ACCORDING TO PLAN

by Barr, Sue

  Face and hands scraped, Tank lay there gasping, trying to catch his breath. The bouncer must have hit him in the solar plexus as well. He stopped trying to push up and flopped back down.

  He was so tired, so very, very tired. A woman’s soft voice cut through his drunken haze. It sounded as though she was right in his face. “Geez, Steele, your breath would peel wallpaper.”

  Small hands wedged beneath his chest and tried to roll him over.

  “Man, you weigh a ton,” she grunted, still trying to move him.

  She was starting to tick him off. He pried one bloodshot eye open and growled, “Go ‘way. Lemme sleep.”

  “Oh no, sunshine. We need to get you into a motel and sober you up. I’m tired of watching you drink yourself into the grave you so obviously desire.”

  Tank pushed himself onto his side and caught the woman around the waist, pulling her so that she fell on top of him. He cupped her bottom and held her, rocking his hips, pushing into her natural cradle. It felt so good to be holding Shelby again.

  “Desire? You wanna feel my obvious desire?” He bumped up his hips and the woman gasped.

  She struggled to free herself, all the while cursing. “Let me go, you drunk Neanderthal. What is it with guys? You only think with one thing.”

  She managed to free herself from his arms, but as she pushed off, he grabbed her hand and held tight. He couldn’t lose her again. He brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her palm. “Shelby?”

  He couldn’t keep his eyes open. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wakeup. She tugged her hand from him and whispered. “You sure loved her, didn’t you.”

  With startling clarity Tank realized it wasn’t Shelby in the parking lot with him, but Liz. As he sank back into drunken oblivion he heard her say. “He’s in pretty rough shape. Get Rodie over here.”

  ****

  Bright lights hurt his eyes and Tank brought his hand up to shade them. Squinting, he noticed the curtains in the room drawn wide, the window cracked open. He groped around for a bottle, which should have been beside the bed on the floor. There was nothing there.

  Propping himself onto his elbow, he leaned over to look for one. The room swam into focus and he saw it was tidy and smelled clean. His clothes lay draped over a chair and he was under the blankets in his underwear. He didn’t remember putting on underwear.

  Shoot, he didn’t remember taking off his clothes. Balancing on his hands, he got his bearings before nature’s call forced him to get up and shuffle into the bathroom.

  He stood facing the toilet and, left arm braced against the wall, aimed for the bowl.

  “Well, well. You’re finally awake,” a voice drawled from the door.

  Tank looked under his supporting arm, acknowledging a thin, dark haired man leaning against the doorjamb, a slick smirk on his face. He flushed the toilet, washed his hands, dried them on a pristine white towel and then drove his fist into the man’s face, dropping him to the floor. Stepping over the prone body, Tank stalked over to his clothes and started dragging them on.

  He cast a glance back at the man, who’d raised himself to his feet and now rubbed his reddened jaw. Tank waited to feel any remorse. Nope, nothing.

  “What do you want, Rodie?” His anger simmered. Why hadn’t Rodie gotten Shelby out of the house before anything happened?

  Rodie sat on the edge of the bed, keeping a wary eye on Tank. “Is this how you say hello to old friends?”

  Tank launched himself from the chair and grabbed Rodie by the shirt collar, dragging him up so that Rodie’s face was inches from his own. “Are you my friend?” Tank sneered. “What happened? Start talkin’ or I’ll drop you again. And this time I won’t be nice about it.”

  Rodie squirmed and pushed. “Hey man, don’t get testy with me. I tried to get your sorry backside out before things went down.”

  Tank released his grip, letting Rodie fall back onto the bed. “Yeah, remind me to thank you, when I care.”

  Going over to his jacket, hanging by the door, Tank reached into a pocket. He brought out a gun, checked the magazine and satisfied it was loaded, tucked it into the back waistband of his jeans. Shrugging into his jacket, he faced Rodie.

