by Holly West
“What’s up?” Don said when he answered.
Hearing his brother’s voice broke something in him. Don was a few years older and had always been a protector of sorts. “Man, I am so fucked,” Mack sobbed. He felt like an idiot, crying like a baby in the gas station parking lot, but he couldn’t help himself.
“What’s wrong, Mack? It’s not Maverick—”
Mack managed to collect himself. “Nothing like that. But I’m in trouble and I need your help.” He gave Don the gory details.
“How much you in for?” Don asked.
“Fifty grand.”
“Jesus. What were you thinking?”
The question was legit, but Mack had no good answer. He’d done the research, hadn’t he? Well, maybe he could’ve been a bit more thorough. He’d been taken in with the idea that he was getting in on something special, something most people wouldn’t have the balls to invest in. Then there was Esme. He hated himself for letting her suck him in. He’d sold his soul to the devil, and now it was time to pay up.
“The only thing that matters now is getting my money back,” Mack said. “I need a P.I.—someone who can figure out who these shitheads are and help me fix this. I’m willing to do anything it takes.” He knew he didn’t have to spell out what he meant by “fix.” In fact, he knew Don would prefer it if he didn’t.
“I know someone,” his brother said. “Larry Radakovich. Runs a firm out of SF and he’s the best in the biz for what you’re looking for—he’s got connections all over the fucking world and his team is top-notch. He owes me a favor and I can probably convince him to handle this personally, but if he agrees to take the job he’ll require complete autonomy. Likes to do things his own way and doesn’t suffer fools. But he gets results.”
“I can live with that.”
“And it’ll cost you. Twenty grand, up front. Should I make the call?”
Twenty thousand. Mack could scrape it up, but it would leave him with almost nothing. He started making a mental note of things he could sell so he could pay next month’s mortgage. The Range Rover he was sitting in was top on the list.
“Make the call,” he said.
Chapter Twelve
On Sunday morning, Sam went out to get coffee and bagels and returned with a bouquet of white roses, Rachel’s favorite. “With no vase, it’s a bit of a waste,” he admitted. “But I couldn’t resist.”
“They’re lovely.” She kissed him. “Thank you.”
For the first time since learning about her pregnancy, Rachel felt a sense of peace. She and Sam finally had a chunk of money, enough so that they could take their time figuring out their next con. They planned to fly to Dallas the next day, where they’d find a cheap place to live while they laid low for a while. Hopefully, the next game would net enough to get down below and really stay off the radar for a year or more.
They postponed breakfast for a languid round of morning sex, not caring that their coffee had gone cold. While they ate, Rachel told Sam she needed to pick up a few things at the mall before they left town. “I don’t mind going with you,” he said, kissing the top of her shoulder.
“It might take a while. I want to get a haircut if there’s a salon that will take me without an appointment.”
The truth was that she wanted a little time to herself so she could think. She found a nail salon and treated herself to a manicure and pedicure, then went to a bookstore to browse. She wandered over to the pregnancy and childcare section and scanned the titles, feeling overwhelmed by the amount of information that was apparently required to raise a human being.
On her way to the mall’s exit, she passed a store called “Baby on Board” and she couldn’t resist going inside. Its interior was laid out like a dream nursery you’d find in a magazine, with lots of white-washed furniture, soft plushy blankets, and stuffed animals. The clothing section was adorable, full of adult-style outfits scaled down to miniature sizes. Rachel hadn’t spent any time picturing what her child might look like, but seeing the impossibly tiny denim jackets, sundresses, and T-shirts made her imagine its small body buttoned up in a unicorn-adorned onesie or a little pair of checkered overalls.
A framed print hanging on the wall caught her eye. It was a quote, written in white cursive on a bright pink background: And though she be but little, she is fierce. The sentiment brought an unexpected lump to her throat.
A plump saleswoman sidled up beside her. “I love that quote, don’t you?” she said. “It’s from Shakespeare—A Midsummer Night’s Dream, I think.”
