ACCORDING TO PLAN

by Barr, Sue

  Tank kept looking over to me and I knew he wondered what Polly had given me, so I lifted the sheet higher to hide my smug smile. The first page had lots of phone calls to local numbers and I could see the L.A. prefix interspersed among them. I was about to check out the next page when Polly piped up.

  “So, what did the hookers have to say?”

  I lowered the sheets of paper and glared, willing her to realize I hadn’t said anything to Tank about talking to hookers.

  She caught my glare. “What?”

  Tank looked from me to Polly and back at me again. “What hookers?”

  He sat up straight on the couch and leaned toward me. “Did you do anything that could have gotten you hurt, or in trouble?”

  “More trouble than getting arrested outside an apartment?” I quipped.

  Polly choked on her sip of wine. “You were arrested?”

  “No. Tank and Crocodile Dundee bulldozed me into a police cruiser and then we went for a ride.”

  “I was just looking out for your best interests. And I forgive you for pepper spraying me.”

  I felt heat steal across my cheeks.

  “You pepper sprayed Tank?” Polly’s eyes widened and she put her wine on the coffee table. She twisted to face him and touched his arm. “Tank, you poor thing, are you okay?”

  My eyes narrowed as I watched her console poor, poor Tank. What was she up to?

  He nodded, but kept his gaze on me. “So fill me in. What did you find out in L.A.?” Leaning back once more, he put both arms on the back of the couch and kicked his feet out onto the coffee table. “Maybe we can bounce ideas off each other and figure out where he’s gone.”

  Polly picked up her wine glass and settled into the corner of the couch, tucking her feet under her bottom. It was then I noticed her wink at me as she took a sip of wine and watched the two of us. Oh no. She was playing matchmaker. Give me a gun and let me shoot myself.

  “Shelby, what did you find out?” Tank’s question stopped me from throttling Polly.

  I paused and went back over my day. “This morning I talked to a couple of hookers who might have known Lulu. They don’t believe Harrison is the murderer. They’re street savvy and if they don’t think he did the deed, then, my gut says they’re bang on. So… I have to ask myself, why has Harrison disappeared? Does he think he’s being framed? Is he a target as well?”

  Visualizing Harrison’s apartment I stood, tucked the folded papers into my back pocket, and began to pace. I did my best thinking when I wasn’t sitting still.

  “His place was too sterile. Made me think he hadn’t lived there. Or, almost like it had been professionally cleaned. Most people forget something, like a bar of soap, razor blade. Little things that we just think, ‘Let the other guy have it, I’m outta here.’ Nope, Harrison is a real mystery.”

  Tank stroked his strong jaw, nodding. “You may be right. Dango didn’t say Harry was the killer, only that he was a person of interest. He disappeared right after the murder.”

  I kept musing out loud. “I wonder why he thought he had to go into hiding. And who’s bankrolling it? Harrison didn’t pay his own bills, there’s no way he could keep afloat and try to stay out of sight.” A huge yawn escaped me and my eyelids felt like sandpaper. “I’ll look closer at his parents. They might have hired me to create the illusion of Harry taking a walk.”

  Tank’s hand paused as he reached for a chip and he shot a hard look at me. A little puzzled by it, but too exhausted to figure out why, I yawned again and stretched. After running on about six hours of sleep over the past two days, my personal gas tank hit empty. I had to get some sleep.

  With another big stretch I looked over at Polly and Tank talking. They’d always had an easy friendship. Disgusted with my envy of Polly I decided to get out of there before I said something I’d regret, again.

  “Good night.”

  Did they even notice me leave? I headed down the hall and heard Tank’s deep voice ask Polly if she’d like more wine. Trudging up the stairs I wanted that to be me on the couch, laughing and teasing with him. The one thing Tank and I lost, along with trust, was having fun.

  Nightly rituals completed, I finally crawled into bed. For at least an hour I tossed and turned, frustrated that I couldn’t fall asleep no matter how tired I was. Through the vents I heard talking and the tinkle of Polly’s laughter. Bitter jealousy tightened around my heart, squeezing until I felt physical pain. If I had a heart attack and died, would they miss me?

