Absolute Liability

by Jennifer Becton

  She gave me a skeptical look, hurried back to the kitchen, and returned with my key.

  I took it and said, “Thanks. I’ll be back later to catch up.”

  “Okay,” she said with a stern look, “but I expect you to come back and explain this abduction business we heard about on the news. The only reason I’m letting you out of here is that the story was retracted so quickly, and we knew you were okay. But I still want to know everything.”

  I promised I would tell all and opened the door, preparing to dash back to my house, only to find Vincent lingering on Helena’s stoop.

  “Jesus,” I said, startled. “What are you doing out here?”

  “Key,” he said, holding out his hand as if I should just turn it over to him.

  I glared, annoyed at him for surprising me and even more annoyed at his imperious attitude. And now Helena was looking between Vincent and me with wide, curious eyes. “Everything okay?”

  I thought about handing the key to Vincent because it was the quickest way out of this awkward moment, but I turned back to Helena.

  “New boyfriend?” she asked.

  I almost laughed at the idea of Vincent being described as something as diminutive as someone’s “boyfriend.”

  “No, not a boyfriend, but he’s as annoying as one,” I shot over my shoulder.

  Helena’s eyes seemed to be looking behind me, so I turned to follow her gaze out the open door.

  Yup, she noticed the police car parked in the street. “What is going on?” she demanded. “Tell me right now.”

  “Well, what the news didn’t tell you about my supposed abduction was that someone else was taken and so was my work bag, which happened to contain my house key.”

  “You’re saying some nut job is in your house?”

  “No, just that we’re being careful, ma’am,” Vincent said from behind me.

  Helena looked from Vincent to me. “How worried should I be right now? Because I’m starting to feel like I ought to take the baby down to the basement in case there’s gunfire.”

  “I don’t think there will be any of that tonight,” I said as I glanced back and saw one of the Weebles remove a shotgun from the trunk of the cruiser. I turned back to her. “But maybe we should shut the door.”

  “I’m going to the basement. Let me know when this is over, and I expect to hear everything.” She looked at Vincent as if there might be a story there. “And I mean everything.”

  “I’ll be over later,” I promised.

  Helena shut the door slowly, peeking out until the last possible second.

  I glared at Vincent. “Great job. You came over here and scared her for no reason.”

  “We won’t know if there’s no reason until you give me that key.”

  We’d made it across the street when I said, “I’m coming in too.”

  I expected him to argue with me, but instead he stopped, looked at me, and then leaned down to remove a small hammerless revolver from his ankle holster. “Not without a weapon you aren’t.”

  He extended it to me in his palm, and I took it, careful to keep my finger away from the trigger and to point the muzzle in a safe direction. “Okay, let’s get this over with,” I said as we joined the Weebles. I handed my key to Tolt. “No need to break down the door.”

  Jones went to watch the back door, while Tolt, Vincent, and I entered through the front. I went ahead of Vincent, and the three of us made quick work of clearing the house, checking each room on both floors.

  When we were certain that the abductor was not in my house, Vincent reholstered his weapon, and I returned the revolver to him and then let Tolt in the back door.

  “Everything seems fine out here, ma’am. Is there anything else we can do for you?” Tolt asked.

  “No. Thank you for coming out.”

  As the Weebles left the house, Maxwell—my black and white tuxedo cat—crept out of his hiding place under the sofa table. He was not a fan of visitors, so it was entirely within his character to have remained hidden during the search.

  I scooped him up and hugged him close while Vincent walked around the open living space, overtly studying everything in the room. “Anything out of order here?”

  I looked around the living room and kitchen and then walked down the hall to peek into the office, which was technically my formal dining room. I was a casual gal. I didn’t have any china or real silver flatware, and I certainly didn’t host big family dinners every Sunday, not with my family. All my entertaining was done in my informal eat-in kitchen. I liked it that way.

  “No,” I called back to him after I had scanned the work surface and checked my desktop computer for signs of tampering. “Nothing in here either.”

  “What about upstairs?”

  I walked in that direction with Vincent following closely. I mentally thanked God that I had thrown my dirty undies in the hamper even if I hadn’t had time to make the bed that morning.

  I studied the guest room first and then the master, being sure that the gun safe in my bedside table was locked securely.

  “Nothing is out of place.”

  “Seems like something is out of place.” He eyed the bed. “Didn’t your mother teach you to make your bed?”

  “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to comment on a woman’s boudoir?” I plopped Maxwell in the center of the bed as if that somehow emphasized my point.

  “Just making conversation.”

  “Choose another topic.” And venue, I thought, as I pushed my way past him and headed back downstairs and straight to the entryway, hoping Vincent would take the hint and leave.

  I was right by the front door when I heard the sound of the knob being jostled. I watched, momentarily frozen, as it began to turn. The deadbolt caught, and then there was more jiggling of the hardware, probably my key being inserted.

  My heart began an erratic rhythm in my chest, and out of habit I reached for the gun that was not on my belt and cursed inwardly.

  Vincent, however, had his gun drawn and ready. He motioned for me to open the door as he positioned himself to take down the suspect.

