. He hated Elvis, too. “My mother loved Elvis Presley, his Christmas carols and gospel music. It got to me, too. What do you think of Elvis?”

  “You know, I hadn’t really given Elvis a thought. But I’m open.”

  By the time Jack reached I-5, Cassie had fallen asleep. He plugged in his Bluetooth and got caught up on calls. Even with the slowed traffic entering the Seattle area, she didn’t stir until he parked the Tahoe in his condo garage on lower Queen Anne Hill.

  He nudged her. “Wake up. We’re here.”

  “Where’s here?” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed.

  “My place. Grab your bag.”

  She made a few helpless sounds, but he wasn’t biting. It took a few minutes, but Cassie got her things and followed Jack to the elevator. The doors opened and a tall, blond svelte woman with big breasts exited.

  “Well, hey, Jack.” The woman took her time looking at Jack and then Cassie.

  Cassie stepped inside the elevator and held the door open, watching the exchange.

  “Misty.” He kept his voice polite.

  “Where have you been? Long time no see.”

  “Working.” He purposely kept his answer short.

  “Oh…” Misty glanced at Cassie and then back to Jack. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “That figures.” She flipped Jack a smile and walked toward the cars, swinging her hips. She turned around and gave a flip wave. “You know where to find me.”

  “That is true, I do.” Jack stepped inside the elevator.

  “What floor?” Cassie asked.

  “Four.”<
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  She pressed the button. “Misty lives on what floor?”

  “Five.”

  “Oh, the top floor. Please don’t tell me she lives right above you so you can take a stick and hit the ceiling.”

  He grinned. “No. She’s on the opposite corner. I just whistle.”

  “Right. In your dreams.” She smirked at him, and he laughed.

  In reality, he could whistle and Misty would be there in a moment.

  Exiting at the fourth floor, Cassie followed Jack to 401. When she entered, she caught her breath at the view that unfolded in front of her: Elliott Bay.

  “That’s my reaction when I come home. I never get tired of it. Let me have your bag.” He took it and disappeared down a hallway.

  She stood at the large window and gazed at the night lights. A ferry made its way across the bay. He joined her looking out over the city.

  “I need to head down to my office for a couple of hours. I should be back by eleven. Make yourself at home.”

  Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. “Do you have a computer I can use?”

  “Yeah, back here in the office.”

  She followed him down the hallway to an alcove that was his office. A wall desk made of dark wood was on one side with a computer set up and an oversized chair and foot stool across from it. He opened a drawer and pulled out a laptop and charger and handed it to her.

  “I’d prefer you to use this. The other one is for work. Call me if you need anything.”

  “I don’t have your number.” She looked around the room. “Or a phone.”

  He jotted his number down on a Post-it note. “And I got rid of my landline.”

  Cassie pointed to the fax machine. “I suppose I could always fax you.”

  He smiled and wrote down another number. “Here’s the number at work, but worse comes to worse, my cell will show you called using the fax. Don’t open the door to anyone, and you should be okay. Lock up behind me.” Which is exactly what she did.

  Cassie peeked around and liked what she saw. It was on the smaller side with an open plan. The kitchen was to the right from the entrance, and the living room was to the left with a gas fireplace on the left wall and a flat screen television above it. Jack had arranged his furniture around the fireplace, but the view was still visible.

  He had said to make myself at home, so why not? she thought, and decided to check out the kitchen. Kitchens revealed a person’s personality, plus she wanted to see if he had anything good to snack on. Photos of kids were on the refrigerator, along with a note under a magnet—Got everything done. I’ll come at my regular time in two weeks. Took $$ out of cookie jar, Lydia. Jack had a cleaning woman. Had he wanted it cleaned before he brought her here? If so, how sweet. It had been years since anyone cared. The only thing she spotted close to a cookie jar was a ceramic University of Washington football with a Husky dog sitting on top. Cassie hadn’t attended the U, but her brother had, and once a Husky fan, always a Husky, especially when someone played football for them, like Jack.

  She lifted up the dog’s head and, sure enough, a pack of double-stuff Oreos and an envelope were stashed inside. She grabbed three Oreos and replaced the lid. Delighted to find milk in the refrigerator, she poured a glass and dunked an Oreo. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she dunked Oreos. Misty wasn’t totally correct. Jack had been around, but maybe not for her. His refrigerator had good basic staples, and his freezer had frozen pizzas plus two different containers of ice cream. With her curiosity satisfied, she dropped another cookie in the milk and let it soak up the liquid. She finished drinking the milk and went looking for her bag.

  Cassie assumed the guest bedroom was across from the office, but she assumed wrong. It was a laundry room. The only other door, which stood ajar, was the one at the end. She pushed it open and the light streamed in from the hallway, highlighting her bag that sat at the end of Jack’s bed. Obviously, he had a plan and would be back at eleven to tell her what it was.

