Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

“Nope.”

  Flexing his fingers, Drake prepared to yank out Brown’s brain via his greasy ponytail.

  Brown saved himself by adding, “So I waited, called back and pretended to be a telemarketer. Place was a madhouse, phones ringing and shit. I get their delivery girl this time, a real chatterbox―turned out to be the owner’s niece. I asked if they were happy with their current bank, and she said she thought so.”

  Drake, who couldn’t care less about the details, repeated, “Did she say which one?”

  “Yeah, she did, Max.” Brown held out his greedy palm. “But I’ll take my money first.”

  Drake smirked. Maybe there was something to this shit called holiday spirit, because he didn’t even feel like wasting the guy anymore. Drake pulled out the bills and waited while Brown counted the money.

  Satisfied, Brown said, “Assurance Bank.”

  Processing the information, Drake hesitated. “The first time you called the store and asked for Melanie, and they’d said she’d gone to the bank...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you remember what time that was?”

  “Sure do. I’d just left work. Five o’clock on the nose.”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  To the surprise of law enforcement, the holidays came and went with no known interruption from the Chaos Bandits. With the exception of the normal increase in drinking and driving, domestic violence and small time illegal activity, the crime rate stayed relatively low.

  As for Joe’s oral examination before the board, and his potential promotion, that had gone well, too. The scuttlebutt rumored he was the division’s next commander. He refused to let it consume him, however. His superiors would make their decision when they made their decision.

  Now that Joe had come to an understanding with Karen, he’d enjoyed their Christmas together, also. Matt had gotten several new video games, a new cell phone and gym shoes, Trish, an I-pod, some too-grownup outfits Joe wasn’t sure about, and a new bike awaited her in Chicago.

  It also hadn’t escaped Joe’s notice that Simon had dropped by at the Norris’s on the twenty-fifth. And later when Joe drove Matt and Luke to open gym, those two jokesters seemed in great spirits.

  But this morning when Joe dropped Karen and Trish at the airport, and he’d kissed his little girl good-bye, it had been Joe who’d suffered the aftereffects of the season.

  Arms crossed, he leaned against the briefing room wall and observed Chris Sandoval conducting morning roll call. Cops sat at rectangular tables surrounding the podium in which the sergeant stood. Rookies and veterans alike, the men and women in this room placed their lives on the line as soon as they walked out the precinct door. And they did it for not enough thanks and certainly not enough pay.

  “Anything else?” Chris asked.

  Officer Bobby Newel shook his head, then met the several pairs of eyes in the room. “Guess that’d be me. Me and Gomez had a situation last night in the E.R. A prisoner got the drop on us. Pulled a blade out of his drawers.”

  The room erupted in murmurs, and Chris held up his hands for silence. “Did you pat down the individual?”

  Newel stared at his hands. “Yes, sir. Obviously, not well enough. He was coming off meth, and we had him face down on the table so the doc could examine him. Doc told us to uncuff him. We thought the guy was comatose, but he came up swinging. He must have had the knife tucked between his balls.”

  No one laughed and certainly no one ridiculed. This was a mistake every cop faced at various times in his career.

  “I just wanted to share so no one makes the mistake we did,” Newel said.

  “Appreciate you mentioning it.” Joe moved away from the wall. “You could’ve kept the incident quiet, Bobby. Search these people, ladies and gentlemen. They can and will get the jump on you if you give them the opportunity.”

  Joe left the briefing, not pausing as he normally did to confer with his second in command. Talk wasn’t on his agenda these days. Hell, nothing was. With Mel out of his life, the only thing he wanted was his career back on track. He’d given up someone special to earn this promotion; the sacrifice had damn well better be worth it.

  Melanie. Why hadn’t he just stayed away? Did he have to make love to her? I’ll be just a blip on your radar. Maybe she was right. She wasn’t the only woman on the planet. He had no doubt he’d get over her―eventually. Keep your mind on your business, Crandall.

  In the early morning hours, cops had apprehended the man suspected of torching his house several days before Christmas, risking his children and murdering his wife. Joe drove the short distance to the courthouse to sit in on the McPherson arraignment.

  Joe jogged up the courthouse steps and met Marianne Bennett in passing.

  “Joe?” A prominent Colorado Springs neurosurgeon, and also the wife of the district attorney, she shortened her strides. “Oh my gosh, it is you, isn’t it?”

  He kissed her cheek and gave her a quick hug. “Afraid so. Warts and all.”

  “Where?” She looked him up and down, grinning. “Good grief, how long has it been?”

  “Long time,” Joe replied. Ordinarily being polite to the redhead, who combined caring and intelligence in a nice little package, wouldn’t have been a challenge. Not so today. “What are you doing here?”

  “I was summoned for jury duty.”

  “You?” He laughed. “I bet there wasn’t a public defender within a ten-mile radius who wanted you on his panel.”

  Marianne held out her palms. “Hence, why I’m standing on the outside while the other prospective jurors are still on the inside.” She screwed up her mouth. “I feel so unwanted.”

  “If you say so,” Joe said.

  Her expression turned serious. “Bruce mentioned he’d seen you a couple of times in the last few months.” She placed a hand on Joe’s arm. “For what it’s worth, he’s really behind you in this commander business.”

