Releasing Mom’s hand, she entered her closet. The safe sat on a shelf about eye-level, above a folded pile of winter sweaters. The shelf above it, with her lightweight tops was a jumbled mess. Guinevere must have borrowed Avalon’s clothing according to whatever tripped her fancy and then tossed them haphazardly back when finished with them. Not sorted by color and fabric, the way Avalon always placed them.
Avalon’s anger reached a zenith when she spied the disarray. Just one more reason she’d be happy to see the back of her mother.
Her fingers slipped on the old-fashioned dial as she attempted to spin in the combination. She wiped her hand on her thigh and started over, reciting the numbers in her head; left two, right thirty-six . . . When she reached the final number, she jerked the handle down and pulled open the heavy door.
She dragged forth the entire contents of her safe, silently thanking God she didn’t keep more funds at home, but lamenting that what she did have wasn’t enough to make Bad-Ass disappear from their lives.
When she slipped past her mom again, she found Bad-Ass had made himself comfortable on her bed. His knife and pistol nestled on her pillow, his hand resting on her laptop. Never going to be able to sleep there again.
Five paces away from him, Avalon thrust out her hands, offering the paltry amount. He beckoned her nearer. Fear slowed her steps as she trudged to where he sat. He just looked at her hands as she jabbed them forward.
With a frightening smile, he patted the mattress, like he really thought she’d sit next to him.
She moved back a step, not liking where she saw this going.
Bad-Ass grabbed her wrist in a viselike grip and tugged her forward. “Sit.”
“Not a damn dog,” she groused as she tumbled onto the bed next to him.
His laugh was low as he took possession of her envelope of cash and the other documents. “For right now, you’re my bitch. Just like Grandma over there.” He tipped his chin toward Guin.
“Hey. I was a teenage mom. I’m not a grandma.” Indignation laced with sarcasm in Mom’s voice.
Avalon resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands. Guin’s fear of being stabbed or losing her eyeballs paled in comparison to being told she looked older than she was.
Hitting her with a baleful glare, Bad-Ass tightened his fingers around the envelope. He looked at his hand, then up at her, a confused gleam turning his muddy brown eyes a shade of . . . excrement. “This ain’t ten grand.” He hefted the envelope on his palm.
“Well, no. That’s only four.”
His hand was around her throat before she could even blink. He applied pressure, his fingers compressing her windpipe enough for the fear she’d struggled to contain to make a beeline for the surface. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribs and her vision dimmed as Guin let out a weak scream.
Bad-Ass shoved his crooked nose against her cheek. “We agreed to ten. I don’t like it when people don’t live up to their words. Makes me super angry. And when I’m pissed, there ain’t no controlling my instinctual reaction, which is to beat liars to a bloody pulp.”
Avalon wrapped her fingers around his hand and tried to tug it free. “I’m not lying,” she croaked.
He tightened his grip.
Stars winked in her eyes.
“The other documents are matured bonds. Good for cash for whoever holds them. I can endorse them for you. They’re worth six thousand easy,” she managed to rasp out.
He released his hold on her throat and started thumbing through the file folder she’d handed him. Trying hard not to gasp, or wince, Avalon pulled a deep breath in and let it ease back out, afraid to attract any more of his deadly attention. If only her legs would stop shaking.
He grunted and dropped his hand on her knee, startling her. Guin whimpered across the room, but didn’t rush forward to her rescue. Oh, they were going to have a chat when Bad-Ass left.
“So, I can take these to any brokerage and trade them in for cash?”
Keeping her eyes on his hand, she nodded.
He patted her leg. “Good. Sign them.” He slapped the folder against her chest. While she fumbled for a pen, he mused, “Now about the rest. I think my client can be persuaded to wait a couple days. How’s about I give you and Grandma over there one week to raise the funds. Oh, and let’s not forget about the forty percent interest due. Sound reasonable?”
Hell no! “I’m not sure I can raise that much in such a short time.”
