Witness on the Run

by Cassie Miles

  “The way you bypassed security has to do with Rafe’s phone,” she said. “Jessop figured out how to break through the protective firewalls and read the security system on Rafe’s phone.”

  Rafe groaned. “He cloned me. The FBI has been working on this technology for years. When Jessop was near my phone in the cemetery, he transferred my data to another phone.”

  “A clone,” she said.

  Davidoff reached over and patted her cheek in a parental gesture that would have been sweet if he really had been her long-lost father. “You’re very bright,” he said.

  “I must take after you, Father.”

  “Call me Papa.”

  She suppressed her revulsion. “You’re too kind, Papa.”

  “I found you in time,” he said, claiming all the credit. “I saved you.”

  Apparently, Woodbridge and his thugs—the guys who beat up Jessop—were part of another faction. She needed to get away from Davidoff, needed to have time alone with Rafe to plan their escape. She stretched her arms over her head. “I’m so tired. May I go to bed, Papa?”

  “Of course, my dear one. We can take care of the safe-deposit box in the morning.”

  Now came the tricky part. She decided on the brazen approach, taking Rafe’s hand and giving a proprietary tug. “Come on,” she said to him. “We should get some sleep.”

  “Not in the same room,” Davidoff said.

  “But, Papa, I like him. I mean, I really like him.” She was shocked by her innate ability to act like a spoiled daughter. Was teenaged whining part of her DNA? “You want me to be happy, don’t you?”

  “I will decide if this man is good for you. Now, off to bed.”

  One of the thugs escorted her down the hall toward her bedroom. She had to stop in the bathroom first, where she locked the door, went to the toilet and puked. She was playing a dangerous game, and the stakes were literally life or death.

  She splashed water on her face and looked at herself in the mirror over the sink. Her panic wasn’t readily apparent, and she wondered if her DNA also included some of the deceit that made Charlotte such a good liar.

  Alyssa needed an edge. She took out her phone and punched in the secret number for Mr. Horowitz. When the mechanical voice answered, she whispered the address of the safe house into the receiver. “Davidoff is holding me and Rafe here.” She rattled off the address. “I need your help. Please.”

  He had to respond. Mr. Horowitz was her only chance.

  * * *

  AS SOON AS Alyssa left the room, Davidoff turned toward Rafe. Stroking his goatee with his full lips curved in an evil grin, he looked like a villain from the old-fashioned movies his mama used to watch. Rafe missed his family; they would have liked Alyssa.

  “You didn’t tell me about the data she has hidden in her safe-deposit box,” Davidoff said. “And you neglected to mention that you and Alyssa are intimate. These things seem disloyal, Rafe. I’m your employer.”

  “My relationship with her is very much to your advantage,” Rafe said.

  “How so?”

  After Alyssa’s Oscar-winning performance as the prodigal daughter, he needed to present a cover story of his own. Davidoff would never believe that he was a minion, but he might be able to work a deal. “If she trusts me and knows that I trust you, she’ll cooperate. If you had told me from the start about the money, I might have gotten further with her instead of following her around for two weeks.”

  “You would have taken the millions for yourself,” Davidoff said as he pushed the coffee mug away. “Where do you keep the vodka?”

  “I don’t actually live in this house. And I don’t entertain.”

  “No vodka? I’ll take care of it.” He snapped his pudgy fingers at a very large man with an equally huge weapon. “Two bottles. We’ll toast to our success in retrieving the money I lost at the pawnshop warehouse and the profit I will earn.”

  When Rafe reviewed Alyssa’s work on the information Chance had given her, he’d noticed several expensive cars unaccounted for. “You lost a Lamborghini V12 when Frankie Leone was killed. That must have hurt.”

  “What do you know of cars?”

  It was the perfect opening. Rafe slipped into his undercover identity as a former Grand Prix race car driver. They talked until the vodka came. And then they talked some more.

  When they were three shots into the bottle, Davidoff pinned him with an icy stare and said, “I like you, Rafe. I’ll be sorry if I have to kill you.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  In spite of her fears and anger, Alyssa managed to sleep. It helped that she’d convinced one of Davidoff’s minions to bring in her suitcase from the car, and she had a soft, comfortable nightshirt to wear in bed.

  When her mattress bounced, she awakened instantly. If this was one of Davidoff’s boys, she’d have to beat him to death with her crystal potpourri bowl. She heard murmuring and the word cher. There was only one person who called her that. “Rafe?”

  “C’est moi.” When he stretched out in the bed beside her, she couldn’t believe it was really him. He smelled like booze. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “That’s the vodka, cher.” He got very close to her ear and said, “Gotta be careful. Watch out for hidden microphones and cameras.”

  “I found two devices, one under the table lamp and another on the dresser.”

  “Look at you, being so smart.” He planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “Can I turn on the lamp? I want to see your pretty face.”

  “Does Davidoff know you’re here?”

  “I told him I was going to the bathroom.” He turned on the light and gazed down at her. “You’re beautiful, the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  “Do you still have your phone?” she asked. “In case I need to call you?”

