Just a Hint--Clint

by Lori Foster

  But the past was still there, still tainting him.

  Clint Evans lived close enough, only a few hours away, so he was expedient. Given his tarnished reputation, he was capable of anything. And best of all, he was desperate. Those traits combined to make him the right man for this particular job.

  Robert rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was doing the right thing, for himself and for Julie, he was sure of it. Second guessing himself now would be pointless.

  If anyone could bring Julie back safe and sound, and at the same time get the better of Asa, Robert would put his money on Clint. Hell, he had put his money on him. But what Evans would get was a paltry amount in comparison to what Robert would gain—the love of his life, his freedom, a new start.

  Dropping into his chair with an enormous sigh, Robert tried to believe his own reassurances.

  But he kept seeing those eyes, and he knew stark fear.

  The early evening June sun was high in the sky, broiling hot on such a cloudless day. Clint Evans slipped on mirrored sunglasses as he strode away from the enormous, ritzy house in an expensive Cincinnati suburb. He was very aware of that small photo in his back pocket, and very aware of the woman who needed him. He wanted to pull it out and look at her again, but he didn’t. Studying her further wouldn’t help. It’d just make him nuts, and his stomach was already unsettled.

  Rage always cramped his guts, made him literally sick, and Robert Burns enraged him.

  Clint drew a deep breath and considered what needed to be done in order to save Julie Rose. She wasn’t a beautiful woman. Hell, she wasn’t even all that pretty. But she had looked delicate and very proud.

  Burns told him she was a schoolteacher. She fit the stereotype physically: mousy brown, medium-length hair, intelligent brown eyes. That serene, yet taunting half smile that meant she’d have the patience and the wit to deal well with kids—and men.

  She was twenty-nine and looked it. Maybe she even looked a bit older.

  According to Burns, Julie was a hellion and a sexual tease. Clint smiled. Yeah, it was that more than anything else that intrigued him. A mousy, intelligent schoolteacher—who liked to screw around. He shook his head, indulging in a private chuckle.

  Even while distracted with thoughts of Julie Rose, Clint scanned the area. An inbred caution had kept him alive and kicking through a hell of a lot. He lived with a heightened awareness of his surroundings that few people ever experienced for a single moment, much less an eternity.

  Appearing casual and relaxed, Clint rounded the block of the old, ostentatious homes. A green minivan, out of place in the upscale neighborhood of luxury cars, pulled alongside him and stopped. Clint opened the door and slid in. There was no one around to pay him any mind. He supposed rich folk didn’t sit on the front porch and wave at neighbors the way they did in his neighborhood.

  “So?” Red Carter quirked a blond brow in curiosity, while gently accelerating the vehicle forward.

  “I don’t trust him.”

  Red nodded. “Me either.”

  “No? Why not?” So it wouldn’t get bent, Clint pulled the photo out of his pocket and held it in his hand. He studied Julie Rose once more. Her big brown eyes, glinting with mischief, smiled back at him. Damn. “You haven’t even met him yet.”

  “You don’t trust him, so I don’t trust him.” Then with a frown at the photo, “S’that her?”

  “Yeah.” Clint held it up so Red could see.

  “What a shame,” Red lamented. “She looks awful sweet and sassy.”

  His tone squeezed around Clint’s lungs, pissing him off, making him edgier. “She’s not dead yet.”

  “No, but probably wishing she was.”

  Clint didn’t like that probability at all. Maybe his insight was influenced by his disdain of the wealthy. Who the hell knew? But whatever the reason, he didn’t believe a word of Robert Burns’s story, and that meant Julie Rose was in more trouble than first assumed. “I don’t think Asa Ragon has her.”

  The ransom note had been of a typical sort. Disguised lettering in a hodgepodge style, simple and straightforward. They’d be in touch soon on where and when to deliver the money. A quarter of a million dollars in exchange for Julie Rose’s life. If the cops were called, she’d die. No signature.

  The note was plain enough. Why would there have been a follow-up phone call? Especially when no additional info was given.

