Natalie's Dilemma: a Frank Renzi crime thriller (Frank Renzi novels Book 7)

by Susan Fleet

She had no idea where Orazio was or what he was doing. Earlier when the guard called to him, he'd sounded agitated.

  “Call your friend again,” Bianca said. “Maybe he'll know what to do.”

  “Not yet. He's counting on us to get the cord off my wrists. Let's try something else. Open the scissors and hold the handles near my fingers.”

  Bianca opened the scissors and held out the handles. Natalie inserted the middle finger of her right hand into one ring, the middle finger of her left into the other. A tiny screw held the two halves together. Focusing her energy, she tried to pull the scissors apart.

  The metal rings cut into her fingers. Ignoring the pain, she gritted her teeth and pulled harder. Sweat dripped down her forehead. She relaxed her muscles and tried again, straining as hard as she could. At last the scissors came apart, but the point of one blade stabbed her hand.

  “You're bleeding!” Bianca said.

  “Never mind.” She slid her fingers out of the rings. “Take one half and use it like a saw. Put the sharp edge against the cord and pull it back and forth like you're cutting wood.”

  Bianca's face lit up in a smile. “Like Papa used to do when he cut wood for the fireplace?”

  “Exactly. Work on one strand at a time.” Conscious of the passing minutes, she smiled to encourage her.

  “Let's see how fast you can do it.” As fast as possible.

  A few minutes ago she'd heard rapid footsteps on the stairs down the hall. She had the feeling something bad was happening, but she didn't know what. Rays of the setting sun slanted through the window overlooking the street. An hour from now it would be dark.

  The perfect time to escape, if Orazio didn't come back.

  Bianca set the sharp edge of the blade against one piece of cord and began sawing. Natalie glanced at her iPhone lying on the floor, partially hidden by her left thigh. If Orazio came in and saw it, she was done for, but she wanted to keep track of the time. Now it was 7:44.

  At 7:45 Bianca sawed through the first piece of cord.

  “Fantastic!” Natalie said. “Only three more to go.”

  “Can we call Mr. Frank now?”

  Natalie frowned. How did Bianca know his name? Then she remembered: Kelly, the other cop in the house down the street, had called him by name. “Not yet. Cut another one.”

  Bianca pulled another strand of cord away from her wrists and began sawing. At 7:47 the cord separated and fell away from her wrists. This time Bianca didn't ask her to call Mr. Frank, she started sawing the next strand of cord.

  When that one separated, Natalie said, “That's enough. I think I can slide my hands through the last piece.” Grasping the cord with the fingers of her left hand, she narrowed her right hand as much as possible and pulled it free. Then she did the same with her left hand.

  “Yeaah!” Bianca exclaimed, all smiles now. “Can we call Mr. Frank now?”

  Gunfire sounded from down the hall, a deafening explosion of rat-a-tat-tats.

  Natalie flinched. That was no handgun. It was an assault weapon set to rapid-fire bursts.

  Bianca screamed, climbed onto her lap and wrapped her arms around her neck, clinging to her.

  She felt the girl's rapid heartbeat through her shirt. Bianca was terrified. So was she.

  CHAPTER 40

  8:10 PM

  Orazio heard gunfire down the hall, a three-shot burst, then another. He rushed to the side window. No FBI agents beyond the fence. He checked the front window. None there either. With his Uzi in hand, he ran to Tommy's room.

  Tommy stood at the open window, holding his Uzi, his feet braced. The acrid odor of gunpowder hung in the air.

  “What are you shooting at?” Orazio said in Italian.

  Smiling proudly, Tommy said, “A guy tried to climb over the fence. I shot the fucker.”

  Orazio peered out the window. A man in combat fatigues lay on his back near the fence, one hand clutching his chest, his right arm flung out to the side as though reaching for the assault rifle on the ground. His helmet lay on the grass beside what was left of his bloody head.

  “Good job, Tommy, ” he said. His brother was hyped up and he wanted him to stay that way.

  A helmeted-head popped up at the top of the fence.

  Tommy raised his Uzi, but Orazio grabbed his arm. “No. There may be more. They want to rescue their buddy. Wait until they try to climb over the fence. Then blow them away.”