  “Nope, Davidoff took my cloned phone.” He repeated the words. “Cloned phone, cloned phone. I wish I’d remembered that technology before I got within twenty yards of Jessop.”

  “You should leave before we get caught.”

  “I want to spend every minute with you. We don’t have much time left.”

  This wasn’t what she needed to hear. Alyssa was already disgusted with herself for pretending to be the daughter of a man she hated, a monster. But she’d been feeling that things were under control. “Does he know I’m...”

  He shushed her before she could finish the sentence. “They could be listening.”

  “True.”

  “He’s a businessman,” Rafe said. “It’s all about the bottom line.”

  “So if we find the money for him, he’ll let us go.”

  He got close to her ear again. “If we deliver, he has no more use for us. On the other hand, we’re expendable if we fail. A classic case of damned if we do and damned if we don’t.”

  “How do we get out of this?”

  “Look for a miracle,” he said.

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “It could happen. For example, what are the odds of a woman like you and a man like me getting together? Yet, here we are. When it comes to Davidoff and these guys who work for him, we stay alert and wait for something to turn up. Then we take advantage.”

  He swept her into his arms for a deep, passionate kiss that was better than she expected, given the amount of vodka he’d been drinking. Then he staggered to his feet and went out the door, leaving her with miserable thoughts about her own mortality. Wait for a miracle. Not the most useful advice—she needed specifics. Did miracles carry guns? Would the cavalry come riding over the hill?

  Again, she took out her phone. This time, she sent a text to Mr. Horowitz with the address of the safe house and pertinent information. Why hadn’t he answered her? He was her only chance, and he wasn’t paying attention. She didn’t want to imagine that something bad might have happened to him. She couldn’t bear
to lose another person she loved.

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING, Alyssa showered and dressed in a beige linen suit for her trip to the bank. Though she had the platform sandals that went with the outfit, she opted for more comfortable loafers that would be good for running. Instead of taking her huge backpack, she put selected items in a much smaller shoulder bag that contained her phone, her wallet with the necessary identification in her current name, keys and miscellaneous things, like lotion, sunglasses, a notepad and pen.

  In the kitchen, Davidoff greeted her with a cup of coffee. “Not chicory,” he said. “I hate that stuff.”

  Rafe sat at the kitchen table. In spite of his bloodshot eyes and stubble that was beginning to look like a beard, he was cool and handsome. He greeted her quietly.

  In contrast, Davidoff boomed, “Your boyfriend can’t handle his vodka.”

  She took advantage of another opportunity to remind Davidoff of their supposed connection. “He’s not Russian, Papa. He’s not like us.”

  He patted her shoulder. “You’re a good girl.”

  “Are we going to the bank this morning?”

  “Very soon,” he said. “I’ll go inside with you. After you open your box and take out the contents, we’ll return to the car and come back here.”

  “I’m frightened,” she said. “Do you know what happened to the guys who were after me, the ones who beat up on Jessop?”

  “You have no need to worry. My men will protect you.”

  She tried a different tactic. “I’d feel a lot better if Rafe came along.”

  “You must be brave, little sparrow.” His grin looked sinister, as though he’d just tasted something unpleasant. “Let’s go. Take your coffee.”

  Before leaving, she gazed at Rafe, trying to communicate silently and tell him that she wasn’t giving up hope. Something miraculous would turn up.

  She and Davidoff sat in the back of a vintage Lincoln Town Car—a spacious, gorgeous vehicle. Two of his henchmen were in the front: one was the driver and the other held his semiautomatic weapon on his lap. She considered jumping out of the moving car but decided against it. If she ran, Rafe would pay the price.

  While Davidoff talked about New Orleans as though he knew his way around this complicated city, she gazed at him with the kind of adoration a daughter reserves for her father. She nodded and smiled at every dopey thing he said. How was she going to escape? How could she get a message to the authorities?

  At the bank in the central business district, they entered the dimly lit underground parking lot. Davidoff ordered his men to wait and then took her arm to escort her. She could feel the endgame approaching. Her pulse accelerated, and she began to sweat.

  “You’re trembling,” Davidoff said.

  “I told you I was scared.”

  “You’ll be fine. I will be standing close beside you.”

  And that was the problem. She didn’t want him anywhere near her. If she could put some distance between them, she might make a break for it. Her opportunity came when the bank official—a tall, lean black man with an officious manner—escorted her into the private room beside the safe-deposit vaults.

  “I’ll leave you alone,” the official said. “If you need help, my name is Mr. Morgan.”

  Davidoff was right behind him. “I need to get into the room with her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir. That’s against our rules.”

  “Your damn rules must be changed.”

  While Mr. Morgan called his supervisor for permission, she took the notepad from her shoulder bag and scribbled three words: I’m. Being. Kidnapped.

  There was no time for more explanation. As soon as Morgan opened the door, Davidoff charged into the private room, roaring like a bull. Though she tried to placate him, he wasn’t accustomed to having his will thwarted. Quickly, she emptied her box into a shopping bag she’d brought for the purpose.

  As they left the room, she pressed the note into Mr. Morgan’s hand, and she almost got away with it. Her miracle crashed and burned when Davidoff pounced. He snatched the small scrap of paper, opened it, read it and turned his large, shaved head toward her. “This is not funny, little sparrow.”

