Unbearable (The Port Fare Series)

by Sherry Gammon

  “I’m sorry. I’m terrible at remembering names.” And apparently faces. I couldn’t recall ever meeting him before, let alone seeing him in the office.

  “No problem. You were pretty busy typing up some documents.” He wiped his brow with the towel.

  “It’s nice to meet you, again.” Still jittery, I took a deep breath and worked my way to the mats, setting my purse next to the weight rack. Devin came over and picked up his water bottle from the floor near my purse. Garen’s dead. It’s over. Relax. I turned and smiled.

  “Book tells me you’re the best secretary to walk the earth.” He took a long pull from his bottle.

  “He exaggerates,” I assured him.

  “Not so sure about that. The docs he’s faxed me from his office are flawless. You do good work.” He wiped his brow again. “I’d better get going. It was nice meeting you again.”

  “Same.” I smiled as he headed for the door.

  “Hey, if you ever get tired of working for Booker, the door’s always open. The secretary I have now is a nightmare.” He grimaced. “Thankfully she’s temporary.”

  “Your regular secretary quit?” I did my best to make small talk, not wanting to come across as rude or snobby.

  “Yes. And like I said, this one’s . . .” He frowned.

  “Why not hire another one if she’s so bad?”

  “She’s my mom.” He chuckled heartily. “She’s filling in until I can find a new one. And trust me, I’m looking.” He waved and left.

  I rushed to the sound system and put in my CD, cranking up the volume since I was the only one in the gym. I ran through my short routine, finishing with a few minutes to spare. I’d arranged to meet Lilah here, and since she hadn’t arrived yet, thanks to the latest snowstorm I’m sure, I went through a few dance moves. I felt free, for the first time in years. To celebrate, I attempted a triple pirouette, something I’d not done in years. I fell flat on my face at the sound of my name.

  “Hello, Terese.”

  Chapter 33

  Booker

  “I’m gonna be late.” It didn’t help that it grew darker by the minute as snow clouds filled the sky. It began snowing about ten miles ago and steadily grew worse. I looked at the clock on the dash. “I’m supposed to be there in thirty minutes. Yup. Definitely gonna be late.” Now would have been the perfect time to put the overpriced car to the test, but with the snow I didn’t dare. I reached for what I thought was the windshield wipers, flipping the turn signal on instead. “Crap.” Nothing was where I was used to it being and it drove me nuts. I flipped a few more levers before the wipers came on.

  I relaxed into my seat. “Give it some time. You’ll get used to it,” I counseled myself. I thought back to Tess’s face when she learned about Garen. The elation in her eyes, the ear-to-ear smile. It felt good knowing he’d never bother her again. Honestly, the scum wore on me, too. I’d had more than one nightmare of walking into work or in the gym and finding Tess dead, beaten to death by Garen.

  “Stop torturing yourself, Gatto,” I grumbled. The entire car filled with the ringing of my phone. The salesman set up the Bluetooth for me. I smiled and pressed the answer button on my steering wheel.

  “Gatto, here.”

  “Booker, it’s Brent. Just wanted to update you on the Garen Johnson case.” Brent’s voice sounded loud and clear over the car stereo. Nice.

  “Go ahead.”

  “The information we got wasn’t accurate.”

  “Meaning?” I immediately lightened up on the gas pedal.

  “Meaning it was the clerk that was shot and killed. Johnson escaped in a stolen late model gray sedan with a dented front fender. I’m still working on getting a license plate number for the car.”

  I slammed my hand on the steering wheel. “Are you even sure it was Johnson?”

  “I checked the surveillance tape myself not more than ten minutes ago. He looks a little rough around the edges, but it’s him. We have him on tape admitting to the clerk he was Johnson. I’m sorry, Booker. We’ll keep looking. The good news is that the weather in Buffalo is terrible, and it’s heading to Port Fare. It’s highly unlikely he left the area.”

  “It’s snowing pretty badly here, too. Thanks for the heads up, Brent.”

  I debated calling Tess at the office. “She’s probably in the basement doing her sweaty yoga,” I mumbled to myself, fighting the uneasy feeling in my gut.