  Tommy flashed a cocky smile. “Like shooting ducks in a gallery.”

  “Ducks don't shoot back,” he snapped. And they don't wear body armor. Unfortunately, the room downstairs had plenty of guns and ammo but no protective vests. “Guard the fence. Rocco and I will make sure they don't get in through the front door.”

  “Mr. Antonetti,” Rocco yelled from the staircase. “What's happening?”

  Merda! Another soldier needed a dose of courage. He turned and ran down the hall, cursing in frustration. He was a general without an army, racing from one flashpoint to another, commanding his soldiers. All two of them. Where the hell were Silvano's men?

  He paused at the door of the utility room. Seated in front of the monitors, Catarina turned and looked at him, her face a mask of fear. “What is Tommy shooting at?”

  Irritated, he snapped, “Polizia! Did you not see them on the monitors? Do your job! If you see any more cops, open your pretty little mouth and tell me, loud and clear, understand?”

  Without a word, she turned back to the monitors.

  When Orazio reached the staircase, Rocco stood on the landing at the halfway point. “Stay at your post,” Orazio said. “An FBI agent tried to get over the fence. Tommy killed him.”

  “But we're outnumbered” Rocco said. “If a bunch of cops rush the front door—”

  “Shoot them!” Orazio thundered. Merda! His soldiers were useless. Rocco had no balls, and Tommy was a complacent fool, acting like he'd vanquished an entire army by killing one FBI agent.

  He ran to his bedroom and checked the windows. No armed men in sight. The light was fading. Soon it would be dark.

  More gunfire from Tommy's room. Orazio set the Uzi on his bed and took out his snub-nosed Smith & Wesson.

  This might be the perfect time to get rid of the girl and the deceitful Vietnamese woman.

  The spy who was working for that miserable Europol agent, John Conti.

  _____

  Frank heard distant gunfire and stuck his head out the Hogan front door. No SWAT team in front of the mob house. Relieved, he yelled up the staircase to Kelly, “Can you tell where those shots came from?”

  “I'm not sure, but I think they came from the mob house.”

  “I'm going there in my car.”

  “I thought you were waiting for Natalie to call you.”

  “Fuck waiting. We need to get Natalie and Bianca out of there now! Wyner might have his agents drive the Hummer around the corner, park in front of the house and have a SWAT team blitz the front door. Get your gear and meet me at my car.”

  He ran to the kitchen, burst out the side door, jumped in his Dodge Charger and got on his cellphone. When Conti answered he said, “Put Wyner on the phone. I need to talk to him.”

  “I can't,” Conti said. “He's busy. Three of his men tried to get over the fence in back of the house, and someone shot them.”

  “Tell him to call me!” Frank said and ended the call.

  Kelly opened the door and jumped in the passenger seat. “Did you call Natalie?”

  “No. Conti.” He backed out of the driveway and headed for the mob house. “He said a SWAT team unit took fire when they tried to get over the fence behind the house.”

  “It sounded like automatic weapon fire to me,” Kelly said. “People must have heard it. Someone will call the cops.”

  He studied the houses along the street as he passed them. No lights in some homes, Christmas lights flashing on others. No pedestrians on the sidewalks, nobody outside checking to see where the shots had come from, no cars driving down the street.
And no Hummer.

  “The mobsters must have seen the Hummer go by the house,” he said. “If they've got assault weapons, we're in trouble.”

  He jolted to a stop in front of the mob house, backed into the driveway, then pulled forward, angling the Dodge diagonally across the driveway, nose out, aimed at the Hogan house down the street.

  “Frank, look out!” Kelly yelled. “Someone's at the first floor window with a gun.”

  A burst of gunfire shattered the back window, spraying cubes of glass over the back seat.

  _____

  Crouched in the gutter below her bedroom window, Natalie heard more gunshots and flinched. Sobbing, Bianca clamped her arms around her neck and buried her face against her neck. “Owl will shoot us,” Bianca whimpered.