  In the meantime, she wanted to shower, wash clothes, and get on the computer. This time, her assumption was correct in locating the bathroom—just off the bedroom to the right. A walk-in closet was to the left. Whoever had designed the bathroom had done a great job; it was compact but spacious, including a large tiled shower that easily fit two. Clean folded towels were on the counter between the double sink, as if they were waiting for her. Maybe they were.

  Before turning on the shower, she went looking for something clean to put on from Jack’s closet. His chest of drawers took up one wall, and the rest was a designed closet organizer, similar to what she’d had in California. Besides rugby and polo-style shirts, he had plenty of flannel shirts, so she picked one and headed to the shower. When she finished, she stuffed all of her clothes in the washer, barely filling it. She sighed. Gee, what’s your wardrobe like these days? Oh, less than a washer full.

  Now she was ready to log on to the computer. A blanket lay across the footstool, so she wrapped up and got comfortable. The first thing she wanted to do was check her bank accounts. Old Blue might have been free, but in reality, it had cost a bunch of money in gas to drive up. If her calculations were correct, she had just over twenty-five hundred left. The next account she checked was the one her brother transferred the trust money into. She said a silent prayer before checking. Relief flooded her. Nine hundred dollars, bringing her total up to thirty-four hundred, but that had to last her since the Caribbean account was off limits.

  Feeling a bit better about her situation, Cassie searched the Internet for information on Sergei. An article in the Los Angeles Times surfaced with a picture of him and a headline reading “Russian Organized Crime Boss Indicted—Linked to Odessa Mafia.” A cold chill ran through her body reading the article. Sergei’s immediate charges seemed minor compared to the Odessa Mafia group, which was highly secretive and organized in San Francisco and Los Angeles with their roots in Brighton Beach, New York. This group was involved in extortion, money laundering, fraud, prostitution, and homicide. She sucked in her breath, realizing the money hidden in the Caymans was probably a result of three out of the five. Who knew about prostitution and homicide?

  What she read next chilled her even more: the Thieves’ Code of Conduct, which described eighteen rules. If those rules still existed and Sergei followed them, she had been spied upon. It wasn’t her imagination. It felt like a hand had closed around her throat, choking her while she continued to read the information. A knot bigger than her fist formed in her stomach. She realized she’d probably transferred not Sergei’s stash of money but Russian Organized Crime money. Not only had she transferred it all out, she’d purposely sent red flags waving in the accounts to be scrutinized by the banking authorities. Her heart skipped several beats realizing the severity of her situation. How could she have not known? The reality was, she had chosen not to.

  The buzzer from the washer signaled it was finished, and she leaped out of her chair in fright. Cassie transferred her clothes into the dryer, then ran and checked the condo front door to make sure it was still locked. No wonder Jack had good locks and a sturdy front door if he was dealing with these sorts of people. The articles made them sound worse than the Italian mob. Not everything on the web was true, but she felt certain everything she’d just read was, and it scared her. Knowledge was power and right now, she needed knowledge.

  What she read about Seattle frightened her even more. The Russian Mafia was alive and thriving in the Seattle region with their claws in everything. Up and down, the West Coast was inundated with activity.

  Chilled, Cassie wrapped the blanket tighter around and continued to surf the web. The muted ring of the fax machine startled her. A fax spit out, “At work a little longer. Jack.” The time on the fax header said eleven thirty p.m. She found a pen and scribbled a note back, asking where to sleep. Cassie tapped in the number and fed the machine. Hi
s reply came back fast: “Wherever you choose. Fine with me.” Interesting. At this point, anything was better than the truck. Since Jack had said a little longer, Cassie kept reading. Soon, her eyes burned from fatigue, so she closed them for a bit.

  Jack looked at his watch and was surprised how late it was. The situation at work had gotten away from him. Plus, he’d spent an hour talking to Mike Ryan in Japan. He’d made a point of calling him at work. He never understood what Mike saw in Marliss. Jack liked a woman with some fire and spunk instead of the cool persona of Marliss Ryan. They’d finished the conversation by agreeing that Jack would keep track of any expenses Cassie incurred, and Mike would reimburse him. Jack wasn’t worried about it.

  Just before leaving, Jack checked the Internet search results using the full face photo of Rob Armstrong that Montana had taken. Ray had e-mailed him all the photos, but the full face was perfect for running the recognition software. Too many coincidences with variations of Rob Armstrong’s name popped up internationally. Jack didn’t believe in coincidence. Just out of curiosity, he also ran searches of Sergei Koslov and the variations in his name. From what he could tell, the FBI had a good handle on him.

  Cassie wasn’t blameless in her situation, but she certainly had been preyed upon by Koslov. Losing both parents in a tragic accident at twenty-eight would leave anyone vulnerable. He knew Mike had had some tough moments, too. These Russian assholes had a way of picking out women they knew they could control and threaten. At least she’d gotten the hell out of there and was safe. Though Jack wouldn’t have minded taking a fist to the shithead’s face, leaving him lying on the ground.