  Luckily the ransom amount, twenty times over, was held in a trust for her. Robert Burns claimed he had the money if it was needed to keep Julie alive. But Clint agreed with him on at least that much.

  Paying would more likely ensure her death, rather than prevent it. Clint intended to have her safe and sound long before they could realize that no money was forthcoming.

  “I thought Asa was the only possibility.” As Red drove, the landscape changed. The houses gradually grew smaller in scale and closer together.

  “There are always other possibilities. It’s just that when Robert mentioned Asa…I dunno. It didn’t feel right.” As a small-time crook with big-time ambitions, Asa was a suspect. The man had a record a mile long and was certainly capable of real cruelty. One of the first things Clint had done was run a check on Asa. He was a scumbag, with prior connections to theft, possession of illegal arms, drug trafficking, assault and battery, extortion, and organized gambling. The list was long but had nothing on the scale of kidnapping. Asa ran his slum-area neighborhood like a warlord, but he’d never served maximum time.

  It just didn’t set right with Clint. He didn’t want to waste time making false assumptions that could end up fatal—to Julie Rose.

  Red drove and stole peeking glances at Clint at the same time. “So if he doesn’t have her, who does?”

  “Not sure yet. But I want to talk to this Asa character. Julie’s been missing for twelve hours now. If I’m wrong and he does have her, maybe he’ll give something away.”

  Red nodded. “I’ve got his address in here somewhere.” One-handed, Red began riffling through the printouts he’d collected on Asa Ragon the moment they’d accepted the case.

  Clint had every confidence in Red. They’d known each other for a lifetime, along with Mojo Dray, and between the three of them, there wasn’t much they couldn’t accomplish. Though they hadn’t worked together in this capacity recently, not since…

  Clint shook his head. He wouldn’t go there, not now. It’d only distract him when the last thing he needed was distractions. He’d missed the fieldwork, truth be known, and he sensed that Red and Mojo felt the same.

  They were all more than able to dominate in a physical confrontation, but Red usually worked as the inside man, able to dredge up information from seemingly nowhere. What he didn’t know he could always find out through an intricate web of associations in and out of the police force.

  He was six years Clint’s junior, taller, leaner, and according to Daisy, his new, deliriously happy wife, better looking.

  With blond hair and blue eyes, Red had a misleading nickname. He’d been dubbed Red years ago after a fistfight, because his fair skin had turned florid and stayed that way for hours. Red was a mean son-of-a-bitch, except when it came to women. Then he was a complete and total pushover.

  When it came to Daisy, he was a lamb.

  Clint and Mojo both considered it a blessing to have their friend happily and safely married to a very nice girl. It had been far too common for women to take advantage of Red, and more common still for Red not to mind in the least. Daisy kept all other women away from him.

  Mojo was quiet, the supply guy with barbaric tendencies. He never said much, but when he did, Clint listened. And whenever Clint needed something, anything, Mojo got it. Though Mojo wasn’t married, he was involved in a long-term relationship, and Clint suspected marriage would be next on the list.

  Clint provided leadership, organization, and muscle. Though at thirty-eight, he considered retiring that last accolade. He also considered himself too old and far too settled in his ways to eve
r inflict his life on a woman. He had good old-fashioned brief affairs when he craved them, and that suited him just fine.

  Clint tipped his head, looking at the photo of Julie Rose. Judging by what he could see of the upper-body shot, she was a very slender woman, to the point of being skinny. The idea of her being abused made his stomach lurch.

  But then, the idea of her marrying that ass, Robert Burns, didn’t sit much better.

  “Got it.” Red interrupted Clint’s thoughts by fanning a single sheet of paper. “I knew I had it in there somewhere. Asa lives downtown, in a not-so-nice area. Judging by the map, we’re about half an hour away. His house should be easy enough to spot. It’s on a cul-de-sac and has a black door, so we can’t miss it. You wanna visit?”

  “Don’t sound so eager, Red. I just want to check around, see if I think he actually has Julie before we go tearing the place down.”