  I shook my head and instead dove for his ankle holster, coming up again with the revolver.

  Now I was ready to face the bastard who wanted to kidnap me.

  I held up my left hand, gun still ready in my right, and counted down from three.

  3-2-1.

  My hand trembled as I whipped the deadbolt to the unlocked position and jerked the door open. But my gun held steady, finger off the trigger, as I trained it at a figure who was already on his knees, apparently startled.

  “Show me your hands!” Vincent’s voice shattered the quiet and ratcheted my tension up several notches. “On the ground. Now!”

  The man flopped facedown at our feet with his hands extended in front of him. He seemed eager to follow Vincent’s bellowed commands.

  Vincent landed on him with all two-hundred-plus pounds focused on the knee going between the guy’s shoulder blades. He torqued one arm behind the suspect’s back, reholstered his weapon, and removed the handcuffs from his belt in one practiced movement.

  He pulled the man to a sitting position, and we all stared at each other for a moment.

  “What the hell is going on?” the guy asked.

  “You tell us,” Vincent said. “What are you doing here?”

  The man’s eyes shifted quickly between Vincent and me. “Who are you guys?”

  “Georgia Department of Insurance,” I said while Vincent showed his badge.

  “Department of Insurance? I didn’t even know such a thing existed. Am I late on a payment or something?” He made the joke, but he didn’t sound confident about it. He seemed to be trying to convince himself that the whole situation was a joke and not deadly serious.

  “Don’t be stupid,” I said. “Why are you here?”

  The man looked at me. I was still holding the gun, but it was pointed safely at the floor. “Can you put that thing away?” he asked, his eyes w
ide and nervous.

  “Oh,” I said as I returned the revolver to Vincent. “Now, answer the question. What are you doing at my house?”

  He glanced down at his shirt. “AAA Locks, ma’am.” The words were printed right across his chest. “You called to have your locks changed.”

  I read his shirt again and then glanced outside. A truck emblazoned with AAA Locks was parked behind Vincent’s GMC.

  Vincent hauled the man up and removed the cuffs. “What were you thinking? You don’t ring the bell, just start turning the knob? Looks a lot like attempted breaking and entering.”

  The man rubbed his wrists. “I was checking to see what kind of hardware I was dealing with. Believe me, I’ll ring first next time.”

  The locksmith, who turned out to be named Tommy, looked like a stoner from way back, but he seemed competent as he set to work replacing the locks on all my exterior doors. I chose the pricey ones with the extended throw deadbolts. No risk taking here.

  I had a strong suspicion that my money would immediately fund a night of binge drinking for Tommy and his closest friends. Well, what he did with the money was his business. I was just glad my home was going to be secure again.

  And anyway, he probably deserved a good buzz after having been thrown on the ground and handcuffed tonight.

  Vincent and I went back to the kitchen so Tommy could earn his drinking money.

  “Coke?” I asked because that’s what one did when a guest was in the house.

  “Sure.”

  I took a can out of the refrigerator and handed it to him. He cracked it and took a long drink. I grabbed another out of the fridge and opened it while Vincent planted himself at my kitchen table. He took a chair that allowed him a view into the backyard to his left and into the main area of my house on his right.

  It didn’t look like he was in a hurry to leave. He was probably taking up protection detail again.

  Well, I could protect myself. Besides, once my locks were changed, I’d be out of imminent danger, and that would be done very soon. “You don’t have to stick around, you know,” I said as casually as I could.

  “Not finished with my drink yet.”

  “Then you’ll have to sit by yourself because I have some calls to make.”

  I left the room before he could respond, and my first call was to Helena. I gave her the all clear and begged off any explanations until the next day. I had to promise to come by for breakfast before work and fill her in. I cringed at the early wake-up time, but I knew I’d be falling into bed quickly that night, as tired as I was.

  Then I called Tripp again.

  “Did you find Amber?” I asked.

  “No, but we found her boyfriend Irving.”

  “Yeah?” I could hear voices in the background, and I wondered where he was.

  “I don’t think he’s connected. Don’t get me wrong, he’s creepy as hell. He’s got a tongue ring.” I could practically see Tripp shaking his head in disgust. “Dudes shouldn’t have tongue rings. Chicks maybe.”

  I thought tongue piercings were unappealing on either sex, but I didn’t tell him so. It would just encourage him to opine further on the matter. “Alibi?”

  “Been in class all day. We checked with his professors.”

  “Irving is at the station now?”

  “Yeah, he gave us a list a mile long of Amber’s other ex-boyfriends. God, I hope they don’t all have tongue piercings.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the thought of Tripp interviewing a long line of men with piercings.

  I lowered my voice. “You know a Mark Vincent from the DOI?”

  “Isn’t there someone in your department you could ask?”

  “He’s new and seems to have a law enforcement background,” I persisted. “I know you know people.”

  “I don’t know him.”

  That wasn’t particularly surprising. There are a lot of law enforcement officers. LEOs don’t all get together at a big clubhouse and hang out. That’s just not how it works. It’s not that I was suspicious of Mark Vincent, but I wanted to know who I was dealing with.

  “Could you ask around?”

  “I’ve got contacts, but I’m pretty busy.”

