The Ivy Nash Thrillers: Books 4-6: Redemption Thriller Series 10-12 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set)

by John W. Mefford

“Screw you!” Nikki became more agitated, releasing a spastic flurry of wild slaps.

  As Cristina’s body slid along the dirt—Claude was up on his knees, pulling her closer—she felt Nikki’s fingernails piercing her skin. At least a dozen stings on her face and neck. Knowing she couldn’t hold them off any longer, she threw the syringe over her head with a loud grunt.

  “What the fuck?” Claude jumped to his feet. Nikki stopped swinging at her.

  Cristina looked over her head. The syringe must have landed in a dense thicket of underbrush, cactus, and small bushes. Or maybe not. She had no clue about the trajectory.

  “I ought to take you out right now.” Claude towered over her. His tone sounded all too real, as if he had experience hurting people. Had it ever gone beyond that?

  A cold chill slithered down Cristina’s spine. She froze.

  Instead of coming at her, though, he winced and looked down at his elbow. Blood trickled down his forearm from his fall onto the rocks.

  Now he was really angry. He returned his focus to Cristina. “No one fucks with my Brown Sugar, I don’t care what kind of shit you’ve been through in your pathetic life.” Spit flew out of his mouth.

  Out of nowhere, Nikki began to kick Cristina.

  “You fucking bitch!” The hard rubber toe of Nikki’s shoe connected with Cristina’s ribs over and over again. She felt helpless to fight back, not with Claude looming over her. She rolled up into a ball to protect herself, but somehow the kicks found their way to her ribs.

  “Stop it!” she screamed.

  “You’re going to pay for this, Cristina.” Nikki’s own words seemed to infuse her with more energy, and the flurry of kicks came at a quicker clip.

  Cristina was losing her breath, the pain unbearable. She uncovered her face, glared into Nikki’s eyes. “What’s Leo going to think?”

  All movement ceased. Nikki’s face went blank. “Leo?”

  She’d blown her cover, but she’d felt there was no other choice.

  “How do you know my brother?”

  Before answering, Cristina watched Claude tilt his head, as if he were trying to understand what he’d heard and what it all meant.

  “He asked me to find what and who had caused you to change so much.”

  Nikki set her jaw, as if she were ready to tap into the same rage that had fueled the already over-the-top behavior.

  “He’s worried about you, Nikki.”

  “I know. He’s told me a hundred times,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “What are you, some kind of undercover ninja?” Claude had a hazy, confused look on his face.

  “Yeah, something like that.”

  “So, you trying to be my friend and hanging out with us…that was all just a lie?” Nikki set a hand on her curved hip.

  “Yes. No. Look, Nikki, you’re pretty cool. If you weren’t going through all this crap, then I could see us being friends and all. You just need some help.”

  Nikki closed her eyes, but tears still managed to bubble at the edges.

  A few seconds of silence. Cristina could feel Nikki’s wall coming down.

  But Nikki then said, “It’s too late.”

  With one eye on Claude, Cristina moved to her feet. “No, it’s not, Nikki. We can get you help.”

  “Are you with the FBI?” Claude scratched his head, then looked around as if he thought someone might be watching him. “Am I going to get busted and thrown in jail with a bunch of pervs?”

  “What?” Cristina was annoyed that Claude would turn the attention away from Nikki. “I don’t know, Claude. You’ve got your own issues, obviously.”

  “Screw you.”

  “No, screw you!” she yelled, jabbing a finger toward his chest. “Stop bullying me, stop trying to push heroin on Nikki, on me, or anyone else you’re trying to control. Deal with your own shit and leave us the hell alone.” Her voice rippled through the air.

  For a moment, she questioned if she’d actually spoken the words out loud. Yup, she had.

  Nikki sniffled but didn’t a say word. Claude lifted his arm, inspecting the wound on his elbow, then looked at Cristina. “I don’t know what to say.” The tough guy who thought he had life figured out didn’t sound very tough. He seemed uncertain, scared even. “I’m just—”

  What sounded like a car back-firing pierced the air. But there was no car. A breath caught in the back of Cristina’s throat as her eyes went to Claude. He began to lose his balance, then he lowered his sights to his chest.

  “Blood!” Nikki screamed. “He’s been shot!”

  They were being ambushed. And Cristina knew there wasn’t a damn thing they could do about it.

  30

  I picked up the sweet smell of cotton candy wafting in the air. I raised my nose and turned around to follow the aroma. I bumped right into Zahera, but she didn’t seem to notice. She was rocking back and forth with laughter, along with three dozen kids, mesmerized at the interplay between two mimes.

  We were standing in the middle of the main room at the community party, officially labeled the Grand Pre-Opening of TJ’s Funhouse. It turns out, the facility, still under construction, was only five blocks from my new ECHO office—or what I hoped would be. I was still waiting to hear.

  I withheld the urge to follow the sweet scent of sugar to a counter where they were giving away refreshments and any snack a kid—or a kid at heart—could ever desire. With the tune “Billie Jean” grooving from hidden speakers, I watched a mime with a red hat perform a remarkable dancing impression of Michael Jackson. His cohort, wearing a blue hat, was perfectly in sync as a mirror image. On the final note, the mime with the red hat flipped it into the growing crowd of mostly kids surrounding the performers.

