Forbidden Stranger

by Marilyn Pappano

  Amanda’s glance flickered his way. “She could already be dead.”

  “No. Intellectually I know that’s possible, but in my gut—No.” The only people who got killed on his cases were the bad guys, and even that was rare. When it came right down to it, most people wanted to live, even if it was in prison.

  “You ready to go?” Evan asked, talking to Amanda. He was going to follow her back to Almost Heaven, to listen to her conversation and get her the hell out of there if something went wrong.

  “Yeah.” Her smile was wobbly and her fingers when she squeezed Rick’s hand were icy. “Can I borrow a jacket from Julia so I don’t get soaked?”

  “Sure.”

  She went to the coat closet and sorted through them before settling on a trench coat that was so not her style. It covered her practically to her ankles and belted around her waist, and it had a hood that swallowed her and a fake cape sort of thing across the back. She pulled the hood forward until her face was nothing but shadow, then started toward the door.

  Rick grabbed his own slicker. “I’m going, too.”

  Baker started to protest, but Evan nodded. As long as Evan wasn’t seen—and he was the best at not being seen—then Rick wouldn’t be.

  Amanda climbed into the Camaro, started the engine and slowly backed out. He was surprised she could drive a stick shift, but why not? She did a lot of things her peers couldn’t do.

  Hell, she didn’t even have any peers.

  Evan was driving a beat-up van, with enough dents to make a body man rich, a broken antenna, taillights missing their covers and taped over with red plastic and a cracked windshield. He followed her at a distance, turning into the business just before Almost Heaven and circling to the rear where a row of scraggly bushes between parking lots gave some cover.

  Amanda parked near the back door of the club. Harry’s Cadillac was in its usual space. It was habit for him to stay after closing on Saturday nights and do the books and the liquor inventory, according to Amanda. He usually finished about the time the Sunday-morning cleaning crew arrived, and he let them in before leaving.

  It wasn’t routine for Rosey to be there, as well, but his stretch limo was parked nearby. It appeared empty.

  Looking small and insubstantial in the too-big coat, Amanda climbed the steps and opened the rear door with her own key. The instant it closed behind her, Rick’s stomach knotted. He hadn’t apologized to her yet, hadn’t told her he loved her, hadn’t tried to talk her out of this. He was letting her walk into danger. No matter that she’d volunteered, he should have stopped her. But for Julia’s sake…

  He was just like his brother, using Amanda for his own purposes. But all Robbie had hurt was her pride. Rick could cost her her life.

  The receiver picked up footsteps, doors opening, then Amanda’s voice. “Hello? Harry? Rosey, are you here?”

  “Amanda, is that you? Come on in here. Take off that wet coat and have a seat.” Rosey sounded genuinely happy to see her, though he must be wondering what had brought her out at four-thirty in the morning.

  “I’ll keep the coat, but I’ll take the seat. Harry keeps this place frigid.”

  “Gotta cool off the customers.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  “She’s in Tahiti and loving it. She’s staying in a little cabin on stilts above the bay and says it’s wonderful. Huh. When we visited my uncle Ernest years ago and stayed in his fishing cabin on stilts above the bayou, that wasn’t so wonderful. But pay a thousand dollars a night for it, and it sure looks a lot better.”

  Amanda laughed, sounding as natural as ever. “I bet Tahiti doesn’t have the mosquitoes Uncle Ernest had.”

  “And Uncle Ernest didn’t have the Jacuzzi tub, the satellite TV and the air-conditioning.”

  There was a pause, then Harry spoke for the first time. “If the chitchat’s done, what brings you out so late, Amanda?”

  “I heard about Rica.”

  “Yeah, well, you’ve been in the business long enough to know that girls move on. Hell, you’ve moved on like that a few times yourself.”

  “I also heard about Julia. That she was threatening to go to the police about Rica and now she’s just gone, too.”

  Neither Rosey nor Harry spoke.

  Wishing for video to go with the audio, Rick stared at the building. It was pretty much deserted, with only Harry and Rosey inside and Rosey’s driver outside. Maybe Baker had had a good idea when he’d popped off about Rick kicking Harry’s ass. The man was past sixty; Rick could take him. As for fat Rosey, he’d just shoot his ass, grab Amanda and get the hell out.