  “I wasn’t making a joke.”

  “Please excuse her,” he said to Morgan. This time when he grabbed her arm, his grip tightened like a vise. “Don’t try any other stunts or Rafe is dead.”

  She wanted to scream her lungs out, but she couldn’t take the chance. There might be a way to talk him back into a good mood.

  In the underground parking lot, he slammed her against the rear left fender of the Lincoln. “Why?”

  “I want to get away from you. Just let me go.”

  “But you are my beloved.” He sneered. “My long-lost daughter.”

  “We both know that’s a lie. You tried to scam me but made a mistake. The music box played the wrong tune.”

  He signaled to the driver. “Open the trunk.”

  Before she had time to object, the other thug shoved her into the extra-large trunk space and closed the lid. Davidoff issued one more order, and he spoke loudly enough that she could hear.

  “Call the house,” he said. “Kill Rafe.”

  * * *

  RAFE SAT UNCOMFORTABLY on the kitchen chair. After Davidoff left with Alyssa, the two guys who stayed behind replaced his handcuffs so he wouldn’t attempt an escape. He watched as the supersize thug took a call. The only word he said repeatedly was “yeah.”

  He ended the call, gave Rafe a wink and drew his semiautomatic. The bore of the gun barrel pointing at Rafe’s belly gaped as wide as a cannon’s maw. He hoped death would be fast.

  The back door crashed open. Three guys in lace-up boots, helmets and military garb charged inside. Taking advantage of the element of surprise, they disarmed Davidoff’s thugs in a few minutes. One of them unlocked Rafe’s handcuffs. He had just enough time to stand up before their leader entered.

  He was slightly below average height, white-haired with a walrus mustache to match. He wore baggy khakis, a short-sleeved white shirt and a plaid sweater vest. He held out his hand to Rafe and said, “I’m Max Horowitz.”

  “And I’m Rafe Fournier. Thank you for saving my life.”

  “Lara mentioned meeting a fellow. Is that you?”

  “I hope so,” he said.

  “Where is she?”

  “On her way back from the bank, but she should have been here by now.”

  Horowitz took his phone from his pocket and punched in a number, leaving the phone on speaker. “I told her to call me if she ran into trouble. She’s the only person with this number.” Impatiently, he tapped his foot on the kitchen floor. “If she doesn’t answer, how will we find her?”

  “Mr. Horowitz, is that you?” Her voice was a little choppy.

  “It is, and I’m here with Rafe. Where are you?”

  “In the trunk of a vintage Lincoln Town Car,” she said. “Davidoff is really mad. I’ve got to get away from him.”

  “I don’t know my way around the city as well as Rafe,” Horowitz said, turning to him.

  She gave a small cry. “Rafe is still alive! Thank God! Davidoff told them to kill him.”

  “We’ll talk later, cher. Do you know where you are?”

  “Definitely not headed back to the house. The driver seems to be lost. I kicked out part of the taillight, and I can see bits of scenery as we go past.”

  “Tell me what you see.”

  “We were wandering around by the docks and warehouses. Now the houses look like Treme. We’re heading toward Canal Street.”

  Last night’s tour of the city was proving useful. While she described various landmarks, he and Horowitz and two of his three paramilitary guys got into an SUV and tried to follow her directions.

  Back and forth and around, it felt like they were on Mi
ster Toad’s Wild Ride until she came up with a definitive location. “We’re in the Ninth Ward.”

  “That’s a lot of real estate,” said one of the men working for Horowitz.

  Rafe spoke gently into the phone. “Alyssa, try to see some of the houses. We need more clues to tell us where you are.”

  “I can’t.”

  She went quiet, and he thought he heard gentle weeping. “Don’t give up. It’s time for our miracle.”

  “Purple with yellow stripes,” she said. “I remember seeing this house when we were here before. It’s not far from the church. And we’re stopping.”

  He barked directions at the guy who was driving, and they whipped through the streets of the Ninth Ward. The big, beautiful Town Car wasn’t hard to spot. Was Alyssa still in the trunk? Was she okay?

  They approached the location with military precision. Rafe didn’t know where Horowitz had found these guys, but they were top-notch. Davidoff and his men weren’t expecting an assault and were easily overpowered. Before they had time to react, they were disarmed and cuffed. Their leader flipped open the trunk of the big car, and Alyssa popped up.

  When she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, Rafe had never felt so fulfilled and complete. He wasn’t ready to declare his intentions, but he felt love in every fiber of his body. He wanted to be with her forever.

  She showered a half dozen kisses on his face. “You told me there would be a miracle. And you were right.”

  For a few moments, she transferred her affection to Horowitz, who was absolutely delighted to see her. Then she leaped back to Rafe.

  Her beige linen suit was ruined after being in the trunk. She had smudges on her cheeks, and her eye makeup was a mess. Still, he thought she was beautiful, prettier than Scarlett O’Hara and all the other southern belles combined.

  “Do you know the worst part of this mess?” she asked her two men. “I had to pretend that Davidoff was my father. That could never be. He’s a monster.”