  “Do it again. Do it again.” A kid with a matted afro and a big hole in the front of his T-shirt was still bouncing up and down as if the music were still playing. He must have been five or six years old. He held a half-eaten bunch of blue cotton candy. Much of it was smeared on his face and T-shirt, but he couldn’t stop smiling. A woman came up behind him, brushing her hand along his face. She noticed me staring.

  “Isaiah is in heaven. This place is amazing.”

  I glanced around at the facility. At the far end, near the entrance, there was a three-dimensional setup of what the place would look like when it was all completed. It looked like what the woman had just described—basically, kid heaven. For kids of all ages. A ropes course, putt-putt golf, laser-tag room, trampoline park, mirror maze, rock-climbing wall, and much more.

  “It’s a great addition to the community,” I said. “From what my friend Zahera said, not a penny of taxpayer money has gone into this. All privately funded.”

  “Did someone say my name?” Zahera turned around.

  “You have a good ear,” I said with a wink. “This nice woman was saying how much her son, Isaiah, is going to love this place.”

  Zahera crouched down and pretended to pull Isaiah’s nose off his face.

  “Give me my nose back,” he said with giggle worthy of a junior Santa.

  “You want your nose back?”

  He nodded, a smile painted on his face.

  “You really want your nose back?”

  He nodded again. “Uh-huh.”

  “I’ll give your nose back.” She touched her fingers to his face, then tickled his tummy. He cracked up. And so did I, as much at Zahera as the little boy.

  “We don’t have much money, so having a place like this for Isaiah is an absolute Godsend,” the woman said. “I’m not sure what motivated this TJ person to build this place, but I need to go thank him.”

  Zahera stood on the toes of her heels and pointed toward the man with the golden cane. Not unexpectedly, he was surrounded by adults and kids, talking as much with his words as with his hands.

  “An amazing man,” Zahera said. The lady smiled and walked off.

  More music came to life, some sort of modern rap tune. Spotlights swirled around the enormous space, then sto
pped on four kids wearing black and silver shiny sweatpants. They were perfectly still, reminding me of miniature mannequins. A second later, and in perfect rhythm, they started breakdancing. Kids from the crowd whooped and hollered and jumped up and down.

  “Who knew that an old white guy would have this much hip-hop in him?” I joked to Zahera. I glanced around, saw more kids and adults pouring into the place, then turned back to my friend. “On one day, Timothy volunteers to fork over a million dollars to get a kid back from his kidnapper, then the next he holds this party. I’m in awe of his generosity.”

  “You can tell him yourself, if you want.”

  “Huh?” I followed her eyes and turned to see Timothy approaching us, his cane raised above his head because of the throng of kids around him.

  “Would you call this a success? Not bad, huh?” He had an awkward, uneven smile.

  “This is incredible,” I said.

  “We’ve still got a ways to go to complete the construction.” He motioned his head toward the large purple wall. “Behind that wall are things you can’t even imagine.”

  Zahera said, “You mean you have new things that aren’t shown on the three-D display?”

  A slow nod while briefly shutting his eyes. “Part of me wishes I could take you on a tour right now. We could get a few hard hats and walk through all of the construction. But I’ve been warned by the city and my lawyers that I shouldn’t risk a potential injury.”

  Wrapping an arm around the tall man, Zahera said, “You seem like a little kid yourself, Timothy.”

  He brought a hand to his chin and looked off to a far corner as if he were lost in a faraway memory. “While you don’t realize it when you’re young, being a kid can be a magical experience. Of course, if you’re in a bad situation with no hope, it can also be a very depressing one.” He looked at Zahera, then held my gaze for an extra second.

  He didn’t know anything about my tormented youth. But then I caught myself. Of course he could know. There had been stories written about me, a few with an actual shred of truth that had divulged elements of my past life. And then there was the Nothing But The Truth blog. Acting like she was some type of criminal watchdog, and for reasons that were still inexplicable, Pearl Griffin definitely had it out for me.

  “Just wait until it’s all finished,” Timothy said. “It will blow you away.”

  Timothy was pulled away by another mob of people wanting to learn more about his funhouse. He seemed enthralled by the attention.

  “I know the kids are soaking this up,” Zahera said in my ear, “but I think Timothy is getting just as much out of this as the kids. Kind of gives me hope that not every adult out there is jaded or has some angle to make a buck.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That answer was too short, Ivy. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said, watching Timothy. “You know me. I’m a little…” I put a hand to my chin, not able to really describe the vibe I was feeling. Then again, I knew the last few days of living on edge, hoping against all hope that two brothers would be alive after being abducted from their foster families, had left an indelible mark on me. How it would manifest itself over the long term, I had no idea. For now, even with the two boys safe, my disposition had left me untrusting of others and their motivations.

  “Oh boy, do I. Relax, enjoy. They even have a bar for us adults. Want me to get you something?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  I heard a chirp and pulled my phone from my purse as Zahera started to walk off. It was a text from Saul.