  But I needed to call someone to go check on her, to let her know the truth, just to be safe. “Seth,” I mumbled. I pushed what I thought was the call button and somehow ended up turning the flashers on. After trying a few more buttons, I pulled over and called Seth the old fashioned way. I punched his number in on my cell.

  “Hi, Book. Are you out in this nastiness?” he asked.

  “On my way to a meeting in Syracuse,” I explained. “I need a favor. We got news that Garen’s been caught.”

  “Awesome,” he replied.

  “No. It was a mistake. He’s still out there somewhere and he’s killed a clerk. But Tess thinks he’s dead.” I turned on what I hoped was the defroster. I hadn’t noticed my short, shallow breaths until the windows clouded over. “I think she’s downstairs working out,” I said. “Would you mind running over there and making sure everything’s okay?”

  “Book, Mags and I are on our way back from Buffalo. The roads are a mess. I’m afraid it’s going to be a while before we reach Port Fare, but we’ll check on her when we get back. How is she getting to our place if you’re in Syracuse?”

  “Lilah. In about thirty minutes.” I shoved my hand through my hair. “Don’t worry about it. I’m overreacting, as usual.”

  “Maybe Lilah can go over early?” Seth suggested.

  “Right. Thanks. Drive carefully,” I said.

  “You, too.”

  After he hung up, I called Lilah. It went straight to voice mail. I dropped my head against the headrest, willing my stomach to calm. “Call again in a few minutes. Maybe she’s busy with Sofia,” I counseled myself.

  I pulled back onto the freeway and headed for my meeting. Five minutes later, my phone rang again. It was the client in Syracuse cancelling our appointment because of the weather. Worked for me. I got off at the next exit and got back on again, this time heading for my office, and to Tess.

  Snow now packed the road, making it dangerous to go very fast. I should have gotten the stupid Lexus. The Jag was too light and slid everywhere in the snow. “Calm down, Gatto,” I told myself for the hundredth time. Until today, no one had even seen Garen. Chances of his showing up in Port Fare today were pretty slim. And yet the hairs on my neck stood on end. I couldn’t do it again. I couldn’t live through another murder of someone I loved. I punched the gas pedal. I had to get to Tess.

  When I started across the overpass, I hit a patch of ice. My car spun in three circles, hit the guardrail, and ricocheted into a snow bank.

  “Great. You don’t even know if she’s in danger, you madman.” I got out of the car and inspected the right rear fender. Ruined. That would cost me a pretty penny. I hadn’t even owned the car for twenty-four hours.

  A couple of teens in a suburban pulled up behind me. A blue and orange checked hat popped out the unrolled window, followed by a head covered in bushy blond hair. “Hey, man, need some help?”

  “That’d be great. Thanks.” The blond guy, who introduced himself simply as Fred, helped me push the car back onto the road.

  “Dude, this is a nice car.” He tugged his hat over his beet-red ears and circled the Jag, shaking his head. “Too bad about the fender, but it doesn’t look too bad. The body seems to be intact.”

  “I hope it runs.” I said, brushing the snow off my pants.

  “I’ll wait for you to try before I leave.” He shook my hand and jogged back to his suburban.

  “Thanks,” I called after him. I got in and started the car without a hitch. I waved to Fred, and started back to Tess. She’s going to laugh when she sees what I did to my new car.


  I slowed my pace, not wanting a repeat of what just happened. I was close now, maybe ten minutes away. I called Lilah, this time she answered.

  “Lilah, I’ll pick up Tess.”

  “Good. I didn’t want to take Sofia out in this storm. Arizona girls and snow don’t get along,” she said. “Perfect timing, too. I was just about to walk out the door.”

  As soon as I hung up, traffic came to a dead stop. I looked down the freeway and spotted red and blue flashing lights ahead. Now Tess would be waiting for who knows how long. I almost called Lilah back, but decided to give Brent a call instead. He’d probably be out in the storm anyway, dealing with emergencies.

  “Hey, Brent. Booker again. I need a favor.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Tess is at the office alone and I’m stuck behind an accident on the four-ninety. Can you swing by and make sure you don’t see Garen or the gray sedan around? I know it’s a long shot that he’s in the area, but just want to be safe.”

