by Leslie North
After one ring, he answered. “Agent Butler.”
“Mark,” Mandy snapped, swallowing her heart pounding in her throat, “It’s Mandy Loomis.”
“Mandy—”
“Listen,” she cut him off. “I’m in trouble.” She flicked a glance at the cabbie and found his attention split between her and the road. “I was just a guest at Nolan’s house and Chance is still there.”
The light ahead turned yellow and Mandy leaned forward. “Run it. Don’t stop.”
The cabbie muttered, but did as she’d demanded.
“Where are you?” Mark demanded.
“In the back of a cab near Georgia Tech.” Her eyes slid to the back window and watched the SUV run the red light. “Two men are very persistent in their attempts to escort me. I need help and to fill you in.”
“Head to Piedmont Park,” Mark instructed, his blunt tone extra curt. “It’s a huge open green space in Midtown.”
Mandy repeated the instructions to the cabbie who instantly signaled, then turned right. Hard. She slapped her hand onto the bench seat to keep from falling over.
“A Fabulous Hair Band Festival started yesterday and ends tomorrow,” Mark kept explaining, “The eighties bands pack in large crowds. You can lose the thugs there. Call me back once your feet hit the ground. We’ll coordinate where to meet.”
Mandy hung up and tapped the phone against her thigh. Unable to sit still with so much adrenaline pouring though her veins, she carefully pulled out the object Chance had given her.
Oh my God. Clapping a hand over her mouth, the picture trembled in her fingers.
She remembered that day like it was yesterday.
He kept this all these years?
Her finger traced over a dull area in the photo. How many times had Chance swiped over her face just like she had done? Her heart wept for the soldier who’d faced death so many times with her picture in his pocket and her last words, breaking up with him, still ringing in his ears.
A pang tore through her overtaxed heart. She had to believe he gave her the photo not as an ominous sign, but as a way to show her how he felt and to tell her he’d be back to collect it.
The taxi jerked to the left, then halted beside a packed sidewalk.
Mandy read the digitalized total off the meter and shoved a five-dollar tip into the slot. She only had sixteen dollars left. Mark had better be here somewhere, or she’d be stuck.
Exiting the cab, she spied the grill of the SUV closing in. Plunging into the thick of the music lovers filling the sidewalk with their old concert T-shirts and eighties fashions, she hid among the masses. A set of cement steps led down into the massive open park filled with white tents, food trucks, and merchandise vendors. At three different directional points, portable concert stages had crowds chanting and music blasting from the bands.
Chaos reigned and Mandy could kiss Mark for suggesting it. Sneaking past the entry guard—he was occupied arguing with a stoned couple attempting to smuggle in marijuana—she veered right. Bypassing T-shirt tents and stands hocking decade-appropriate vintage clothing, she fished her phone out and redialed Mark.
“I’m here,” she answered the second they connected. Peering over her shoulder, she ducked between two food trucks churning out mouth-watering scents. Their generators muffled the cacophony of music but did nothing to help her growling stomach. “I haven’t seen the thugs since I entered.”
“Where are you?” Mark asked.
She had to press her finger against her other ear to hear him.
“Never mind. I’m at the west stage,” he informed her. “Cinderella’s currently playing. Do you know who they are?”
“No, but I’m pretty sure they’ll have some type of banner, right?”
“They do. It’s white with purple writing.”
“I’ll find them.” She hung up and wended through the throng of people, getting assaulted by all kinds of synthesized music. Finally spying the purple and white banner, she wanted to throw her hands in the air.
Mark materialized near the temporary metal fencing to keep the fans away from the backstage area. His suit stuck out in the crowd of ripped jeans, spandex, and tank tops, but she had never been so happy to see it in her life.
Mandy got right to the point. “Chance is in trouble. Nolan Nickel is the bookie who loaned my father money, and he is the one who’s been sending his thugs after me to collect.”
“I know.” Mark steered her away from the stage, toward a different exit point.