  Probably not.

  Hands grab at me, pulling me toward a big crate. I hear the cries of women from within, calling out to be released. I try to stop them. I don’t want to be sold into slavery.

  I awoke with a start, my heart racing. Even though I was a little disoriented, the dream remained vivid in my mind. I glanced at the alarm clock which dimly glowed a few minutes after two o’clock a.m. A bit shaken, I stared at my bedroom door, and willed Tank to come through it.

  I’d never admit that his scare tactic in L.A. had worked but it would be nice if he’d wrap his arms around me and keep me safe.

  The door remained closed and a tiny ache settled around my heart. Why did I think he’d come to my room after promising to leave me alone? I guess I never expected him to keep his word, at least not when it came to sleeping with me.

  Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed across the room, opened the door slowly, crept across the hall and pressed my ear to the guest bedroom door. What did I think I was going to hear? Polly and Tank getting it on. I froze at the thought. They wouldn’t. Would they?

  I opened the door a crack and listened again. Tank’s gentle snoring was all I heard. I eased the door open further, poked my head in and looked around toward his bed.

  From the light of a street lamp, filtered through gauzy curtains, I saw him spread out, blankets all tangled, his arm flung over the edge of the bed. I edged in a little further. As I got closer I confirmed he was alone. A deep sigh breathed out of me from relief. And, call me a klutz, but I accidently bumped the bed.

  Who was I kidding? I practically kicked the bed to jerk him awake. My motivation for waking him was lost, even to me. Maybe I thrived on having my heart broke. I backed away and ducked down so he wouldn’t see me and think maybe it was a dream.

  “Trouble sleeping?”

  I knew by the inflection he was trying not to laugh. Embarrassed at getting caught, I stood.

  “Thought I heard a noise and came in to make sure you were okay,” I lied and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” he called out, his voice deep and husky from sleep. “Stay with me.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “To sleep only, darlin’. I miss having you next to me. And besides, I promised I wouldn’t lay a hand on you unless you asked.”

  I looked over my shoulder and felt so torn. The logical side of my brain said, ‘get out, don’t make a bigger fool of yourself’. But the mushy heart side, the one that needed him, shouted, ‘stay, stay, stay’.

  My heart was a traitor to my mind.

  “Okay, if you insist.” I crawled over him, into the bed. “Don’t think this makes up for arresting me in L.A.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and I curled against his chest, twining my legs with his.

  “Didn’t think it would. Go to sleep, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

  The steady rhythm of his breathing and heart soothed me. Through my hair I felt a feather light kiss and he pulled me in a little closer. I loved him so much.

  Within minutes, I was sound asleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  …his mouth follows the curve of my collarbone before sliding up to capture my lips. Instinctively I arch, and push up against his hard body. One hand caresses my thigh while the alarm clock rings, and rings, and rings….

  My hand groped around the nightstand, searching for the alarm clock. It took a few more rings before I realized the ‘alarm’ was actually a cell phone. Who would call this early in
the morning? I found the offending phone and glared at it. All the call display showed was unknown number, so I hit talk and held it to my ear.

  A disembodied voice droned, “Enter the four digit code from your computer.”

  What the…? I held the phone out and studied the unfamiliar icons. Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I looked again. Uh oh, not my phone, it was Tank’s. I punched end and dropped his phone back onto the nightstand. Simultaneously, I remembered I was in the guest bedroom. The same guest bedroom and bed where Tank slept and where coincidentally I happened to be all cozy beneath the duvet.

  Groaning softly, I flopped back onto the pillow and I covered my eyes with the back of my hand, flushing at the memory of using Tank as a personal body pillow. I pushed the duvet off and sat. Where was Tank anyway? The deep baritone of Tank singing, I Love This Bar, filtered down the hall. A giggle slipped past me.