  “Look, I get that you lost your old lady.” Rodie ran his fingers through his hair, causing the ends to stand straight up. “I know how much she meant to you, more than anybody. But you gotta move on, man. Harrison’s been giving us more details than a horny cheerleader’s diary ever since Vinnie was iced—”

  “Vinnie Malone?”

  “Yup. One and the same. After the botched kidnap attempt he was found in the back of a movie theatre, throat slit wide open. Kind of ironic when you think about it.”

  Tank paused putting on his boots. “Why?”

  “The movie playing was The Godfather.” Rodie chuckled softly, rolling a coin between his fingers absentmindedly.

  Tank had finished dressing, but stayed seated in the chair beside the nicked wooden table. He registered the name of the motel on the stationery. It looked like he was in Arkansas. He hated Arkansas.

  Rodie continued, “It’s time to get back into the game, man.”

  “Don’t you get it Rodie? I don’t care anymore.”

  Rodie stood and paced with quick, nervous steps. “You should care. Big Boss needs to be brought down. I’ve spent seven years undercover ferreting this jerk out and you need retribution, man.”

  “What I need is for you to get out of my sight.”

  “Nah, that’s too easy, man. Look, Big Boss put the hit on you, not the girl. This was personal, taking out your girl this way. It’s gotta be someone who knows you.”

  Tank inhaled sharply at the forced memory of Shelby’s house. The fire blackened front door and window. How the glass and wood had blown into the house, destroying the hall entrance.

  He sat ramrod straight.

  Blown into the house? Think, Steele!

  Rodie walked to the window and through a crack in the curtains, looked outside. A habit most field agents couldn’t lose, no matter where they were. A glimmer of an idea took shape as Tank watched Rodie pace.

  “Rodie?”

  Rodie stopped and looked over. His eyes shifted to the window, then back to Tank. “What?”

  Tank leaned back in the chair, stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. “What does it mean to you, the explosion blowing everything into the house?”

  Rodie scratched his head as he pondered the question. “I guess it means the charges were light, laid maybe at the base of the windows. I’ve seen photos. Damage was not that bad once all the smoke cleared. It looked a lot worse than it actually was.”

  Tank ran a hand over his chin. He needed a shave. “I agree. It had to be someone in the area who knew when we’d be there.”

  He’d shoved the memories of that night down deep and hadn’t allowed them any air to breath, but now he brought them out, recalling all the details with heart sickening precision. There hadn’t been any suspicious vehicles or any strangers on the street. Shelby’s corner of the world had been a nice quiet area with neighbors who’d lived there for years. Everybody knew everybody. Regis was the only person around Shelby’s house the night before the explosion. Tank recalled Shelby’s aversion to him, and without realizing it, said his name aloud.

  “Did you say Regis?” Rodie perked up. “That’s interesting.”

  Tank waved his hand dismissively. “I’m just thinking out loud. He’s Shelby’s neighbor and he was there the night before the explosion, but he’s a mama’s boy. He couldn’t find his way down a straight tunnel, even with GPS and directions.”

  “Hold on a minute. That name came up a few times when we were talking to Harrison. We brushed it off because Harrison seems to think he’s just a peripheral player. Maybe he was trying to impress the boss by taking you out, but got the girl instead. He’d blend in, no one would notice him if he ‘scoped out the place.”

  Tank remembered seeing Regis come from aroun
d the side of Shelby’s house when she’d returned from L.A., not from the sidewalk. He’d noticed him as he parked his bike on the street. At the time he thought the weasel only wanted to ask her out again, but now he sensed something deeper, more sinister.

  Then he recalled the offhand comment Regis made, I thought you were in L.A.

  He’d been so stupid. Or blind. How could he have missed the signs? Tank’s voice was deadly cold when he said to Rodie. “Call Neil. I want a surveillance team on Regis.”

  ****

  Feet kicked out over the porch railing, Tank sipped a beer and watched agency vehicles and swarms of forensic teams arrive, only to disappear into Regis’ house. Tank appeared calm, almost nonchalant, but he raged on the inside.

  Surveillance confirmed Regis was involved with Big Boss and had set the charges at Shelby’s house. Tank’s first impulse had been to drag the simpering worm out of his house and take him to a secluded, quiet place where he would do things. Things that took time.