  “Meaning you want to walk in alone, huh?”

  Clint settled back in his seat and laid the photo, facedown, on his thigh. He stared out the window at the passing scenery. “I’ll be careful.”

  Red pulled the minivan into traffic and headed for the highway ramp. “Why would Burns lie about it? You said he’s sure Asa has her, right?”

  Robert had said that and more. When Clint had loomed over him, it wasn’t just to intimidate the worm. He’d used the moment to place a special bug against the phone on Robert’s desk. The high-tech listening device was voice activated, so any conversation, either in the room or on the telephone, would be recorded and saved until Clint retrieved it by the simple means of a cell phone call that worked like the message retrieval on a regular answering machine. The device could hold up to ninety hours’ worth of chitchat, but he’d check it long before then.

  “I have no idea why he’d lie—yet. But I’ll find out.”

  “So you’re sure he is lying?”

  Clint rubbed his tired eyes. He’d gotten the call from Robert early that morning, and he’d been running ever since. It was crucial that they act quickly, so there’d been no time to slow down, to eat, or to indulge in quiet introspection.

  The usual rush of adrenaline and anticipation had bombarded Clint. But the moment he’d seen Julie Rose’s soft eyes and sly smile in that small photograph, other more confusing emotions had invaded. They were starting to make him edgy.

  “By nature, Robert Burns is an insincere, cowardly creep. Is he lying about this? Hell, I’m not sure. But I don’t like him, and I don’t like this whole setup.” Clint twisted in his seat to face Red. “If someone took Daisy—”

  “The motherfucker would be dead already.”

  Clint rolled his eyes. Red was so sick in love with his wife, he couldn’t bear for her to yawn.

  “Yeah, right, that much I assumed. But if you were Robert Burns, with his money and influence, and someone took your fiancée, would you be worried about sparing her reputation?”

  Red snorted. “I already answered this. Severed heads would roll.”

  Because he couldn’t help himself, Clint turned the photo over and examined it yet again. He wasn’t sure what he looked for, but he’d know it if he saw it. “He claims she’s a runaround, that she’s wild at heart and gave her father nothing but grief.”

  “Uh huh. The same father who endowed her with riches at his death?” Red’s tone dripped with sarcasm.

  “Riches that are in a trust and inaccessible to her, or so Robert claims. But I believe him about that. Why else would a rich, young, pampered society babe choose to be a teacher, unless she couldn’t get to her own money?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person. Remember that I’m more than capable of providing for my wife, yet she insists on working in a damn dirty factory.”

  Clint grinned despite his gnawing uncertainties. Daisy Carter did like to keep her husband on his toes. “Daisy works because she knows if she let you, you’d completely take her over.”

  Red stared straight ahead, but his hands tightened on the steering wheel in telling agitation. “I love her. I want what’s best for her.”

  “Yeah? And who would know what that might be more than Daisy herself?”

  Red growled, “If you’re suggesting I’m too—”

  “She married you, right?” Clint barely restrained his grin. “She must think you’re what’s best.”

  Predictably enough, Red flushed hotly, making Clint chuckle. Clint spent the rest of the drive annoying his pal, but his humor died a quick death when they turned onto Buxton Street.

  “There it is, that big brick building.” Red pulled up to the curb several houses away. They didn’t want to look too obvious by getting any closer. Already, the green van was as conspicuous here as it had been in the ritzy neighborhood.

  But for opposite reasons.

  The rundown houses, some of them no more than shacks, were mostly abandoned. What vehicles cluttered the road were either rusted with age or sleek and black and parked in front of Asa Ragon’s home.

  A family-type minivan didn’t fit in.

  Clint opened the door and stepped out. Elderly people on a sloped porch across the street stared at him, then got up and ambled inside.

  “You got your piece?” Red asked through the open door.

  “I don’t answer stupid questions.” His gun and his knife were a part of him. He’d go without underwear before he’d leave either one behind. But it was a rare occasion indeed when Clint used them. More often than not, his hands and feet served well enough as weapons. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

  He started to slam the door, but Red stopped him. “If you’re not, I’m driving right through the front picture window.”