  Joe focused on the city auditorium across the street. “I know he is.”

  “He also mentioned you’re involved with a woman.”

  At the mention of Melanie, anger curdled Joe’s insides. “Past tense. Next time you two discuss my personal life, tell Bruce that, will you?”

  Marianne sighed. “He said you were upset. You’re like a brother to Bruce, you know that. You two came through the ranks together. Believe it or not, he thinks the system is grossly unfair, and that the woman you care for genuinely seems like a good person.”

  Before he rudely brought up the point that the woman had a name, Joe said, “Hey, good or bad, it’s the system. We work within it. Good to see you, Marianne.” Hugging her briefly, he said, “Better luck next time with jury duty.”

  “Ha ha,” Marianne said, and waved good-bye.

  Joe walked into the courthouse, bypassing the metal detectors. He had the record, the credentials, votes of confidence from peers and subordinates and the support of the district attorney. Combined, these factors all but guaranteed him the next level in law enforcement.

  He was one lucky cop.

  Images of Melanie flashed through his brain as Joe entered Division Room Four. So with so much going for him, why wasn’t he smiling?

  On the west side of town, things weren’t going much better for Mel. With Aaron visiting family in New York, she cleared the shelves of Christmas, Hanukah and seasonal items and prepared to mark them down. The best way to overcome heartbreak, she reasoned, was to throw herself into the things going right, namely, Luke and Pinnacle Creations.

  According to Aaron, they had thirty days to reduce inventory, then gear up for Valentine’s Day. Thanks to holidays and special occasions, the floral industry never ended. Unlike relationships.

  Mel shook her head, trying her best to banish the thoughts that kept popping up from nowhere. Praying for customers to enter the shop
and keep her mind occupied, she dusted the glass partitions. She and Joe had barely had time to repair their relationship before it ended.

  Still, she’d made the right decision. Mel had been down this path with Carl before. He’d sacrificed his career for Mel. She couldn’t ask it of Joe.

  Just because it was over, however, didn’t erase the memory of his kiss. Even now she craved his touch. In the lovemaking department, he’d been wonderfully considerate―putting her needs first. Even to the point of carrying protection in his wallet.

  Mel splayed a palm over her stomach. What would it be like to have a baby? During her marriage, birth-control had never been an issue. Carl’s illness had left him sterile.

  She sprayed the shelf with glass cleaner. Would Carl have liked Joe? She suspected he would have. The two were alike in a lot of ways. But in one important way, oh so different.

  She let out a groan just as Chloe came in from the storeroom.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Mel’s face went hot. “I broke a nail.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her co-worker stared at her. “Well, it’s just you and me. I did like you said and sent everybody home.” Chloe glanced around. “Who would’ve thought after last week’s rush it would be so slow?”

  Mel came to her feet and dusted off her knees. “Gives us time to whip this place into shape.”

  Chloe saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain. Ready when you are. So which nail did you break?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You said you broke a nail. Which one?”

  Placing a recently polished hand behind her back, Mel said, “Why do you care?”

  “I had a broken nail once. I picked up the phone and called him.”

  Mel rounded the counter toward the cash register. The day’s receipts were abysmal, and she considered locking the little cash they’d collected in the safe to make a larger deposit tomorrow. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re never this out of sorts. You’ve been thinking about Joe all day. He’s really put you in a foul mood.”

  Ignoring Chloe, Mel reached for the calculator.

  “Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, but I was there last week. I saw the way he looked at you. If that man’s not in love, he’s nearing the border. Mel, call him.”

  “Stay out of this, Chloe.”

  “All right. But I know what’s going on here.”

  Mel’s fingers stumbled over the calculator keys, forcing her to start over. “What’s that?”

  “You’re feeling guilty.”

  “About?”

  “About having feelings for someone else. Carl’s dead, and you think it’s too soon to fall in love.”

  Mel frowned. Oh, she felt guilt, all right. But not in the way Chloe was thinking. She’d cared deeply for Carl, but she’d never been in love with him. She knew now that theirs had been a marriage of convenience and not a union of love. She’d settled. And that was a secret she’d take to her grave. She owed it to Luke for him to believe she’d loved his father with every inch of her being.

  “I’m right, aren’t I?” Chloe asked.

  Mel nodded. “So give it a rest, huh, Chloe?”

  “Whatever you say. But maybe in a few months―”

  “No.” Mel needed to end her friend’s delusions once and for all. “Not even in a few months. Joe Crandall is a police lieutenant on his way up, and I’m a―a...”

  “You’re a what?” Chloe frowned.

  An ex-con. Oh, God, she’d almost blurted it out.

  “Way out of his league.” She gave Chloe a pleading look. “It would be foolish for me to believe we could ever be together. So, please, back off.”

  Stung, her co-worker stared at her. Mel couldn’t bear the fact that she’d hurt Chloe. Skinny deposit or not, Aaron didn’t like leaving cash in the store overnight, and while she was out, she’d get her emotions under control, then find a way to make it up to Chloe. “I’ll be back,” Mel said. “I’m going to the bank.”