She did a fast calculation. Even with her savings, she knew raising those kinds of funds was unlikely. Hopefully she’d be able to arrange a loan at her bank for the remaining two hundred and . . . with interest . . . twenty something. Her heart squeezed painfully in her chest. Thinking back to the last time she and her mother had ended up in dire straits, Avalon started a mental catalog of which possessions she could take to a pawn shop. Finished with the folder, she handed it back to Bad-Ass.
She looked at her mother, who had her fingers jammed in her mouth, like a teenage scream queen. Probably not a lot of help there. Maybe Karen would be willing to advance her some wages.
Hopelessness threatened to swamp her. Avalon beat the feeling back, relieved when Bad-Ass lumbered to his feet. His movements were efficient as the gun disappeared. The knife dangled from his hand as he sauntered across the room and crowded against her mother. Fear rose again like a cobra.
“You ain’t got much choice, sister.” Bad-Ass said over his shoulder as he scraped the blunt edge of his knife over Guin’s cheek.
He dug the tip against her jaw, and Avalon saw it slice into the flesh. Tears tumbled down Mom’s face and she tried to shy away from the sharp point. Bad-Ass grabbed her jaw, holding her still as he pressed the blade tighter to her face. A thin line of blood trickled down her mother’s chin.
“Please, don’t hurt her,” Avalon begged.
His crisp bark of laughter boomed in her small bedroom. “Don’t know why you’d keep defending her. Seems like she landed you in a huge honking pile of shit.”
With an abrupt shove, he thrust Mom backward till she bounced against the dresser. Guin grunted as Bad-Ass released her and strode toward the door, the knife blade flashing as he slipped the weapon into his pocket. Laughing maniacally, he turned toward Avalon and her mother, jammed his fists together, then broke them apart as if cracking something. Our heads, no doubt.
His footsteps echoed his ominous words as he banged down the hall. “One week, toots. No money, no mommy.”
Chapter 7
Avalon jumped off the bed and followed her unwelcomed visitor none-too-closely to the front exit. As soon as the door smacked shut, she sped to it and flipped the deadbolt into place. She fitted the security chain in the slot, then for good measure, dragged a dainty wingback chair in front of the entry. It wouldn’t stop him if he changed his mind and came back, but it might slow the bruiser down.
Guin sobbed behind her, holding one of Avalon’s expensive towels to the wound on her face. She should have let Bad-Ass call the cops and drag Guin to prison. The woman had given birth to her, but little else. Avalon pressed her forehead against the wall next to the front door and pulled slow breaths in, easing them out as slowly, hoping to calm her racing heart into a more regular rhythm.
“What are we going to do?” Mom wailed behind her. “He cut me. We should call the cops.”
Avalon spun around and pressed her shoulder blades to the wall. She crossed her arms in front of her and dug her fingers into her elbows. Otherwise, she’d be reaching for Guin’s neck the way Bad-Ass had gripped hers.
“Are you insane? Why did you have to steal money from a guy who clearly has syndicate connections?”
“Borrow. I borrowed the money.” Mom propped one hand on her hip.
“When you borrow without permission, Mother, it’s called theft. And the
sum you borrowed most likely constitutes a felony. I guarantee you prison won’t be as nice as the palace you most recently lived in.”
Avalon shoved off the wall and paced the length of her living room, a distance too small to relieve her anxiety. The watch on her wrist buzzed, but she ignored it. She needed to think about what to do.
Her mother sank against the wall as Avalon paced from the front door to the kitchen and back. Each time she passed Guin, the woman shrank and cowered. Avalon’s watch buzzed a second time, which she also ignored in favor of spearing her fingers through her hair and tugging at her scalp.
“Do you have anything of value, Mom? Something we can pawn? Or what about selling your car?”
“I sold all my furniture when I left Santa Fe. Only took what I could jam in the back of the van.”
“What did you do with that money?” Avalon paused from her frantic path.