  “No he won't,” she whispered. A lie. That's exactly what he would do if he got the chance. And in her frantic haste to get Bianca out of the house, she'd left her purse on the bed, a disastrous mistake. She had to go back and get it.

  “In a minute we'll be safe. Mr. Frank is going to help us. We have to be very quiet and crawl along the gutter to the front of the house.”

  Bianca gazed at her fearfully. “You're not going to leave me, are you?”

  “No.” Not until Frank took charge of her, anyway. He'd make sure Bianca was safe.

  After she climbed out the window with Bianca, she'd called Frank and told him they were outside, waiting in the gutter. He said he would park his car in the driveway and stand beside the garage so she could drop Bianca to him. “Won't they shoot at you?” she asked.

  “Just do it. An FBI SWAT team is here. Hurry,” he'd said.

  She didn't like the sound of that. More armed men looking for her. On the other hand, a shootout might provide the distraction she needed to escape. It wasn't completely dark, but the light was fading fast. Under the cover of darkness, she could disappear.

  But first she had to get back into her room and take the items she needed out of her purse.

  Bianca kissed her cheek. “I love you, Laura.”

  Overcome with emotion, Natalie hugged her close so she wouldn't see the tears in her eyes. “I love you too, Bianca, with all my heart. Always remember that. But we need to hurry. Get in front of me and crawl toward the front of the house.”

  Bianca got on her knees and crept forward. Natalie crawled after her. When Bianca reached the front edge, Natalie grabbed her foot.

  “Wait,” she whispered, and crawled around her. She saw Frank's car in the driveway. Her stomach clenched. The back window had been shot out. Where was Frank? She peeked over the edge of the roof. Frank stood with his back pressed against the garage.

  He saw her and held out his arms. “Drop Bianca to me.”

  She hugged Bianca and whispered, “Mr. Frank will catch you.”

  Gripping Bianca by her armpits, she eased her over the side and let go. Frank staggered momentarily when he caught her. Then, clutching her to his chest, he ran across the driveway and ducked around the fence beyond the garage.

  Natalie breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, Bianca was safe. But she wasn't.

  _____

  Clamping Bianca to his chest, Frank sprinted to the fence between the garage and the house next door. When he ducked around the fence, Kelly was crouched beside it, her Glock in one hand, her cellphone in the other. Her face registered relief. “Good going, Frank! You got her!”

  “Yeah. The guy on the first floor must be on break.” The guy with the assault rifle. Nothing like a bit of levity during a dangerous situation.

  “I called Dispatch,” Kelly said. “They're sending four squad cars.”

  More gunfire at the rear of the house. Bianca flinched. “It's okay,” he said. “You're safe now.”

  “No!” Bianca said. “Put me down! You have to get Laura!”

  “Don't worry I'll get her.” He set Bianca on her feet. “But you need to stay with Kelly.”

  “Bring her in here!” called a woman's voice.

  He turned and saw a red-haired woman standing outside the front door of the lavender ranch house.

  “Go inside and stay there!” he called. “NOPD orders.”

  Frowning, the woman turned and went inside.

  Kelly rolled her eyes. “Just what we need, a civilian in the mix.”

  “Not to mention certain other issues. After you take Bianca to the Hogan house, make some calls. I need to get someone to the station.”

  No need to say who. Kelly knew he wanted to book Natalie on the outstanding murder warrants. Bianca would be safe in the Hogan house for the moment, but not for long. Shots erupting from the mob house, SWAT teams with assault weapons poised to strike, and more cops on the way, he didn't want Bianca anywhere near this neighborhood.

  “Where's Laura?” Bianca wailed. “I want Laura to take me!”

  He rubbed her back and whispered, “I'm going to get her right now. I'll bring her to the house so you'll both be safe.”

  “Be careful,” Kelly warned. “Don't forget the guy on the first floor.”

  “I won't.” He wouldn't forget the guy on the second floor, either. Orazio, the Mafia thug hellbent on killing Bianca and Natalie.

  “I don't want to go to that house,” Bianca declared. “I want to wait here for Laura.”

  Frank jerked his head at Kelly. Get her out of here.

  Kelly holstered her Glock, stuck her cellphone in her pocket, scooped up Bianca with both hands, and jogged across the lawn toward the Hogan house down the street.