“It’s—it’s very nice,” Rachel said.
The woman smiled. She was pretty, with curly auburn hair and dark-hued lipstick that emphasized her full lips. “Are you shopping for a gift? This would be perfect.”
Rachel lowered her voice. “Actually, I’m pregnant myself.”
The woman clapped her hands together. “Congratulations! When is your baby due?”
It was the first time Rachel told anyone she was pregnant, and she was surprised by the little thrill it gave her. “Not until November.”
“Getting some ideas for the nursery, then?”
“I was only passing by. Your store is lovely.”
“Thank you. I’ll let you continue browsing. Let me know if you have any questions. We’ll be happy to set you up with a registry when the time comes.”
Rachel was about to leave when she stopped, turned around, and approached the sales clerk. She pointed to the print. “I’d like to buy that, please.”
She watched as the woman rang up the purchase and wrapped it up. Maybe I can have this baby and things will turn out okay, she thought. She’d tell Sam about the pregnancy tonight and they’d figure out their future. Together.
Rachel first noticed the man when she was in the bookstore. His appearance was sufficiently nondescript—average height, graying beard and mustache, aged about fifty, and wearing a beanie cap so that she couldn’t see his hair—but something about him made her take note.
Later, when she stopped to get a frozen yogurt in the food court, he was sitting at a table in front of a Chinese fast food stall, slurping up a bowl of noodles while he read a newspaper. He’d removed the black beanie to reveal his bald head, and he wore a pair of frameless eyeglasses. But she recognized the olive-colored canvas jacket.
She saw him again when she left the baby store. He was a few steps ahead of her, walking toward the mall’s exit. Again, something seemed off. He exuded a predator’s energy. Who was he prowling for?
Most women would tell themselves they were being silly, but not Rachel. She and Sam made a habit of paying close attention to their surroundings. A couple of years ago, they’d made an enemy of a mob capo named Little Vincent. Turned out he didn’t appreciate their attempt to rip him off, and he’d tried numerous times to exact his revenge ever since. He’d been unsuccessful so far, but they could never let their guards down. Anyone who acted the least bit suspicious was a potential assassin. It sometimes felt like overkill but the second sense they’d developed had saved their lives more than once.
The man entered the parking garage and made a show of peering down the aisles as if he couldn’t remember where he’d parked. Rachel slowed her pace, not wanting to catch up to him. The “Baby on Board” bag felt heavy in her hand. Purchasing the print had been a foolish impulse. It was too large to stuff into the trash can at the garage entrance, so she leaned it against it and left it there. Her rental car’s two keys were the only ones she had, but she fished them out of her purse and held them between her index and middle fingers like a nervous coed crossing campus after midnight. When he managed to find his car, she saw it was a new model silver Nissan Sentra, completely devoid of personality. But that was what made it stand out to her—it reminded her of the white Ford Focus she herself was driving. The Sentra was a rental too, she was sure of it.
Rachel’s car was parked across the aisle and six cars over. Near enough so that he could track her but fa
r enough so that he wouldn’t attract suspicion if she happened to be paying attention. Rachel got into her car, locked the doors, and waited for five full minutes after he left to pull out of her own spot and drive away.
She headed for the main drag but opted for the opposite direction from the hotel, keeping her eye on the rearview mirror. Soon, a silver Sentra pulled into her lane, a couple of cars behind her. She could see the black beanie.
She dialed Sam. “Someone’s following me,” she said when he answered. “Male, mid-fifties, on the short side, olive-colored jacket. He’s wearing a black beanie but he’s bald underneath.”
“Doesn’t sound familiar. Do you recognize him?”
“No. But I saw him a few times in the mall and he left just before I did. Now, he’s a couple of cars behind me.”