  He daydreamed about it, relishing in the pain and fear Regis would experience, but the burning anger dissipated and Tank decided revenge was best served by letting Regis sweat it out in prison. Tank would let it slip, when they interviewed Regis that a few of the bigger men behind the cold silent walls were looking for dates. Regis had a vivid imagination. Let him figure it out.

  His cell phone vibrated. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled the phone out and checked caller I.D. His tight voice betrayed the tension coiling in the back of his neck. “Steele.”

  “The little ferret’s been under our noses the whole time.” Rodie’s excited voice shot through the phone. “It appears he was more involved with Big Boss than we thought. Regis did a lot of business for him, using gadgets on the phone to disguise his voice—”

  “Have you got him in custody?” Tank asked.

  “Yeah and you should see his basement, man. Freaking space age.”

  “I’ll be there in two.” Tank turned off his phone, set the empty beer bottle on the porch, and walked down the street. How convenient Regis lived only three houses away. The irony was not lost on him.

  ****

  The interior of the house bustled with activity and Tank, pushing by some agents searching a closet, made his way to the basement. With one sweeping glance he saw Regis had set up an intricate computer lab on the right and the left side of the basement housed bankers boxes stacked five high and he couldn’t tell how many deep. The room felt cold, almost sterile, smelling of bleach and chlorine.

  Regis had been meticulous with his record keeping and surveillance of Big Boss’s ‘troops.’ Tank looked over the shoulder of the computer forensic analyst, watching column after column of numbers scroll down one of three screens, set up on a steel tube desk.

  “What do you have?” Tank thought his eyes would cross. There were a lot of dates, names and numbers.

  “What don’t we have would be a better question. Regis tried to clean his computer before we got here, but I’ve been able to reconstruct most of it.” The analyst took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He indicated the screen on the left. “This file is drug deals. Who bought, who sold. See the ones in red?”

  Tank leaned in and saw a few names highlighted in red.

  “We think these are ones who didn’t pay.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Red is dead.” The analyst scrolled the page back up a few screens and the cursor hovered over a name, Dino PasQuale. “See Dino here?”

  “Yeah, wasn’t he found floating a few years ago?’

  “Yup, that’s him and right about the time Dino was killed, you’ll see Angelo’s name in the payment column.”

  Tank nodded. That made sense. It was a well-known fact that Dino’s brother Angelo had continued the business. “What else have you got?”

  “Lots. This egg head kept everything. This one…” A few clicks and another file popped up on the second screen. “…itemizes robberies in the area and a few out of state. He lists who Big Boss hired, who got what percentage of the take. He even rated them on a sliding scale. It’s like hitting a gold mine. We’ve been able to get some warrants out on a few people, all because our little buddy is an anal idiot. Too bad a lot of the trails are dead ends with closed numbered accounts, but we’re working every angle we’ve got to find the identity of Big Boss.”

  “Agent Steele?” Tank turned to see another agent, hesitating at the foot of the stairs. “I think you should see this.”

  Tank followed him to the second floor, toward the master bedroom. He stopped cold in the doorway and took a deep breath, forcing himself to enter and take a closer look. His hands clenched and he shook with an almost uncontrollable anger.

  The illegal business Regis was involved in, Tank could understand, but what he saw in this room kicked him in the gut. The far wall was covered in a collage of photos taken of Shelby, proving Regis had stalked her for years.

  There were photos of her at work, talking on the phone in her kitchen even sunbathing in her back yard. But the one that almost had Tank drop to his knees was of him and Shelby, taken through a window. He recognized the dress she was wearing. He’d just proposed, and she’d said yes. Closing his eyes, he still smelled her perfume.

  The picture forever encapsulated them in a passionate embrace, his one hand cupping her face, the other pulling her close to his body. Her arms were wound around his neck with her fingers tangled in his hair. He’d been kissing her passionately, deeply and so in love, and he hated Regis for taking her away before he could explain that he never stopped loving her.