  Clint grinned, knowing Red would do exactly that.

  The cracked sidewalk had weeds poking through it, mixed with pieces of broken glass and cigarette butts. The pavement around Asa Ragon’s house, however, had been swept clean. At the end of the cul-de-sac, it towered over the other houses, an impressive brick two story with sturdy shutters and a tall chain-link fence. As Clint neared that fence, a man appeared in the front door.

  Clint never slowed. He went through the unlocked gate and up the path to the porch steps. The man stepped out and glared. “Who are you and whatdya want?”

  “I’m here to see Asa.”

  “He ain’t home.”

  “Liar.”

  Outraged color flooded the man’s face two seconds before he attacked. Clint caught the raised gun hand and pulled him forward, at the same time driving an elbow into his jaw. The man went down hard and fast, and Clint was barely able to keep him from toppling down the steps. He didn’t want any broken necks on his conscience—his stomach wouldn’t survive.

  He propped the poor fellow against the porch rail and entered through the front door.

  Voices trailed from down a long hall. As Clint neared, he realized he’d busted in on a party. He passed a modern kitchen where several people milled about. Two men turned to stare at him in disbelief. A woman eyed him up and down with a hello smile.

  Clint ignored them all.

  Through an open doorway, he saw the family room. Walls had been removed in an obvious renovation so that the family room was extra long, filled with a billiard table, wet bar, and sliding doors that opened to a patio and built-in pool. Over twenty people crowded the room, men and women, all chatting and drinking. More couples lingered outside on lounge chairs and in the water. The sickening sweet scent of pot clouded the air, mingling with tobacco smoke and the drone of drunken conversation. Everyone was so busy laughing and drinking, no one noticed him.

  Amazing.

  Clint lounged in the doorway. “Where’s Asa?”

  At the intrusion of his voice, heads turned his way. The sudden silence left only loud rap music vibrating in the air.

  A middle-aged man, stylish but overweight, with graying hair and a noticeable scar on his nose, laughed in amazement. “I have an uninvited guest?”

  Even if Clint hadn’t recognized the air of importanc
e, he’d have noticed the sandpaper voice. This was Asa Ragon. Deference got thrown his way, and protection was silently offered by the swarming of other men. “I need a minute of your time; then you can get back to your party.”

  Incredulous, Asa looked around and when he laughed, everyone else followed suit.

  Clint kept his arms loose at his sides, his posture relaxed, his expression bored. He stared at Asa with his most intimidating expression, and the laughter died.

  The women in the room—most of them young, some of them beautiful—all moved nervously, getting out of the way as if expecting an explosion. The men edged closer to Asa, displaying loyalty and the willingness to serve.

  With a lazy look, Clint said, “That’s not necessary, you know. Right now, all I want to do is talk.”

  Disbelief hung heavy in the air.

  A few of the men made an aggressive move toward Clint, but Asa held them back with a lift of his hand. “I’m curious,” he rasped with a rough laugh. “And intrigued. You have balls, friend, to come in here like this.”

  Clint glanced around at the men stiffened with hostility, and he smiled, too. He looked back at Asa. “I’m not your friend. But I would prefer to do this the easy way, so less questions get asked. I’m guessing you don’t like questions any more than I do.”

  “But you still intend to ask a few?”

  “Yeah.”

  Asa hauled himself off the couch, pausing to whisper to the woman at his right, then pat the woman’s butt to his left. “Through here.” He gestured to Clint, indicating a door located behind the pool table.

  Clint strolled forward. Though he looked unconcerned, he had a heightened awareness of every breath around him, every nuance of anticipation. He stayed loose limbed, prepared to move in any direction if necessary. He preceded Asa into the room and was followed by three hulks before Asa entered. The door shut behind them.

  Clint turned to face Asa and the others, waiting to see what would happen now, ready for whatever it might be.