  “I drove by your office not more than five minutes ago. The parking lot was completely empty except for a couple of vans for the satellite company. The parking lot hasn’t even been plowed yet.”

  I released a long breath. The satellite vans were stored there at night. Tess was safe. “Thanks, that makes me feel much better.”

  “No prob. Got to go. We’ve had six accidents in town already. We’re swamped. You’d think people would know how to drive in this stuff, having lived here their entire lives.” He chuckled. “Take care.”

  “You too.” I leaned back and scrubbed my jaw. “She’s safe.”

  They cleared the accident quickly and I was on my way within ten minutes. I drove directly to the office.

  Next to the satellite vans, a lone car sat in the parking lot.

  A late model gray sedan with a dented front fender.

  Chapter 34

  Tess

  “But . . . you’re dead.”

  Completely stunned, I didn’t stand. I didn’t scream. Instead, I lay in the middle of the mat with my mouth open, looking up at Garen.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” he sneered. “Don’t know who you get your info from, but obviously they’re about as brilliant as you.”

  I swallowed hard when I saw the small handgun he held. “You hate guns,” I whispered.

  “Yup, but sometimes a gun can do what a fist can’t. You seem to need more than just a beating to die.” He scratched at the straggly beard on his face. His greasy hair lay flat against his head. His clothes were wrinkled and filthy. He appeared as if he’d been living on the streets, so unlike the polished perfectionist I’d lived with for eighteen months.

  “You’re like that Energizer bunny. You keep going and going, Terese. Punishment after punishment, you keep right on living.” His teeth clenched. “Well, not anymore.”

  I found the strength to stand. Not sure if it was fear or anger that permeated my soul, but it revitalized me. “I was told you got into a fight with a store clerk and he shot you.” My hands hung fisted at my side.

  “Other way around. In fact, that’s where the gun came from.” He looked down at the small gun, turning his wrist to get a better look.

  Gun. I needed to get to my purse.

  “Where’s your boyfriend, whore?”

  “We broke up,” I lied.

  He barked a laugh. “He got sick of the mannequin, too?”

  “He’s never called me that. In fact, I’m quite the opposite with him.” My boldness took me by surprise. It enraged Garen. He charged me, his arm cocked, gun in hand, ready to punch. I cringed and turned away, circling my head with my arms.

  “Drop it or I’ll gladly put a hole in you.”

  Booker! I couldn’t see him behind Garen, but I knew his voice, despite the fact that I’d never heard him use that menacing tone before.

  “I said drop it or I’ll kill you, roach. Your choice,” Booker demanded.

  Garen straightened and raised the gun in the air slowly. “You got me.”

  Right. I didn’t buy his statement and I hoped Booker didn’t either.

  “Turn around slowly and drop the gun. Oh,” he added, “and put both your arms up.”

  “Sure thing.” Garen raised his left arm halfway, and in one fluid movement, scooped it around me and dragged me in front of him. He smelled strongly of sweat and greasy hair. I turned my face to the side to keep from gagging.

  With his face safely behind my head, Garen laughed. “Look. Rambo’s come to save you.”

  Booker had a gun in his hand and another larger gun strapped over his jacket, resting against his chest.

  With the cold steel of Garen’s gun pressed against my temple, and his other arm around my waist he said, “Looks like I’m in control now.”

  “Let her go.” Booker’s eyes burned bright with anger. “You’ve already killed one person today. If you let her go, maybe I can convince the DA to lower the charges to accidental manslaughter.”

  “Yeah, right. Accidental manslaughter will never fly.” He tightened the arm around my waist. The gun never moved from my temple.

  “I’m an ex-MET agent. My word carries a lot of weight.” Booker stepped toward us. Garen pulled back the hammer of his gun. Booker’s hands went up in the air and he removed his finger from the trigger. Garen slowly released the hammer. I heard each and every tick as he did.

  “Let her go. You’ve tormented her enough,” Booker demanded. “She’s done nothing to deserve this.”

  “Nothing?” I could feel the anger in Garen as his breath quickened and the gun pressed deeper into my temple.