  The agent finished snapping photos of the scene and removed that same picture off the wall, and began to place it into an evidence pouch. Tank snatched the photo out of his hand. The agent, taken by surprise, reached for the picture. “Sir, that’s evidence.”

  “This one stays with me. She’s more than a manila folder full of photos.” Tank’s voice brooked no argument and the agent, after a slight pause nodded, moving over to other pictures on the wall. Tank carefully tucked the photo into his wallet and turned his back on the abhorrent shrine.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Everything hurt.

  I tried turning my head side to side. My stomach rolled with nausea, but not enough to throw up. Nothing seemed familiar as I looked around a spacious room with pale yellow walls. Bright blue curtains framed a large, oversized window and I could tell dusk approached. The double bed I lay in was comfortable enough and a quick check under the patterned quilt showed I wore a lacy, white cotton nightgown. Did I even own a nightgown and where was I?

  I raised myself to a sitting position and my stomach lurched again, but quickly settled. On the far side of the room opposite the bed, I saw an adjoining bathroom. Relief rolled over me. Nature called and the last thing I wanted was to try and stumble down some hallway.

  With cautious movements I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Kneecaps shaking, I began to cross the room when dizziness hit me full force. Edges of black crept in around my vision and I had to prop my weight on the bed with one arm.

  Head lowered, to staunch the feeling of nausea that had returned with a vengeance, I heard the door creak open. Feeling like a naughty child caught out of bed I froze, my gaze raised to a tall, lean stranger standing in the doorway.

  He rushed to my side and wrapped a strong arm around my waist, giving me the support I needed. “Wait a minute. I’ll help you,” he said, “Where were you going?”

  “Bathroom. NOW!” Urgent need crowded out time for niceties and small talk. I didn’t even mind that a complete stranger was going to help me.

  “Then we better hustle. I’ll get you there and give you some privacy.”

  He helped me to the bathroom and then eased back out, closing the door. I waited until I knew for certain he’d moved away before I sat to attend my needs.

  The smallest of tasks almost proved too much for me. I stood to wash my hands and the room dipped and swaye
d. Only by hanging onto the counter did I stop myself from falling.

  In the mirror, a stranger’s bright blue eyes stared back at me. A sterile gauze strip at my temple blended in with the pasty white of my forehead. There was also gauze on the side of my neck and a few bruises on my shoulder peeked out from under the collar of the nightgown. No shadow of recognition hit me.

  I must have made a noise because after a light tap, the door opened and he popped his head in again.

  “You okay? Do you need a hand getting back to bed?”

  Weakly, I nodded.

  “Don’t mind me.” He scooped me up, easily carrying me back into the bedroom. With gentle care I was laid onto the bed and then the stranger pulled the duvet to cover me again.

  He dragged a chair from under the window to the side of the bed, sat on it and leaned forward until his forearms rested on his thighs. He had thick, wavy, chestnut hair, chocolate brown eyes and a rugged face.

  I wished he had hair the color of burnished oak, tipped with golden highlights and green eyes, or did I like blue? He looked at me with a concerned expression. My eyelids drooped and I struggled to keep them open.

  “Who are you?” I finally asked.

  “I’m…a friend.” The pause made my brow furrow. That was not an honest answer. How did I know that?

  My last coherent thought, before I fell back asleep was, “Who am I?”

  ****

  Before I knew it a week had passed. Caleb, that was the stranger’s name, helped me with most things and brought me meals. Conversation never strayed into personal areas. In fact, Caleb didn’t talk much at all. Although he told me my name was Dixie.

  As my strength returned I began sitting on the window seat in my bedroom, looking outside. The mountains in the distance created a slate blue border for the valley spread below the house, which rested on a remote ridge.

  Sunsets were my favorite time of day. When the sun began to disappear behind the line of mountains, tinges of red and orange were flung into the sky, changing to a purple so deep it seemed almost blue. Darkness would settle, gather in the hollow of the valley and then climb, overtaking our ridge. Something that beautiful should have been memorable, but it wasn’t.