  And in a few days, maybe a few weeks, they would find Julia’s body dumped somewhere.

  “Listen, you guys know I’m quitting in four weeks,” Amanda said.

  “Yeah, to take a job at that fancy college. One of our own hittin’ the big-time.” Rosey sounded like he was smiling. “I’m proud of you, Amanda.”

  “I’m proud of myself…as far as that goes. Not so much about other stuff. I know what’s been happening with the girls. Rica, Tasha, DinaBeth, Lisa. I know it’s happening to other clubs, too, in Charleston and Macon and Savannah. I know these parties are kind of a sales party. You provide the girls, the buyers look them over, even try them out, and choose the ones they want. And then they’re moved, probably out of the country.”

  Neither man made a sound.

  “I’ve known for a while, and truth is, I really didn’t care. Until you took Julia. I want her back. And because Rica is important to her, I want her back, too.”

  There was a long silence, two, maybe three minutes. Rick admired Amanda’s courage in waiting it out instead of getting shaken and starting to ramble.

  “What is Julia to you?” Rosey asked at last.

  “She’s my protégée. I taught her everything she knows. I brought her here to dance. I told her this was a good place with good bosses. And she’s my friend.”

  That was a nice touch, Rick thought, especially when she must be wondering if anything about Julia had been based in truth. He and Julia had both misrepresented themselves to her and she must have a few doubts.

  “You’ve been here a long time, Amanda. You’ve made a lot of money for us. But why would you think we would just turn over two girls to you—if we even have them?”

  “Because I have something that’s worth so much more.”

  “And what would that be?” Harry’s voice was gravelly, as if he’d talked too much recently. Having one of his girls threaten to bring the police down on his establishment could certainly necessitate a lot of conversation.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware that Rick Calloway and I have been…involved.”

  “I don’t care what you do with the help as long as it’s not on my time.”

  “Yeah, you should talk to Chad and Dawn about that. There’s a reason we knock on doors around here.”

  Rick grimaced. “I thought I was the only one unlucky enough to have walked in on that.”

  “So what about you and Calloway?”

  “He’s a heavy sleeper, and when he sleeps, I like to look around. And look what I found.”

  There was a rustle of movement, then the thud of Rick’s credentials case hitting the desk. A chair creaked and Harry swore.

  After a time, Rosey spoke, his voice soft. “Georgia Bureau of Investigation. Didn’t we have a little trouble with them before?”

  “Yeah, at the chop shop. They raided the place in Covington.”

  “So, Amanda, where is Calloway right now?”

  “I’m not telling. But I’ll bring him to you. You have Julia and Rica there waiting. We’ll make the trade.”

  Another silence, broken by the sound of ink on paper. “Okay. You bring him to that address in two hours. We’ll make the trade.”

  “Rosey, we’ve got a deal with—”

  Rosey’s voice thundered. “He’s a damn GBI agent! In my club! I don’t give a damn about the deal you made for some little whore. Find an
other girl to fill the order and turn these two over to Amanda.”

  Rick continued staring hard at the club, hardly noticing the rain. Each second lasted minutes, punctuated by goodbyes, then footsteps. Down the hall. Around the bar. Along the back corridor. Out the door.

  Relief made him weak as Amanda got into his car and, a moment later, drove away. She turned onto the street and drove past them without looking, but murmured, “The meeting is at a salvage yard north of here. It’s going to take thirty minutes to get there.”

  That gave them ninety minutes to plan.

  Good thing he worked well under pressure.

  Amanda slowed well ahead of the turnoff and switched the windshield wipers to a lower setting. “How long does it take to put a plan like this together?” she asked,

  Slumped in the seat beside her, Rick grinned. “As long as you’ve got, darlin’. They give you an hour, you damn well better have something worked out in an hour.” Then he turned serious. “You don’t have to do this. It’s not too late. Just pull over, get out and walk away. I’ll turn myself in to them.”