“Bought a couple of nice dresses. For interviews, you know. And paid for gas on my trip here.”
Gas and dresses? Didn’t sound like much for a whole house of furnishings. It reminded her of an old movie where three women lived in an apartment while looking for rich husbands. They sold off furnishings just to buy food.
“No money saved anywhere?” Avalon didn’t know why she bothered to ask. Her mom never saved a penny.
“Maybe I should find someone who can help me disappear.”
“Why do you insist on working with criminals, Mom? That’s an awful idea. No one ever really vanishes.”
“Avalon, I’m so sorry to bring this to your door.” Mom hung her head and covered her eyes with a trembling hand. Was she truly remorseful for the trouble she’d caused?
Avalon’s cheeks ballooned as she forced out a frustrated breath. She cast a glance around her living room, deciding which things she could bear to part with. The TV could go, she never had time to watch a program anyway. And the antique china she’d bought because she wanted to feel like she owned something of permanence. It had been a ridiculously expensive impulse buy. But when she’d seen the classic Wedgewood pattern, the years of selling their possessions so they could eat or pay rent rose in her mind like a challenge. She had to have it.
And now, to rescue her mother, again, she was willing to sell her stuff on EBay. Familiar nausea swept through her gut. Most women near her mom’s age lamented they still worried over their grown children. In her case it was Avalon worrying about Guin.
She bumped into the wall, bounced back a step, then spun to continue her pacing. Mom stayed quiet while Avalon’s thoughts seethed. Her wrist buzzed again at the same time as her phone rang. Swamped by a powerful urge to hurl both pieces of technology out the window, she slowed her pacing, forcing her shoulders down into a more natural position.
She picked up the phone. Why in the hell would Will Bradford be calling her this early? “Good morning. You’re awake very early.” She was pleased with the cool professional tone she managed, despite the churn in her stomach.
“I’m a farmer, we get up at the crack of dawn. Beautiful sunrise this morning, though. One of the perks.” Something in his voice calmed her. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Why have a phone if you aren’t going to answer it?”
“I set my phone to Do Not Disturb from midnight to seven. Unless it’s an emergency call, I don’t answer.” She was available to her clients seventeen hours a day. That was enough. “What did you need, Will?”
“We received a pretty major order yesterday.”
When the pause stretched too long, her chest tightened. This was probably where he told her they were so wildly successful her company’s services weren’t needed. “That’s good, right?”
“Um . . . so Drake and I talked last night.” A breath blew sharply in her ear. “Yeah, I’m going to say it. I need your help. This customer will be huge, but only if I can fulfill this first order. To do that, I need to streamline production and embrace technology. And do it in a hurry.” His gruff tone told her how much he hated saying those words.
“Okay, I’ll look over the plan and see what we can do to get you up to speed faster.” Avalon dug her fingers into her nape, trying to massage away the tension gripping her. Which was worse . . . her mother’s problem or Will’s?
“Is there any way you can be here by Friday?”
“What? Will, that’s only three days away. I don’t have anything prepared. I have research to conduct before I can even begin to understand your business.” Plus she had to bail her mother out, and who knew how long that would take.
“I’ll teach you everything you need to know. No better place to learn than right here.”
She chewed her lower lip, thoughts spinning with everything she’d need to do to hit the vineyard running. Her mother had slid to the floor, her back jammed against the wall, fear gleaming in her eyes.
She couldn’t leave Guin without sorting everything out. Bad-Ass would be back, looking for his money. If she headed north to help Will, she wouldn’t be around to get her mom out of trouble. And three days wasn’t enough time to raise over two hundred thousand dollars. It might be smarter to give her mother all the cash she had and tell her to run. Alaska might be safe.
Or a secluded vineyard.
Before she could even process the thought, she said, “I can do it, but I’ll need to bring . . . my assistant with me. Do you have accommodations for both of us there?”