  _____

  Natalie crawled back to the clothesline that dangled from the window of her bedroom. She had used it to lower herself and Bianca to the gutter. Now she would use it to climb back to her room. Her forearm hurt where Orazio had burned her. Maybe she'd bring the tube of antibiotic ointment with her. But that wasn't her main concern.

  A new passport, driver's license and cash were in her wallet, items she would need to escape from Frank.

  No way was she going to let him arrest her. If he did, she would spend the rest of her life in a jail cell. Never again would she see the mountains or the ocean or a beautiful sunset. Never again would she hear beautiful bird songs. Never again would she feel a man's touch on her body.

  With grim determination, she wrapped the cord around her hand. Bianca thought Frank was nice. Up to a point, he was. He wanted to protect Bianca, but he had three murder warrants for her arrest. His main goal was to take her into custody.

  Not if she could help it.

  In the darkness, the house remained eerily silent. No gunfire, but any minute there might be.

  Hand over hand, she climbed up to the window and hooked her elbows over the frame.

  Panting for breath, she paused to rest. But she had no time to rest. Get what you need and get out!

  Using her elbows, she hauled herself into the room, arms extended, and lowered herself to the floor.

  Breathing hard, she rose to a crouch and froze.

  Voices in the hall. Male voices.

  Her heart slammed her chest.

  Her leather purse with her wallet was on her bed ten feet away. Maybe she could still get it.

  Then she heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps, dangerously close. If it was Orazio, he would kill her.

  Terrified, she sprang to her feet, ran to the window, stuck one leg out, then the other and perched on the window frame.

  Please don't come in the room.

  The door opened. Orazio stood in the doorway.

  His eyes, cold and hard and merciless, swept the room.

  In his hand was a snub-nosed revolver.

  CHAPTER 41

  Intent on his mission, Orazio paused in the doorway, planning his moves. Unlike the cumbersome Uzi, the snub-nosed Smith & Wesson fit neatly in the palm of his right hand. He would shoot the girl first, then the spy.

  Was she cowering in despair the way he'd left her? Or plotting some new treachery?

  The room was silent and still. Too silent. Something was wrong.

&
nbsp; His gaze swept the room. Where was the girl? Hiding in the bathroom?

  No. The bathroom door was open. And the nanny wasn't cowering on the floor.

  Stunned, he stood there, unable to believe his eyes. The treacherous Vietnamese spy sat on the window frame, with her legs dangling outside.

  For an instant, she met his gaze. Then she disappeared.

  Too shocked to move, he stared at the window.

  How could this be? He had bound her wrists together and secured her to the window with the cord.

  Then he saw the tiny metal scissors on the floor. What was left of them. They were broken in two.

  But to hell with that. He could not allow her to escape!

  He ran to the window and stuck his head through the opening.

  In the drainage gutter ten feet below him, she was scrambling toward the front of the house. Then he saw the car.

  Parked diagonally across the driveway, the dark sedan had no markings, but three antennas sprouted from the roof. It had to be a police car. No one was in it, but the car blocked the driveway, preventing any vehicles from leaving the garage.

  Merda! Were the cops helping this devious Vietnamese woman?

  Rage sent his heart rate soaring. But he couldn't afford to lose control. Now the woman was at the end of gutter.

  He raised the revolver. Too late. She thrust herself forward and jumped off the roof.

  This cursed woman was as slippery as an eel. Slippery as an eel, but sooner or later she had to show herself.

  Would she get in the police car? No. The car was empty, the back window shot out.

  She would run to the green house down the street, the one with the cops. He waited, gripping the revolver.

  And then he saw her. Bent over in a crouch, she was limping across the driveway. Maybe she had broken a leg when she jumped off the roof.

  It served her right. He raised the revolver. The light was so poor he could barely see her in the darkness.

  He took careful aim. Held his breath. Pulled the trigger.

  She sprawled headfirst on the ground and lay still on the grass beyond the driveway. After a moment she raised her head. Put her forearms on the grass and struggled to her knees. The treacherous Vietnamese nanny refused to die!