According to Miles, she’d never once visited Dennis in jail. Could she have turned on him and received cash for the notebook, then bolted? But who would pay for it? Or was she a co-conspirator on the run, afraid that she, too, would end up dead?
He needed answers to those questions, and he needed to find out where the notebook was because it sure as hell wasn’t here. Maybe he should tie her up and use threats and intimidation to drag the information from her.
As soon as the thought came, he shunned the idea of violence. He’d find out what he needed to know in a different way. Using the small screwdriver he’d brought in the leather bag, he unscrewed the outlet beside her bed and installed a small listening device.
The other room where people spent a lot of time was in the kitchen, so he installed one there, too, behind the outlet where the toaster was plugged in. He installed another one in the living room as a backup.
Then he turned on the alarm, left the house, and locked the door, leaving the way he came.
Whatever Shanice’s involvement, she wasn’t innocent. No one kept that amount of cash on hand for no reason. He just hoped he wasn’t a damn fool who had fallen for a sweet act.
Seated on the lid of the commode in the bathroom at The Bookish Attic, Shanice stared at the number she’d written on a piece of paper. She still didn’t know if this was the right decision but had to do something. Spending time with Vicente made her think about her future and the possibilities, and most importantly, she didn’t want to risk putting his life in danger. By acting now, she opened the door to a future with him and would keep herself, and him, safe.
This was the right thing to do. Maybe Dennis was wrong. Maybe there was someone she could trust.
She dialed the number for the FBI field office. When they answered, she swallowed hard and launched into an explanation.
“Hello, my name is Shanice, and I’m in possession of some data that I think you would be interested in.”
“What kind of data?” the woman on the other end asked.
“I’m not sure. Names and dollar amounts. I don’t understand what it all means, but I know it’s bad. There are people willing to kill to get this list.”
“And you have this information in your possession?”
Shanice paused, not wanting to say too much. “Are you the person that I should be speaking to?”
The woman’s voice gentled. “Ma’am, I need to get more information from you so that I’ll know how to route your call.”
“That’s all the information I’m able to give you. The only other thing I can tell you is that someone close to me died because of this information. I don’t want to die,” she said, voice trembling at the end.
“I understand. Based on what you’ve told me so far, I believe I know who I should route your call to. Please hold for Agent Stenson.”
“Thank you.”
Shanice waited in the silence while the call was being transferred. Then she had a thought. What if the agent who came on the line didn’t believe her or didn’t do anything to help? What if…?
Shanice squeezed her eyes shut, paralyzed by fear. Dennis was dead, and she was pretty sure he hadn’t killed himself. Could she be next?
“Hello, this is Agent Stenson.”
Shanice opened her mouth to speak, fully intending to tell him everything. Instead, she slammed her mouth shut and hung up the phone.
Shaking, she buried her face in her hands and fought the urge to cry. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to divulge what she knew.
That same feeling, the overwhelming sense of aloneness that had consumed her the past couple of months, charged back into her life.
She knew she had to do something. She just didn’t know what.
9
The ride home seemed extra long, and Shanice almost kept driving, heading out of town to go far away from her troubles. She wanted to start over. But where would she go?
She pulled onto the street where she lived, surprised there wasn’t a single car parked on either side of the road like normal. The tech guy’s house was dark.
Because of his constant partying, the neighbors had called the police a few times, so maybe he’d finally settled down and was showing respect to the people who lived here.
Or maybe he’s out of town, she thought.
Whatever the reason, tonight she got a break from maneuvering between all of his guests’ cars clogging the street.
As she pulled into the driveway, her phone chimed. She fished it out of her bag and saw a text from Ava.
Ava: Don’t be mad. I need to cancel. He called and wants us to get together tonight. Can I take a raincheck?
Shanice parked in the garage so she could reply.
Shanice: Of course I’m not mad. Have fun, and the next time I see you, I want all the details.
A twist of jealousy pricked her chest.
Ava: Deal! [kissy face]
Maybe she should call Vicente.
No. Stop being needy. She wanted company, but tonight was a night for thinking and planning. She considered trying the FBI field office again but wasn’t sure if she should. Maybe she should simply walk in there and tell them everything she knew.
Shanice let out a loud cry of exasperation. She liked to read. She liked walks on the beach and picking fruit in the summer. Her life used to be simple and uneventful. She had no clue how to navigate law enforcement and the information in her possession.
Once inside the house, she stopped suddenly and faced the door leading into the garage. Had she forgotten to turn on the alarm before she left? Sometimes she did forget. This was such a good neighborhood, there were times both she and Beatrice left the house without setting it, especially if they were going somewhere nearby and planned to come back within a short period of time.
Standing in the middle of the kitchen, her skin prickled with unease. She surveyed the room—the sparkling steel appliances and the toaster on the counter to her right. Nothing appeared out of place, yet the house was…off, for lack of a better word. The air, the energy, something.
Maybe she should call Vicente and beg him to stay with her. She would absolutely feel safer if he was there.
Then she laughed at herself, dismissing her apprehension. She was only nervous because she’d called the FBI office today. The call had reminded her of why she left Texas and the potential danger she faced.