  He only sang Toby Keith in the shower when he was in a good mood. This was almost always followed by a gourmet spread of French toast, crisp bacon and the best coffee in the state.

  I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not after practically begging to let me sleep with him. So much for the hands-off message I’d instigated. I skidded into my bedroom and fell back against the closed door just as the shower stopped. That had been close.

  I pushed away from the door and had my own solitary shower. Heat unfurled within me at the thought of Tank naked in the other shower. I dropped my head against the cool tile. Oh, how I wanted to skip my dripping body down the hall and surprise him like the good old days. The pull to join him was so strong my stomach churned. I had to get my thoughts and hormones under control. A friggin’ yo-yo bounced around less than I did.

  Although I wanted to, in a bad, bad way, I didn’t jump Tank. I finished my shower and proceeded to pull on clean jeans and the ever present tee shirt. Fresh coffee and the mouth-watering smell of bacon assailed my senses while I dressed for work. I’d never admit it to him, but I missed his cooking.

  What would I say to him over breakfast? He didn’t know I’d had this great epiphany before I fell asleep. And I wasn’t ready to be the first one to say ‘I love you.’ Not after what he had done. He left me, not the other way around. I expected some major groveling from the boy.

  Once dressed, I walked over to my dresser and put on my watch. As I hooked the clasp I glanced over the phone bills I’d left lying there. The ones Polly brought over last night. Smoothing out the paper, I examined the long list, turning to the second page. A series of phone calls made to a familiar number practically jumped off the page and alarm bells rang.

  Why were the Grants calling Tank?

  This tidbit of information was something I hadn’t expected. Harrison’s disappearance took another fascinating turn. In fact, going by this print out, they had been calling Tank for several months. My previous suspicions that this whole business had been too coincidental were confirmed by this list. I ticked off on my fingers all Tank ‘coincidences.’

  1. He’d shown up right after I was hired by Raymond Grant.

  2. He’d been waiting for me at the end of their drive.

  3. He’d been camped outside Harrison’s apartment.

  I looked again at the list and a harsh realization floored me. They must have told him I was going to L.A. Why would they hire me when they could have hired Tank? And why would Tank be talking to them if he suspected Harrison murdered a girl in L.A.?

  I needed some uninterrupted time to figure this out and the best place would be my office, alone. I grabbed the list, ran down the stairs and yelled out, “See you later.” I thought I heard Tank call out, “Wait!” but ignored him and couldn’t help but feel like a guilty husband ducking out on the loving wife, slaving over breakfast.

  My drive to work would normally take anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. This morning however, there was a detour on the main road. I followed the temporary road signs while listening to my favorite country music station. Consumed with thoughts of the phone records, the Grants and what possible link they could have to Tank, I didn’t notice that over time and a few right turns, the only car traveling down this narrow side road was mine.

  Merde.

  In certain situations, I’m bilingual.

  The fact that I was the only car on the street wasn’t my main concern. No. What really had my belly in a free-fall was that this bit of paved real estate was deserted. My last turn had brought me into a long ally bordered by empty warehouses with broken windows and lost dreams. The sinking feeling intensified when a huge tractor-trailer with a ramp attached to the back, loomed ahead.

  Actually, the truck itself hadn’t given me the lead gut feeling. The big gorilla in a suit with a gun, directing me into the back of said truck, made me realize I was in a bunch of doo doo.

  I had to stop my car and I couldn’t back up because my transmission was shot. I hadn’t been able to go into reverse for months and kept forgetting to take it in to be fixed. So, I turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.

  After my little scare in L.A., I’d made the decision I wouldn’t willingly go anywhere. I’d also seen enough Oprah to know—don’t ever go to the secondary place. Reaching over my left shoulder I locked the door, which gave me a perceived sense of safety. The knuckle dragger could shoot me, but someone would report the gunshot.

  Right?

  Looking around the area I realized maybe not, but a girl could always hope.

  I crouched down a bit lower in an attempt to make myself a smaller target and groped for my purse. Dread washed over me. Instead of my usual knock off designer bag, I still had the tacky hooker purse from L.A. and didn’t have the little gun I usually carried. My only weapon was pepper spray.