  “Of your own free will? They’ll know something’s up. They’ll—” She paled, and a little gasp escaped her as the car bumped from the highway onto the well-worn dirt drive of the salvage yard.

  They would kill him, unless he did some damn fast talking. He thought he might succeed—he’d talked himself out of tighter places—but it wasn’t just his life at stake here. There was Julia’s and Rica’s…and Amanda’s.

  A hundred feet into the yard, a vehicle parked in the middle of the road began slowly moving forward. “I guess I follow him.” She sounded hollow. “Where are all your fellow cops?”

  “They’re as close as they can be.” They had some of the best snipers around out there, including Evan. Close enough could be a mile away on a good day, less in the rain.

  “Gee, that makes me feel safe.”

  “I’ll be right there beside you, darlin’. And if you manage to keep that weapon hidden from them…” It wasn’t a great chance, but he’d learned that any chance was a good one. “Amanda.”

  Gripping the steering wheel with both hands though she was driving no more than fifteen miles an hour, she looked his way. They were both wired for sound; God knew who was listening, but he didn’t care. “My old man never had anything to do with why I never got married. I was just waiting for you.”

  Her eyes widened, the fear chased away for an instant. She opened her mouth, closed it again…and the road suddenly turned, opening into a clearing. Headlights lit the early morning gloom, turning the rain silver. The lead car stopped and so did she, keeping her death grip on the steering wheel.

  “Shift into neutral, shut off the wipers and the headlights and turn off the key,” Rick said quietly.

  Like an automaton, she obeyed.

  Rosey’s Mercedes was parked on one side of the clearing, and he stood beside it, wearing a trench coat that could have sheltered a small family with his weaselly driver holding a huge umbrella over him. Behind them was a small metal building, an office or storage of some sort. Rick counted eight men, including Rosey, Harry, Chad and Vincent. All but Harry were armed.

  “I’m betting Julia and Rica are in the building,” he murmured. “I’m only seeing eight, including Fat Boy and his driver, but there are probably more.”

  Usually I-talk-you-listen was Rick’s favorite method of communication with these guys, but he would have liked a little feedback this morning. After all, he was getting ready to face a bunch of people who wanted to kill him with no armor, no pistol, not even a damn rock he could throw.

  “You ready?”

  Amanda, still pale, nodded and opened the door, stepping out into the rain, sweeping the hood up over her head. Rick climbed out, too, but left his slicker hood hanging. “Mr. Hines,” he greeted cheerfully. “Amanda tells me you have a proposition for me.”

  “Mr. Calloway. I apologize for these conditions.”

  “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

  “So I’ve heard.” Rosey gestured and several of the men holstered their weapons and came forward. “You won’t mind if my men search you and then we’ll get inside out of this mess and talk business.”

  Two of the men searched Rick, turning him so he leaned on the hood of the Camaro, and did a piss-poor job of it. Tough guys like these never liked to thoroughly search another tough guy’s crotch. When they finished with him, they stepped back a dozen feet, and the third man, Vincent, moved closer with his oily grin.

  “Gotta search you, too, Amanda,” he said, practically salivating over the opportunity. He reached out, and she took a step back, one arm outstretched to stop him.

  “You touch me, Vincent, and I’ll kick your balls out through your nose this time.” Slowly, ever the performer, she pushed the hood off her head and lifted her hair free of the coat, exposing it to the rain. Even more slowly, she pushed the sleeve off her left arm, raised that hand to the opposite shoulder and worked that sleeve off, too. Gripping the coat by the collar, she walked forward a few feet as if on a catwalk, turned slowly, arms out from her side, then strolled back to the Camaro.

  Every man was stricken into silence. She’d insisted on stopping at home to change clothes before coming here. The white pants she’d put on gave new meaning to the words low rise. Rick couldn’t imagine the pair of panties that could hide within the scant inch or two of fabric that made up the front and seat of the pants. Her top was white, too, a simple T-shirt that ended somewhere north of her belly button and clung to her very nice, very bare breasts. The chilly rain made her nipples pucker and the thin material clearly showed the rosy brown shadows that circled them.