  “He’s in my kitchen.”

  “He works fast.” I knew he was waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

  “Ha, ha, ha,” I said. “Ted called him in early. He’s big into CYA. I’ll be working with Vincent until this is solved.”

  “Let me make a call. I’ll get back to you when I can.”

  I zipped through my contact list and found my mom first. I got the machine. She was obviously beside herself with worry. I left a message letting her know I was okay and would be by on Sunday for lunch, just like usual. Then I called my dad, who actually answered.

  “Julia, everything okay?” His voice didn’t sound panicked, but he did seem slightly concerned. I’d take it. Slight concern from my dad was like panic from anyone else. That was Dad. Everything in moderation, even emotion. Ordinarily, that was one of his nicer traits—he didn’t fly off the handle or punish unnecessarily—but when you were in the wrong, you were in for it.

  Dad’s emotional reaction to Tricia’s rape was why he and my mom couldn’t hold it together. He pushed his anger and grief within and turned quiet. My mom went the other way. She was twice as busy and socially active as she had been in my childhood; yet all her activities seemed just as empty as my father’s emotional reservoir.

  “You heard the thing on the radio?” I asked.

  “Hell, yeah, I did, but before I could even pick up the phone and call to find out what was going on, they were retracting it. I knew you’d call when you could. Now tell me what happened.”

  “It was all a mistake.” I explained briefly about Amber, omitting the part about me having been the potential target, and told him I’d call when things settled down a bit.

  Before we hung up, he told me to be careful.

  I felt a little guilty for withholding the facts from my dad. But it was the right thing to do. If he knew, he would only shut down even more. Or worse, it could be the trigger that finally let all his anger out. I didn’t want either to happen, so I squashed my guilt and concentrated on finding another bag for toting my loaner laptop and other files I’d need in the investigations.

  I had just found a suitable replacement when my phone chirped. Tripp.

  “Hey, what’ve you got for me?”

  “I made a few calls about Vincent. He’s got a good reputation. Career military until he joined DOI, specializes in protection details, has a good record. I think you’re in good hands.”

  I bit back a remark about not needing to be in anybody’s hands, but I enjoyed ending the call with a violent stab of my finger, as if he could somehow hear my indignation.

  I returned to the kitchen to find Vincent sitting just as calm as you please. He’d taken off his sport coat, exposing his gun, a business-like Sig Sauer, just behind his right hip. Apparently feeling unthreatened by Vincent or his Sig Sauer, Maxwell had returned downstairs and taken back his rightful place on the couch.

  That was as gregarious as Maxwell ever got with my guests. When it was just him and me, he turned into a slapstick comedian, and he liked to get himself wedged into all kinds of tight places. I once found him tunneling from the crawlspace to the main floor via the fireplace intake grate. There’s nothing like seeing a cat emerge from beneath the house in a fit of yowls and claws to inspire some spur-of-the-moment home improvement. I promptly closed up the grate and installed vent-free gas logs.

  Curled up on the blanket—my blanket, by the way—on the couch, Maxwell was a creature to be envied. He did his own thing and was comfortable with it, even if it was running away. He didn’t worry about pleasing people; he expected people to please him. But his presence in the room showed that he had given our guest his tacit approval.

  I glanced back at Vincent. I wasn’t so sure I agreed with Maxwell on this one. Vincent looked like he’d been hewn f
rom stone. He hadn’t moved in a few minutes, and I had the crazy inclination to reach over and ensure that he still had a pulse.

  I resisted, of course.

  Instead, I sat beside him and took off my shoes, stretching my toes under the table.

  We waited as Tommy worked. Other than the clicking of his tools, it was quiet. I swear I could hear the clock ticking all the way from my office.

  Finally, Tommy came through the back door carrying his tool chest.

  “Done?” I asked.

  “Yes, ma’am. Want to inspect my work while I write up the bill?” He handed me a set of keys. “All the locks are keyed the same. There are two extra copies there in case you need them.”

  I nodded and then walked to each door to check the locks, making sure they were installed firmly and the keys worked.

  I checked the garage and back doors, and everything looked good. Last, I went to the front door, opened it, and tried the key. Satisfied with Tommy’s job, I was looking at my watch, surprised that it had grown so dark, when a car started down the block, drawing my attention. The headlights came on, illuminating me against the side of my house. I lifted my hand to shade my eyes as I watched it enter into the nearest driveway and turn around to leave in the other direction. The shadowy vehicle disappeared quickly into the night.

  Probably just a visitor leaving a neighbor’s house for the evening.

  But I couldn’t help feeling paranoid.

  I returned inside and locked the door behind me.

  After paying Tommy for my new locks, I let him out of the house and went to get rid of Vincent.

  His blue eyes watched me as I reentered the kitchen.

  “All secure?” he asked.

  “All secure,” I said, tempted to salute.

  “Good.” He shifted a little in his chair. “Listen. We’re going to be working together for a while. You already know these fraud cases. I’ll get up to speed tonight, and tomorrow you can fill me in on what’s not in those documents you gave me. We’ll conduct interviews, but we’ll also show Amber’s picture around.”