“Don’t come back to the hotel,” Sam said. “Drive to the Target on Bridgepointe and park as close to the entrance as you can, then go into the store and call me when you arrive. I’m getting an Uber now.”
Instead of driving directly to the store, Rachel led her pursuer on a circuitous route, doubling back a couple of times before driving across town. He kept his distance but there was no doubt he was following her. She drove toward Target and hoped Sam had a plan.
Chapter Thirteen
“Had my guys working on this non-stop over the last twenty-four hours,” Larry told Mack over the phone on Sunday afternoon, “but I’ve got ’em. Her hair’s different than in the picture you sent, but it’s definitely her. I followed her to a Target and someone just dropped the boyfriend off. They’re both inside.”
Mack wondered how many guys Larry was talking about. At this rate, the retainer he’d paid Radakovich and Associates wouldn’t last a week and he’d run out of sources for cash to pay for more time. Then again, quick results were the point, weren’t they? If Larry had found Esme already, more money shouldn’t be an issue.
He felt a silly tinge of jealously at hearing she had a boyfriend. What the hell did it matter? Getting into her pants was a long-dead goal anyway. His only aim now was to get his money back and maybe exact some revenge—exactly what that entailed, he wasn’t sure. “What’s this guy look like?”
“White, six feet, brown hair. Nothing special. Their real names might be Sam and Rachel, but they both have a string of aliases long enough to reach China and back so their precise identities are unclear. If they’re who I think they are, they’ve worked cons together all over the country for nearly a decade. You’re not the only one who’d like find them, including the Philadelphia mob.”
Mack didn’t ask if Larry had ties to the mob himself. That’s all he needed, getting mixed up with a bunch of fucking gangsters. His brother was bad enough. “You got a picture of the boyfriend?”
“Hold on, I’ll send it.”
A picture popped up on Mack’s screen. It was taken from a distance and zoomed in, but the subject was still easily recognizable.
“Motherfucker,” Mack whispered.
“You know him?”
Mack’s phone clicked, indicating another call. He let it go to voicemail. “I know him as Liam White. I met him in Tahoe the same night I met Esme. He pretended to be an investor.”
“Must’ve talked a good game if they convinced you to sink that kind of cash into their scheme. I did a bit of research on cryptocurrency and it seems like a person would be better off putting his money in fool’s gold.”
Was this prick calling him a fool? “Probably best if you stay in your lane, buddy,” Mack said. “You’re no financial advisor.”
Larry laughed. “Yeah. My accountant tells me I’m ‘risk averse,’ so could be I’ve got it all wrong.”
Mack was losing his patience. Still, he was impressed by what he’d been able to dig up on these two assholes in such a short amount of time. “So, what’s next?”
“People like this don’t stick around too long after a job is finished. Frankly, I’m surprised they’re still here. We need to work quickly.”
“I’m getting in my car now.”
“One thing you might find interesting—I caught Rachel browsing in a baby store today.”
“So what, you think she’s pregnant?”
“Who knows? Just seemed an odd place for a woman on the lam to be window-shopping.”
Mack stopped short. Fuck. He hadn’t counted on her being pregnant. No way he could hurt a pregnant woman. “If she’s pregnant, we don’t touch her.”
“You sure about that? She’s the weaker of the two and we can use her to get to him.”
Mack recalled what his brother said about Larry liking to work on his own terms. Well, Mack wasn’t going to back down so Larry had better toe the line on this one. “You heard me. Focus on the boyfriend.”
“That’s a promise I can’t make.”
God damn it. He climbed into the Range Rover and buckled up. “I’m on my way. Call me when you have news.”
He checked his messages as he backed out of the driveway. The call he’d missed was from Geena. “What the hell did you do with Mav’s college fund? I swear to God I will call the cops on you for this, you low-life son-of-a-bitch—”
Her message went on, but Mack didn’t see the point of listening to her tell him what an asshole he was. He was clear on that point by now. Delete.