Mandy blinked, not expecting that. “Okay. Well, do you know he has Chance right now and Chance stupidly agreed to become one of his thugs?”
“Yes.” Mark grabbed her elbow to pull her out of the path of a running seven-year-old. “Chance dialed my number while they were bringing him to Nolan’s house and my voicemail picked up. At first, I thought it was a crank call until I heard him say Nolan’s name. The recording’s not the best and something scratches against the mic at certain points, but I get that Nolan wants Chance to rough up a few deadbeats in exchange for wiping out your debt.”
“That’s crazy, right?” She wiped the sweat off her forehead. “He can’t do this by himself.”
“He’s not by himself,” Mark retorted, motioning to a steep set of cement stairs. “He’s got us. He knows he has to get Nolan to incriminate himself and get proof.”
“But what can I do to help?” Her life had spun out of control. Since the moment she walked in on the fight this morning, her heart had lived in her throat. “I can’t risk Chance.” I love him.
Woah. Wow. Really with the epiphany now? Understanding she was in love with Chance McCallister at this very moment was not the best timing.
“And he says the same about you.” Mark guided them to a parked navy SUV.
“Chance has served his country enough,” she argued. “He shouldn’t be forced to beat up men on a bookie’s whim, no matter how much evidence it gives you.”
“He’s not doing this for his country.” Mark unlocked the truck with a remote. “This is personal. From what I gather, Mr. McCallister will do anything to keep you safe.” Mark chuckled, holding the passenger door open for her. “That man is certifiable for you, and he doesn’t care what it takes to end Nolan’s hold on you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just as certifiable when it comes to keeping him safe,” she retorted the second he climbed behind the wheel. “I have to be able to do something to help.”
She had to make up for all those years he’d fingered the photo with their breakup as his last memory of her, and for her reluctance to trust in him when he came home. He had shown her in so many ways these past few days how much he loved her. She could do no less.
“I’m glad to hear you say that.” Mark blended into the slow-moving traffic.
Sitting next to Agent Butler, her respect for Chance grew. She’d once told Chance one man couldn’t take on a corrupt organization. She had been right and wrong. One man couldn’t, but he could be the catalyst to build the team to take them down.
Was Chance still taking on too much risk? Yes, but she finally felt like this nightmare was going to end. That she wouldn’t have to sell the garage and her house. That she might just maybe have her dream come true after all.
If Chance survived.
17
Chance forced his hands to remain loosely at his sides. He desperately wanted to tug on the tie choking him, or maybe he just really wanted to wrap his fingers around Nolan’s throat. The loan shark hadn’t wasted time. He’d had Walter take Chance to a tailor and had quickly gotten him fitted for a suit. A damn black suit like the other thugs.
The things he did for his woman. Just proved how much he loved the wild-haired, gorgeous, stubborn mechanic. That he’d voluntarily walk into the lion’s den and play the cowed victim—in a suit no less—cinched it.
Entering the office, he found Nolan threatening Brown Eyes and Other Thug with dismemberment for losing Mandy.
Pride swelled Chance’s ches
t, and he hid his grin behind a cough. Who knew his feisty woman had an inner secret squirrel? Naughty scenarios of the hide-and-seek games they could play flooded his mind, but he had to push them down. He’d examine those fantasies at length when he ended this.
Nolan ordered the others out of his sight.
Chance swiveled his neck against the tight collar and strode to the front of Nolan’s desk. Nolan rocked back in his leather chair large enough to be called a throne. Chance called it pretentious.
“Now you look like a representative of mine.” Nolan nodded, his eyes tracking down Chance’s length and if Chance didn’t know better, he’d swear the man was checking him out.
“Getting blood out of a suit’s not going to be fun,” Chance retorted just to see what the guy would say.
The loan shark’s lips thinned. “That’s what dry cleaners are for.” He held out a Post-it note. “Go to this address.”
Chance took the yellow square and peered at it. He wasn’t familiar with Atlanta so he didn’t know the location. “Okay. What do I need to know?”