Humming, Shanice poured a glass of water and removed a white plate from the cabinet. She pulled a serrated steak knife from a drawer in the island and cut two thin circles of bread from a loaf in the bread tin. Then she slathered peanut butter and jelly onto the slices and stood eating her snack at the island.
Needing a break from thinking so much, she scrolled through her Twitter feed. She laughed at a funny cat video and then started watching the shenanigans of a YouTube comedian currently trending on Twitter.
Behind her, the pantry door creaked open.
She became perfectly still. Before she could turn around, cold metal pressed into the back of her head, and she heard a click.
Shanice stopped breathing, and she became rigid with fear. Oh dear god, that’s why the house had felt off. Someone had been inside.
She whimpered, too afraid to move even a millimeter.
“Shh, you’re going to be fine. You have something I need,” a male voice said.
“I-I don’t know what you mean.”
She started trembling, eyes sweeping the kitchen for a weapon. She couldn’t move fast enough to smash the glass of water over his head. He’d shoot her before her hand lifted halfway from the counter. She could stab him, but how would she get to the serrated knife almost within reach without him shooting her first?
“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart.”
“If you tell me what you’re looking for…” Her voice shook. Maybe she could buy some time until she figured out what to do. He needed something from her and therefore wouldn’t kill her right away, right?
“Put the phone down and turn around. Slo
wly.”
“I don’t want to see your face.” He’d definitely kill her if she saw his face and could identify him.
“Turn the fuck around!” the man said in a harsh tone.
On the verge of tears, Shanice closed her eyes, and her face crumbled.
With a trembling hand, she placed the phone on the island and slowly turned to face the intruder. He was tall and dressed in all black—black jeans and a black T-shirt that showed off his wiry, muscular arms. His dark hair was curly and tapered in the back. With his serious face and cold eyes, he looked like he’d never smiled a day in his life.
He kept the gun pointed only inches from her forehead, which magnified her fear tenfold. What if the gun accidentally went off and he shot her?
At such a devastating thought, Shanice whimpered again and closed her eyes. Terror sent another shiver tearing through her body.
“Shh. You’re going to be okay.”
“You’re going to kill me,” she whispered.
“No, I won’t. Open your eyes.”
Reluctantly, she opened her eyes. If he’d told her to hop on one foot, she would have.
“Back up, slowly.”
Shanice backed up, slowly.
The intruder edged forward, as well. Without taking his eyes off her, he picked up her phone and powered it off. He dropped it into his pocket.
“Now it’s just you and me, and no chance you’ll be able to call anyone, okay? You’re not going to try anything funny, are you?”
Shanice shook her head.
“Good girl. Now, tell me where that list is.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t—”
“Don’t bullshit me!” he snarled, anger contorting his face into a mask of reddened fury. “You have a list of names and dollar figures. That’s what you said. I need that list. Now.”
He knows I called the FBI office.
“I don’t know what you mean. You have the wrong person.”
“Listen, bitch, I’m being nice, but I’m not going to ask you again.”
The words had hardly left his mouth when Vicente entered the kitchen behind him. No glasses. No tie. Wearing a dress shirt and jeans. She had no idea how a man so large had managed to move so quietly.
Shanice blinked in shock. “Vicente,” she said, without thinking.
The intruder swung toward him, and Vicente hit his wrist sideways, knocking the pistol from his hand. It flew to the floor, sliding across the tile into a corner.
With an animalistic growl, both men charged at each other, and Shanice jumped back.
Vicente was fast, dodging a fist and following quickly with a blow to the man’s neck. He followed that with a powerful fist to the belly.
The man grunted and doubled over, and Vincente grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his face into the top of the island.
Shanice winced and covered her eyes.
He slammed his head again and again. When he was practically limp with blood leaking from his nose, Vicente grabbed his neck and head and twisted. She heard a crack and the man in black collapsed to the floor at his feet.
Her mouth fell open. “Oh my god! Did you kill him?”
“We need to get out of here. There will be others.”
“Others? Do you know him? What are you talking about?”
He looked so different. His eyes seemed darker and more piercing and his jawline firmer. Visually he was the same person, but now he appeared more in control and had an edge.
She backed up some more. “Where did you come from?”
“I’ll explain everything when we—”
A man in black crashed through the French doors. Shanice screamed and turned away from the glass that spewed through the room.
The newcomer, a blond with a buzz cut, lunged for the knife on the island. With amazing agility for a man his size, Vicente swung his body onto the island as the man swiped it up. He slid across the top and slammed his foot into the intruder’s chest, forcing him backward. Vicente followed, knocking his back into the edge of the counter and quickly following up with a series of jabs.
The blond swung the knife, but Vicente blocked the swipe with one meaty forearm while ripping the toaster out of the wall. He smashed it across the intruder’s head, eliciting a groan of pain, but the man didn’t go down. He fought back valiantly, swinging the knife in a wide arc.
But he was outmatched. Vicente was big, strong, and in control. He hopped back from the blade each time his opponent swung and, when he’d evaded the third swipe of the blade, followed up with a swift kick to the other man’s torso that sent him careening onto his back.