Chapter Fourteen
The man in the beanie cap seemed to lose the scent before Rachel got to the store. Either that or she lost track of him somewhere along the way. Regardless, she couldn’t let her guard down. She parked the car and sunk low in her seat so that she was less visible. She felt like a sitting duck—it was possible Mr. Beanie Cap had his gun’s sight trained on her head at that very moment.
Rachel often told Sam that too much thinking was dangerous, and yet lately, she couldn’t get out of her own head. Analyzing every little thing was driving her crazy. She was, by nature, a cautious person, but she also didn’t like indecision. Once she decided on something, she acted on it.
For that reason, a part of her wanted to thank the man in the cap. His surveillance and pursuit were unflinching reminders that she and Sam had no room for a child in their life. If she’d learned one thing from her own mother and father, it was that some people weren’t cut out to be parents. There was no shame in that truth, even if there was a trace of regret. Not all things were for all people.
She’d find a clinic in Dallas as soon as they arrived. Now that the decision was made, she felt relieved.
She exited the car and darted her eyes around the parking lot as she jogged to the store’s entrance, where took out her phone to text Sam. Where was a good place to wait for him? Even knowing she was going to terminate her pregnancy, it seemed best to avoid anything to do with babies or God knew what else she might be inspired to buy.
I’ll be in the shoe section, she wrote. When Sam got there five minutes later, she was contemplating a pair of canvas slip-ons. He gave her a tight hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“I haven’t seen him since I got here,” she said. “But he’s subtle. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was in the store. He never so much as looked at me, but I put him to the test on the road and I’m certain he was following me.”
Sam knew better than to question her instinct. It had served them too well in the past. “Do you think this is connected to Mack Foley?”
“How could he have found us so quickly? We’ve been careful.”
“Little Vincent, then.”
A twenty-something woman rounded the corner and began browsing the racks. Rachel and Sam moved to the next aisle and Rachel lowered her voice. “My money’s on Mack. This guy knows what he’s doing. I have a feeling that if Little Vincent sent him to kill us, we’d already be dead.”
It was a sobering thought, but Rachel and Sam had grown accustomed to the knowledge that they might be murdered at any time. They weren’t sentimental or precious about it.
“We can’t spend another night in the
hotel,” Sam said. “We’re leaving tomorrow anyway so let’s sleep at the airport.”
“What if he knows we’re going to Dallas?”
“We’ll buy tickets to somewhere else when we get to the airport. Is there anything you need back at the hotel?
“Nothing worth taking a chance for. You?”
“No. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
With their plan set, they headed for the doors, but before they exited, Rachel told Sam she needed to use the restroom.
“I’ll wait here,” he said.
Rachel locked herself into a stall and sat down on the toilet. She thought about where else they might go, if not Dallas. New Orleans was an option. Easy to get lost in the crowd there and lots of drinkers, which made it easy to score on short cons. They could spend a couple of weeks there before deciding what their next long con would be.
Distracted, she looked down and saw that her underwear was spotted with blood. Not a lot, but enough to make her wonder what was going on. A miscarriage? The thought made her nervous, but she put it out of her mind. She’d buy a box of pads before she left the store and worry about the cause of the blood later.
She exited the bathroom, expecting to find Sam just beyond the door waiting for her. But he wasn’t there. She lingered, thinking he was probably in the men’s room. When minutes went by and he didn’t appear, she went to the service desk and asked a male employee to check. While he was inside, she texted Sam: Where are you?
The employee came out of the bathroom, and Rachel clenched her fists, hoping that Sam would exit right behind him. But he was alone. “No one’s in there,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
Mack made it to Santa Cruz in less than three hours. A miracle, considering Bay Area traffic at this time of day. He was an impatient driver in the best of circumstances, and he spent a good portion of the drive cussing and making rude gestures at other drivers as he weaved in and out of traffic. He narrowly avoided getting stopped by a CHP hiding out under an overpass.