  “She messed with my plan. I had everything mapped out for my life. Everything. Graduate Summa Cum Laude from high school. Check. Get a full ride scholarship to Harvard. Check. After college; uncheck,” he hissed. “You see, the Life Plan called for me to get an internship with a DC politician to start my journey to the White House. Only this alleged trophy wife here,” he tapped the gun on my head, “screwed it all up with that stupid picture.”

  “Picture? What picture?” I asked, utterly confused.

  “Think, whore.” He tightened his arm around my ribs and I winced. “Remember that picture you sent me in your swimsuit on the beach? Well, I caught my pervert roommate with it. We got into a huge fight. The school filed a report that went on my permanent record.”

  “That kept you from getting a job with a politician? Seems to me that would help your resume with the lowlifes in DC.” Booker started to laugh, then stopped. “Wait. Just how badly did you beat this guy?”

  “Enough to teach him a lesson. Anyway, with the incident on my record, I had a hard time finding a job with a decent politician. That’s why I ended up having to work with Graft.” Garen thumped the gun against my head. “All because of her.”

  “I see. Is that where your pattern of abuse started, then?” Booker asked flippantly.

  “Put your guns down and slide them my way or I’ll put a bullet through that smart mouth of yours,” Garen demanded in a tone I knew all too well.

  “Do it, Book,” I pleaded. “He’ll kill you.”

  Booker’s jaw twitched twice before he slowly lowered his guns to the ground and straightened. He gave each gun a weak shove with his foot. They slid a few feet, stopping short of where Garen and I stood.

  Enraged, Garen shoved me to the ground and squeezed off three rapid shots, hitting Booker once in the leg. I screamed as Booker dropped onto the mats. Stepping closer, Garen fired two more times before finally hitting Booker’s other leg. Book slumped over his damaged body, groaning in pain.

  I sprung to my feet and rushed Garen, my fists flying. Garen twisted to the side and side kicked me in the stomach, sending me backwards. I flew onto the weight rack as he scurried for Booker’s guns. He scooped them up and tossed them over by the treadmills. One fired on impact. The bullet ricocheted near my head.

  “I should tell you . . . I called the police. They’re sending in . . . the SWAT team.” Booker grimaced thr
ough his teeth, clearly in pain. He bent over his bleeding legs, pressing on the wounds. Blood ran everywhere. A pool of it grew beneath him. I looked away to keep from fainting.

  “No one’s getting out of here alive, Rambo, but me.” Garen shook his gun at Booker. “I’m going to take care of her first because I want the pleasure of seeing you watch. Then I’m going to beat you senseless before I kill you, too.”

  I stiffened. Garen’s words closely mirrored those of the two guys who killed Book’s mom and sister. Never in the four years since I’d met Booker had I seen fear in his eyes, until now. He too must have caught the similarity, and clearly it terrified him.

  My days of being a victim were done. I grabbed a ten-pound dumbbell off the weight rack and wrapped my hands around it. As Garen drew closer, I twisted toward him with all my strength. He pulled back just as I made contact, lessening the full impact I’d hoped for. Nevertheless, he slid sideways across the floor.

  Booker forced himself up. Fury replaced the fear that seized him just moments ago. He held the Glock he kept in his calf holster confidently in his hand, and aimed it at Garen. Unfortunately, Booker’s legs gave out. He stumbled just long enough for Garen to get off two deafening shots directly at Booker’s chest. The force of the bullets knocked Booker back. The mirrored wall cracked, and he slid, lifeless, to the ground. Garen dropped the gun to his side and laughed.

  No! I dropped down and grabbed my purse. My hand quickly found the gun. My thumb flipped off the safety as I spun, positioned on one knee. The gun barrel pointed directly at Garen’s heart. He turned to me. His laughing ceased. Before I squeezed the trigger, two shots rang out in rapid succession. Blood gushed from the right side of Garen’s chest and his left hip as the gun flew from his hand. His blood splattered my face. I willed myself not to faint. As he staggered and fell to the ground in front of me, a warm wetness trickled over my chest. Blood, all down my shirt. The room spun out of control and I fell over as everything went black.