“Travis White has been trouble.” Nolan picked up a fancy pen and held it between his hands. “He owes me a quarter of a million dollars and has proven…not very susceptible to my typical methods of persuasion.” The silver pen twirled. “He has no friends, family, or lovers I can lean on and he owns a gym. Opened it with my money and trains boxers of all things.”
Great.
Nolan snorted. “You can imagine he’s not the most welcoming to my men and isn’t easily intimidated.” Nolan stabbed the pen toward Chance. “You collect my money and bring it back by the end of the day and it’ll go a long way toward forgiving Ms. Loomis’s debt.”
“How long of a way?” Chance had yet to hear this guy say anything definitive. How long did Nolan think he could string Chance along? It didn’t really matter seeing as how Chance hoped to end this tonight, but he was curious how the man intended to play this.
Nolan waved a hand dismissively. “Long. We’ll get into that later.”
Chance glanced at the note, playing up he was conflicted about hurting someone else.
“I hate to bring this up.” Nolan sounded anything but regretful. “But Ms. Loomis is a very beautiful woman. There are many men who’d love to pay for an American woman of her…caliber.”
Calm. Focus, Chance reminded himself. Finish the mission. And think of how the thugs in prison are going to enjoy a man of his…caliber once this is over.
“I’ll bring back the money by the end of the day,” Chance swore, then marched toward the door before he lost his grasp on his tenuous self-control.
Slipping into the bathroom on the main floor near the entrance, he pulled out his cellphone and damn near cried when he saw the texts from Mandy.
Mandy: Talked to Mark. You better survive. I’m not done with you yet.
Mandy: Oh, and don’t think we’re not going to talk, mister.
Chance scrolled to the next one from the FBI agent. He wanted to respond to Mandy but was afraid he’d let his feelings slip, and he’d rather have that conversation face-to-face.
Agent Butler: Mandy’s testimony and yours plus the recording should be enough to take Nolan down.
Chance typed back: *Should* is not good enough. Nolan is sending me after Travis White. Used money to open boxing gym. He typed in the address.
Bubbles waved at the bottom of the app, showing the agent typing.
Agent Butler: Okay to lean on Travis but not collect money. We don’t have permission for you to perform anything illegal.
Chance wasn’t surprised at Mark’s line in the sand. The military had their own chain of command to follow when it came to operations that crossed lines, but he’d heard that the FBI had to petition the Department of Justice for informants to participate in illegal acts without prosecution. With this all happening so fast, there had been no time.
Chance: Check. Will do what I can to string gym owner along to get thug escort to incriminate himself. Will call you once there.
Agent Butler: We’re in the van now. If your life is in danger, get out. We can try again another day.
Chance: Check. Keep her safe for me.
Agent Butler: Done
He pocketed the phone, then waltzed out the door and climbed into the SUV with Brick, the thug assigned to chauffer and accompany Chance. The guy resembled his moniker; one large, rectangular man.
Thirty minutes later, Chance stared at a rundown building in a sketchy industrial neighborhood. The whole ride, Brick had been swallowing nonstop and wiping sweat while sneaking looks at Chance from the corner of his eye. Worked for Chance. He liked it when he made men nervous. That tended to make them hesitate from doing anything stupid. That meant Chance could focus his attention on Travis White. He seriously hoped the gym owner would be smart enough to understand Chance’s signals and play along.
Opening the solid, dented metal door, he choked on the wave of gym funk and mold escaping. Hard-hitting rap music droned in the background but no one worked out in the huge ring stationed in the center of the oversized room.
The line of punching bags along the west wall remained empty as well as the well-used weight lifting equipment in the north section. In fact, he didn’t see anyone.
Inwardly whistling, he’d love it if something like this opened in Springwell.
Twisting away from Brick in a show of scoping the gym, Chance casually reached into his pants pocket and redialed Agent Butler’s number. This time Mark and a team of agents would be listening in directly as it recorded.