Her heart raced with her impromptu plan. Not a carefully thought out and organized option. Avalon never flew by the seat of her pants. Sweat broke out on her palms. Every ‘i’ was dotted, every ‘t’ crossed before she moved forward. Without careful orchestration, her world could devolve into chaos. Her breath stuttered and her knees went weak at her spur-of-the-moment, desperate attempt to keep her mother from harm.
Guin had straightened when she heard Avalon’s question. She scrambled to her feet and stood in the center of the room, hands pressed together as though she was praying. Biting her lip, the fearful gleam in her eyes seemed more hopeful now.
Hiding in the country made sense. They’d be safe until she managed to raise enough money to pay Bad-Ass. They’d just disappear. But they’d need to move into Will’s house. That was vital. She didn’t want to use her credit cards. She’d be traceable then, bringing potential harm to a client.
Avalon plopped onto the sofa, sinking deep in the cushions, waiting for his response to her demand.
He finally answered, “Yeah, you can both stay at the house. But I haven’t remodeled the spare bedrooms. It’ll be pretty rough.”
She’d lived in a station wagon with her mom for six months. That had been rough. “As long as there’s a bed and a closet, I think we can manage. Let me talk to Karen, but I believe we can be there on Friday.”
She hung up, promising to get back to him during business hours with her arrangements. Gone was the panic and terror induced by dealing with Bad-Ass. In its place was resolution and dread. She’d pay her mother’s debt, just not in person. She didn’t want to run into the thug anytime soon. Being out of town was a great way to avoid him.
A niggle of dismay danced above the receding fear. She’d never done a single unprofessional thing with any of her other clients. Dragging Guin along on a job, even if it was to keep her safe, was probably going to prove to be a huge mistake.
Monumental.
Chapter 8
Will felt better now that he’d carried his hat in his hand and laid it at Ava’s feet. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt panic so great, if ever. The volume of the order from Shush Beverages was nearly double the production for all of his customers three years ago. He’d be really rolling in the clover if he secured this one client, long-term.
He’d steadily been building his production and he could fill the order. The wine was ready. But he wasn’t. Without the right processes i
n place, he’d never manage to fill this first order, let alone secure any more.
Drake had been triumphant yesterday afternoon when he’d heard about the order. Together they’d taken a call from Terry Shush himself. Drake had boldly assured Terry that of course they’d have the order ready in one month’s time. Which wasn’t long. And considering the operation tended toward the chaotic side, even Will had his doubts. But he’d agreed to call Ava and beg her to come earlier.
She’d been eager to get here and begin, even though she’d complained he’d forced the timetable up. That alone made him confident they could do this. The thought of finally meeting her in the flesh—ahem—made his body tighten uncomfortably.
Now, as he stomped through the dawn toward his office, he mumbled, “Probably a good time to remind myself this is a business relationship. She isn’t coming here to be some kind of personal playmate.” And that made him think about her voluptuous ass.
The scent of Meg’s cigarettes hit him in the face the second he opened the door. Waving his hand like a wild man, he attempted to clear the air of the stench. He’d told her repeatedly no smoking in the office. His cranky assistant wasn’t one to follow the rules. He never should have hired his dad’s old secretary. By doing so, he’d jumped right into the fire.
Leaving the door open, he sat behind a pitted and scarred desk in the office and booted up one of the two ancient computers. There wasn’t a network between them, so whenever he needed something, he either had to get up and walk around Meg’s desk to get it, or ask her email it to him. The office was small, so it wasn’t inconvenient, just sort of stupid. Trent had wired up the network, but neither of the office computers had what was necessary to hook them up.
While the machine whirred to life, he made another snap decision. He pulled his phone free of his back pocket, flipped open the cover and started a text message. I need a new computer. What should I buy? Typing the message took time, since he had to press each digit until the correct letter appeared. “Maybe it’s time for a new phone as well.”
Chaos Among the Vines (Romancing the Vine Book 2) Page 6