  Double Merde.

  I had less than thirty seconds to think about this because the goon approached my car, and I had to cover my head as he smashed in the driver’s window. Then, with apparent ease, he ripped the door off my hatchback.

  I gaped in disbelief. This car had been my mother’s and I’d inherited it when she died. The Blue Bomb was my last physical link to her and this rusted piece of tin may have been an oil guzzling, exhaust-belching piece of crap, but it was my piece of crap.

  Jaw clenched, my blood began to boil. Anger might have been out of place, given the circumstances, but I felt no guilt as once again, in less than twenty-four hours, I curled my fingers around the tiny little canister hidden in my purse and waited.

  When my attacker turned to come at me through the door, I held my arm out stiff and squeezed. This time mist spewed from the nozzle and hit his face full on. Howling, grabbing at his eyes, he backed away. Not a second to lose, I pretty much fell out of the car, scrambled to my feet, and took off as fast as my still stiff legs would let me.

  I found I limbered up pretty quick. Being faced with death will do that for you. I heard him shout and figured he’d be fumbling for his gun, but I wasn’t looking back to check. My eyes were on the prize of freedom at the end of the alley. The Olympic record for the one hundred yard dash was about to be broken when I heard bodies collide and a familiar voice cursing behind me.

  Tank? What was he doing here?

  I skidded to a stop and against my better judgement turned around. Tank and Gorilla Boy fought beside my car. A movement at the front of the truck caught my eye and I spotted a second person jumping down from the big rig.

  Now what? I couldn’t leave Tank alone with two guys, he’d be outnumbered. I looked around the alley for a weapon and at first couldn’t find anything. Over by a dumpster I spotted a piece of wood about the length of a small baseball bat.

  That would work.

  Digging the two by four out from under garbage I picked it up and tested its weight in my hand. Good and hefty. It was time to join the fight. The second guy, focused on Tank, didn’t even see me approach. Feet spread shoulder width apart I wound up my makeshift bat and cracked him on the back of the head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, out cold on the pavement. My arms reverberated f
rom the hit.

  Ow! Mama Mia… I let go of the two by four and grabbed my hand.

  A huge splinter lay lodged in my palm and although I pulled at it with my teeth, the sliver wouldn’t budge. I kicked the second person in the leg, to make sure he was really out cold and not playing possum.

  Tank continued to go toe to toe with the big guy. My would-be kidnapper had blood trickling from a cut lip, his breathing labored. Although muscle bound, he wasn’t in good shape.

  Sometime during the fight the gun had dropped to the ground, so I pounced on it and pointed the barrel at the two men. They continued to punch and grunt, taking no notice of me. I shouted out the only phrase I could think of to make them stop, “Freeze, Police!”

  Tank kept going but the massive Neanderthal, caught off guard, paused, which allowed Tank to take advantage of his break in concentration. With a swift upper cut, Tank laid him out flat. Gorilla Boy crumpled to the ground and probably saw little birds tweeting around his head.

  Not even breathing heavy Tank looked over his shoulder and grinned. With a dangerous glint in his eye he approached and pulled me against his chest. His head lowered and my lips parted, waiting for a kiss. Instead he whispered in my ear.

  “Thanks, Shelby. Now find some rope and tie up the little guy.” He slipped the gun from my hand. “I’ll take care of Tony here.”

  “You know these guys?” How did he know this goon’s name and why did I think he’d kiss me?

  Tank didn’t answer and returned to where Tony lay. I guess I’d find out later, when we had that much needed long talk. I opened the trunk of my car where I kept emergency supplies—a length of rope handily being one of them. It took a few minutes, but I hog-tied the still unconscious man, snagging the splinter several times with the rough rope. The little guy had a cool tattoo on the back of his hand. It was a serpent, inked to look like it was a part of his body, slithering around his bones. Any movement of his hand made the snake ‘come to life’.