A physically fit, Latino-Caucasian man in his early thirties lumbered through the door that must lead to the showers and office. A white towel hung around his neck and loose athletic shorts hung off his hips. He paused when he spied Chance and Brick and his jaw tightened.
“I’ve got nothing for you, gentlemen,” he barked, storming closer. “And I’m tired of teaching this same lesson.”
Brick bristled. “You knew when you took the money you’d have to pay it back.” He smoothed his lapels. “My boss is fed up and calling your entire debt due.”
Chance had to keep from allowing his jaw to drop. He didn’t think Brink knew how to string two words together let alone something that sounded so businesslike.
Travis White looked unimpressed.
“My boss can’t very well let everyone think people can borrow money without repaying.” Brick tsked. “That’s not good business. And he won’t tolerate those who make him look bad.”
“Oh, yeah?” Travis eyed Brick, then Chance. “You going to try to hurt me again?”
Brick motioned to Chance. “My friend here is going to collect what you owe, including interest.” The thug leaned forward. “Or he’s going to make an example out of you. Clean up this mess…permanently.”
A jolt rocketed through Chance though he didn’t let it show. He’d never agreed to kill anyone. Just what was Nolan playing at? Did he think the threat of a murder rap would keep Chance compliant and under his thumb?
The muscle in Travis’s jaw ticked, and he focused his brown eyes onto Chance. Perusing him from head to toe, Travis pulled the towel from around his neck. Smart move. “Military?”
“Yep.” Chance nodded.
“I’m betting Special Ops?”
“SEAL,” Chance admitted, not seeing a reason to hide it.
Travis whistled. “A badass, then.” He balled the towel and tossed it well out of reach. Another smart move. The terry cloth would’ve made a great garrote. “Why’s a guy who served our country working for a lowlife like Nolan? You really okay playing a thug?”
Chance shrugged. “I’ve got my reasons.”
In response, Travis threw a left hook.
Chance’s forearm vibrated from the impact, barely saving his face in time. Guy was damn quick. Chance countered with a right hook.
Travis blocked and the two of them jabbed and countered. Neither really put their all into the fight, mo
re like testing each other’s reflexes and weaknesses. Outside of learning one of Travis’s tells—the boxer dropped his shoulder before a punch—Chance quickly realized the man had been a soldier once. The way he moved had all the earmarks of military training. Chance could use that.
“Would one of those reasons be a girl?” Travis goaded, kicking toward Chance’s knee.
Chance twirled, swiping his leg behind Travis’s planted foot. He connected, sweeping the boxer onto his back. Before Chance could follow through, Travis rolled backwards and popped back to his feet.
“Yeah, it’s definitely a girl,” Travis continued, circling to the right. Chance let him keep talking. He had to get the boxer to comply with the plan he made up a second ago.
Travis kept even with Chance. “What’s she think of you doing this?”
“Stormed out of the room.” Chance maneuvered them until they were right in front of Brick. He kept the fight so his back stayed directly in front of the other thug. Using hand signals learned in basic training, he asked Travis to come at him as hard as he could and put all his power into a left hook.
Travis’s brows drew down and Chance signaled again. Do it now.
The boxer complied. At the last moment, Chance slid to the right and Travis connected with Brick’s temple.
Brick hit the mat. Knocked out cold.
“White flag.” Chance threw his hands up. Even though he hadn’t been putting everything into it, boxing with Travis was still a workout. His shirt stuck to his arms from sweat and he wanted to rip the heat-insulating suit coat off and burn it.
Travis jerked to a halt, his chest heaving and sweat dripped down his skin. “What’s going on?”
Chance yanked his phone out and spoke into the microphone, “You get that?” he asked, then took the phone off mute.
“Yeah, but what happened?” Agent Butler responded. “I only had sound and a thump doesn’t tell me anything.”
“Brick’s out cold. Travis is not a threat. Come on in.” Hanging up and tucking the phone back into his pocket, Chance shook Travis’s hand. “Thanks, man.”