The knife clattered to the floor out of reach.
They stared at each other, two warriors contemplating the next move. Then Vicente grabbed the white plate from the island and smashed it on the edge of the counter. He swiped up a piece of porcelain as the man scrambled on his hands and knees for the gun in the corner.
The whole time she’d kept her eyes on them, Shanice edged toward the doorway, stepping over the dead body on the floor. She picked up her phone, which had fallen out of his pocket, and tucked it between her breasts as Vicente jumped on the man’s back and slit his throat with the jagged edge of the plate.
He snatched up the gun and rolled onto his back, gripping the black weapon in both hands. “Duck!” he yelled.
Shanice dropped low as the sound of bullets powered through the kitchen and shattered glass remnants that hung on the door. Vicente fired three shots over her head in quick succession, and Shanice slammed her hands over her ears to reduce the deafening noise.
Looking over her shoulder, she saw another man in black appeared upright, as if suspended by ropes, his eyes lifeless. Blood pooled like a dark cloud on his black shirt before he dropped dead.
Vicente jumped up right away and checked the magazine of the gun. Seeming satisfied, he stuck it in the back waistband of his jeans.
His dark eyes settled on her and he helped her up. “We need to get out of here. You have two minutes to go upstairs and get whatever you can.”
“What’s going on? I don’t understand what’s happening.” She trembled with fear and shock.
“Not now,” he said tersely. “Go upstairs and get your go bag.”
“How do you know—”
He smoothly spun them into the still open pantry as a shot blasted by her ear and shattered another piece of glass dangling on the broken French door.
Holy crap. Someone else had entered the house.
“Stay here,” Vincente commanded in a grim voice.
She didn’t have to be told twice.
He dropped low and darted out of the pantry, slamming the door behind him.
Shots rang out and Shanice backed as far as she could into the small space. Metal shelves pressed into her shoulders, spine, and buttocks as loud bangs filled the air.
It sounded like a war was taking place out there. Shaking uncontrollably, she heard loud whimpers and realized that was her.
“Calm down. Calm down.”
A thump against the door made her jump. Then there was another. Then the only sounds were the grunts of the men as they fought.
With only a sliver of light coming from under the door, Shanice searched the interior for a weapon. She grabbed a can of kidney beans and prayed she’d never have to use it.
Wait a minute, she had her phone. She didn’t doubt that a neighbor had already called the police because of all the gunshots. Hopefully they would be there soon and this nightmare would be over.
She took the phone from between her breasts, freezing when she heard a crash and a loud cry of pain. The sound was so gut-wrenching, her knees gave out and she collapsed into a crouch in the dark space. That wasn’t Vicente, was it?
Eyes squeezed tight, she prayed harder than she’d ever prayed before. If God got her out of this mess, she promised to start going back to church the way she’d been raised. She would turn over a new leaf.
Still gripping the can in one hand, she use
d the other to press the power button and turn on the phone. As the phone powered on, the door sprang open and her head snapped up. She hoisted the can in the air, ready for battle and whatever her fate might be.
Vicente’s gaze flicked to the can she held. His shirt was torn open to reveal a fitted white T-shirt underneath, and one sleeve of the dress shirt had been torn and hung loosely halfway to his biceps. Blood spatter was on his hand, shirt, and pants.
“So much blood,” she whispered.
“It’s not mine.” Vicente extended a hand. “We don’t have much time. Let’s go.”
10
Shanice didn’t know if Vicente followed her upstairs to keep an eye on her or protect her in case another intruder burst through the door. Whatever the reason, she was glad for him shadowing her because there were five dead men in the house. Somehow he’d managed to kill them all—the last two at the same time, apparently—and remained unscathed, with only a torn shirt and blood stains that weren’t his. To think, she’d been concerned about putting his life in danger!
She yanked the suitcase to the floor and grabbed her backpack on the top shelf of the closet. When she stepped out, Vicente stood to the side of the window, the blinds inched open so he could look out onto the street below.
Shanice rushed into the bathroom and tossed toiletries into her bag. She was still shaking, but not as badly as before, and her mind was going a million miles per minute.
First of all, she didn’t know this man. The way he fought those intruders, he’d done that many times before. Who was he? Who were those men that he killed? Could she trust him? What if he killed her, too?
Back in the bedroom, Vicente turned around to face her. “Time to go.” He ripped off the shirt and tossed it to the floor.
Shanice gulped at the size of his biceps. He was huge. “Go where?” she asked, voice trembling way more than she’d anticipated. She lifted the backpack onto her shoulder.
“I’ll explain later.”
He left the room, and she had no choice but to follow. He took the stairs slowly, cautiously, the gun now in his outstretched right hand. She followed close behind him and covered her mouth, the contents of her stomach almost coming up at the smell of discharged bullets and the stench of blood and death in the air. They crept down the stairs, her shaky knees practically useless but holding up. Thank goodness for the wall beside her. She leaned into it for support.
Until Now (Plan B Book 1) Page 6