  Rick’s tongue was too thick for his mouth. Aw, man, he’d never, ever gotten turned on in a life-or-death situation, but he was throbbing in places where he shouldn’t be.

  “Good enough, Rosey?” she asked, striking a pose, her voice throaty and promising all kinds of fantasies.

  “Good enough, Amanda. You see why she’s my number one dancer. Shall we get down to business?”

  With a smile and a wink, she shrugged into the coat again, pulling the front edges together and tying the belt tightly. “We shall. I’ve lived up to my part of the bargain. Now it’s your turn.”

  “Wait a minute,” Rick said. “What bargain? You said he was interested—” He turned to Rosey. “I thought you wanted to make a deal with me.”

  “Not with you. For you.” Rosey gestured, and the two men who’d searched Rick raised their weapons, pointing them center mass at him.

  “But—hey, come on—I make the club run easier for you. That idiot—” he pointed at Vincent “—is almost as lazy as he is stupid and the girls hate him. They like me. And I can do more. I can help with your other interests. I’ve just been waiting for a chance.”

  Rosey reached inside his pocket, then flicked his wrist. Rick’s credentials landed open in a mud puddle about six feet in front of him. “I bet you’re interested in all my interests, aren’t you? The clubs, the girls, the auto parts, the shipping. Even just my shipping enterprise could keep the Georgia Bureau of Investigations busy for a long time. But your interests aren’t in my best interests. So…” He shrugged.

  The two men started moving, but Amanda stepped in front of Rick. Her heart was racing, her stomach was heaving and she was so cold that she couldn’t feel her toes. But she stood her ground, hoping she looked half as cool as she was trying to. “The trade, Rosey.”

  Again he gestured, and the door to the metal building creaked open. Julia stumbled out first, barefooted, wearing a man’s shirt that hung to her knees. She was dazed and there was a smudge on her cheek that was probably a bruise. She looked around numbly, until she recognized Rick, then reached behind her and pulled out Rica. She still wore her stripper clothes from Friday night, with only another man’s shirt to provide protection against the fall chill.

  Amanda hoped Julia was dazed enough to not realize what was going on. If she understo
od her life was being traded for Rick’s, she would refuse and might take some action that would get them all killed.

  “Julia,” Amanda called. “Rica. Come over here.”

  Rica took a few wobbly steps. “Amanda? Is that you? Oh my God!”

  “It’s me, guys. Come on over here behind me. It’s okay.”

  The two women had practically reached them when Julia saw the badge case lying in the mud. Her steps faltered and she looked from Rick to Amanda. Whether it was the look he gave her or Amanda’s silent prayers, though, she kept moving, kept Rica moving.

  “All right, Amanda,” Rosey said. “You’ve got your girls. Give us our cop.”

  Behind her Rica gasped and Julia whispered, “You can’t—you can’t—what the hell are you doing?”

  “Do you mind if I say goodbye?” Amanda asked. When Rosey shrugged, she took the few steps necessary to reach Rick. He turned his head so her first kiss brushed his jaw and whispered in her ear, “Evan’s about ten feet to my right. Get them behind the car.”

  Smiling, she slid her hands into his hair, gripping his head, holding him for a desperate, hungry kiss. After an instant, his arms slid around her, fumbling for the holster secured under the capelet across the back of the coat. He pulled the weapon free with his left hand, shoved her away and shot the nearest of the two men who had intended to kill him.

  Rica screamed as gunfire erupted around them. Amanda darted around the car and helped Julia drag the girl to the rear of the vehicle, shoving them both to the ground. She yanked the coat off and spread it over the three of them as if it would somehow protect them and she prayed.

  “Oh, God, oh, God, they’re gonna kill Rick,” Julia repeated over and over.

  Amanda slapped her hand. “Dear God, they’re not gonna kill him.” She hadn’t told him yet that she loved him, hadn’t said that if those words in the car—I was just waiting for you—were a proposal, the answer was absolutely yes, because she’d just been waiting for him, too.

  Glass shattered nearby—the rear window of the Camaro, Amanda thought as pieces rained down on the trench coat. There were shouts, curses, shots so loud that they made her ears ring.