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Brown’s tip that Melanie managed a shop, and went to the bank on the store’s behalf, was the only thing that had kept her alive during the holiday weekend. The Monday after Christmas, however, businesses reopened, and her time was up.

  Drake gripped the Jeep’s steering wheel as his heart thundered like a racehorse coming down the stretch. Today, whether the bitch had her affairs in order or not, she was leaving this world. The only question was, how was he supposed to survive the next eight hours? His entire day would be the shits. He couldn’t afford witnesses, which meant the safest options were to grab her at either the bank when she made a deposit or at her shop after it closed at six p.m. Never mind that the waiting was killing him.

  Now that he knew where she worked, he found it nearly impossible to stay away. But if he got near Pinnacle Creations, the urge to walk in and blow her head off would be too great. Already, he was having trouble tearing his gaze from the passenger seat and the map beside him. He ran a hand over the huge red X he’d circled, which planted a bulls-eye on the shop’s location. The diagram sat beside him taunting and daring.

  It’s time. What are you waiting for? What if she gets away? Do it now.

  He offset the maddening craving, by picturing himself taking on four of Centennial’s guards. In his psyche, he kicked their asses, but in the end, they overpowered him, strapped him to a gurney and jabbed a lethal injection into his veins.

  Fear of going back to prison and dying obviously trumped rage. Wiping sweat from his brow, he leaned back in the driver’s seat, leveled his breathing, until once again he was just another businessman. Still, as uncomfortable as it was thinking about all of this, it didn’t stop him from recognizing that Melanie had done him a favor. Maybe he’d thank her before he dumped her lifeless body and left her for the maggots and magpies. Brown’s mention of Assurance Bank had provided Drake with an alternative hit. And by all indications, it was a perfect choice.

  According to the map, there were three possible escape routes from Assurance Bank, one with a straight shot to the interstate, the others more convoluted. From what he could tell, though, even if the cops pursued and forced Ramirez and Drake to take side streets, all intersected with I-25.

  He spent the morning learning the various routes. But once satisfied he could maneuver them, hours remained before he could set his plans for Melanie in motion. He returned to the bank. Feeling a strain behind his eyes, he stared once more at the map. Was it his imagination or was that X on the map growing larger and bleeding redder?

  It’s time. What are you waiting for? What if she gets away? Do it now.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, overwhelmed by the impulses ordering him to go to Pinnacle Creations under the guise of just one look.

  Jesus. Even his own mind was trying to turn on him. He pounded the steering wheel, and screamed, “Shut the fuck up!” Then swallowing, he scanned his position in the bank’s outer parking lot to ensure no one had been watching.

  Maybe it’d been better when he couldn’t find her. Had Melanie’s betrayal, and too much time to think it over, robbed him of his sanity? If he didn’t harness this fury, just as he’d lost it with Ropes and Sanchez, Drake could destroy weeks of careful planning.

  Needing a distraction, he whipped out his phone. If anyone could save him from himself, Maria could.

  By four o’clock that afternoon, she’d done just that―helped him screw his head back on straight, among other things. He left her at the home of another flight attendant, who was off traveling. Maria herself would be flying out in a couple of hours, and he’d miss her. But, truthfully, with murder the only thing on his mind, she couldn’t have picked a better time to split for a while.

  Dressed in his tailo
red slacks, dress shirt and a sports coat, Drake adjusted his sunglasses. He strode from the Jeep and walked inside ready to case the place and inhale the smell of money.

  The lobby, displaying the gold-lettered logo, Your Financial ASSURANCE Comes First, had the typical bank layout. A look of success, with customer service desks and transaction counters out front, the president and vice presidents behind glass partitions thumbing their noses at the all the have-nots. Drake had seen this set up so much recently, he could visualize it in his sleep.

  But who gave a fuck about all of this?

  What he wanted to see were the teller cages. Venturing farther inside, he counted six in the lobby, while two tellers worked the drive up. He’d yet to see a guard, which meant that management feared the liability issues that came with one ending up dead, and had instead equipped each station with panic alarms.

  He picked up a flyer and pretended to read, while strategizing which teller to approach. As he scanned the six available, he looked for one with a disability, one who was young, or petite, perhaps even pregnant. Drake would watch her hands as he slid a little love note her way, saying that if she went for the alarm or acted unnatural, he’d make her face disappear. Ramirez would stand in the back of the lobby, ready to fire into the ceiling―or worse―should anyone foolishly decide to get brave.

  Just then a middle-aged broad, who wore the hoity-toity look of his mother, appeared to notice him and approached. Drake stiffened until he realized by her look of approval, she too believed custom clothes and forty-dollar haircut made the man.

  “Good afternoon,” she said. “I’m Dorothy Hayward, manager of bank operations. Is there some way I can help you, sir?”

  Sir. After being disrespected for fifteen years, he couldn’t hear it enough. He smiled, using an expression that felt more natural with each passing day. “Maybe so. Kent Jackson. My wife and I just moved to the Springs, and we’ve been shopping banks.” Getting into the brilliant performance, and as if he’d ever let a woman tell him what to do, Drake shook his head. “But she can’t make up her mind and I have accounts to transfer.”