  Hey gorgeous. Having fun at the funhouse party?

  “Is he actually sending you a booty-call text?”

  I flinched—another sign that I was on edge. Zahera had snuck up on me. I flipped to look over my shoulder. “He’s too classy for that, thank you very little.”

  She giggled, and I watched her make it to the bar this time, then typed a quick reply to Saul.

  A really cool place for kids. Only 5 blocks from my new ECHO office! I hope it will be our new office. Crossing fingers.

  I lifted my eyes and noticed Danny, my realtor, mingling with a few ladies that had diamonds dripping off their arms, hands, and ears. He was fully engaged in their conversation, which reaffirmed my belief that he never stopped wheeling and dealing.

  Saul sent a reply.

  I’m working late… What’s new, right? Wanna meet at my place later? Crossing fingers.:)

  So he did want a booty call. That little…

  I couldn’t help but smirk. I’d yet to get to the point where I envisioned a future with Saul. In fact, I purposely didn’t go there. I knew I wasn’t good at relationships. Too much crap from my past always seemed to interfere, or throw me into an emotional frenzy, or blind me to the reality that I’d attached myself to a complete douche bag. Saul was different, yet not without his own faults. Hell, his profession alone would always tease his moral compass. That was just the way lawyers were, at least from my sample-size experiences. But I felt confident that Saul knew what he wanted out of life, and as each week passed, I sensed that he saw me as more than just a short-term fling. For now, though, he was cool with not putting labels on our “thing” and just rolling with it. Which was exactly what I needed. No pressure or promises. Just enjoying each other and seeing what happens.

  “I knew it.”

  Zahera slurped her martini as she wheeled around me, holding out my matching martini.

  “You think you know, but you really don’t,” I said, then I typed a quick response to Saul.

  How about a midnight rendezvous?

  I took the drink from Zahera and wondered if I was blushing.

  “You’re blushing. Which means you just set up a booty call.”

  Her voice was too loud. “Shh.”

  She giggled, and I rolled my eyes. Another text came in from Saul, and I tried to casually lift my phone and peek at the screen.

  Will be HARD to concentrate. But I will suffer until you show up.

  “You two…” Zahera shook her head, then sipped her drink.

  “What?”

  “You’re starting to tread into those waters that could go one of two directions.”

  I almost didn’t want to ask, but she knew I couldn’t help myself. “And those are?”

  “He breaks your heart, or you get married.”

  My stomach became tight. “Not very good options. Maybe I should rethink my plans for later.”

  “Oh, Ivy,” she said, hooking an arm inside of mine, “coming from a girl with experience in these matters—remember, I’ve been married twice before—love isn’t one of those things that happens at the perfect time in your life. It just happens. And if you’re too busy or preoccupied or too afraid, you might just miss it. No guarantees in this life.”

  While I knew she was half-joking, there was truth in her statement. My sole focus—some might call it an obsession—was to help troubled kids. I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But if I continued giving every guy the Heisman, or at least not opening up my heart to the possibilities of love, would I end up an old woman with twelve cats?

  Danny meandered up as I noticed someone familiar walk through the front door. Actually, it was three people—William and his two grandsons, Billy and Drew. I handed my drink to Zahera so I could go say hello, but Danny held up a hand, shifting his eyes from Zahera to me.

  “Am I reading this right? This Pearl Griffin lady is—”

  “I don’t want to hear it, Danny.” My tone was harsh. Just the mention of her name had sent my pulse racing. I began to fan myself.

  “I guess she knows about the threat?” Danny said to Zahera, distracting my attention away from William and the boys.

  “I’m right here. What threat?”

  “I tried telling you earlier, but I could tell you’d had enough of Pearl and her bullshit blog,” Zahera said in a hushed tone.

  I motioned for her to continue.

  She put her hand at the bottom of my martini glass. �
��Drink up. You’re going to need the extra mental buffer.”

  I took a sip, only to appease her, although it did taste good. “You were saying?”

  Zahera glanced at Danny’s phone, then looked at me. Her eyes got wide.

  “How bad can it be?”

  She and Danny traded knowing glances, then Zahera said, “Pearl said, and I quote, ‘Ivy better watch her back.’ Can you believe that bitch?”

  I downed the rest of my drink and went back for round two.

  31

  Kids were the best distraction in the world. Especially if you were on the verge of going postal on a certain blogger.

  “Wow, Gramps, isn’t this the coolest?” Drew looked up at his grandfather with wonderment in his eyes. His hand hovered a few inches above the three-D display of what TJ’s Funhouse would soon become. “This is like a Star Wars world.”

  That made me pause. I hadn’t put much thought into it, but I suppose the mock-up did look a little like one of those futuristic cities. “Are you a big Star Wars fan, Drew?”

  “Yeah, but…” He looked at his Gramps, sticking his hand in his pockets.

  “We’ve never seen any of the Star Wars movies,” Billy said, apparently not as embarrassed as his older brother to admit such heresy. “Just seen a lot of commercials and some of the games in the toy stores.”

  I made a mental note, then sidled up next to William. He was clean shaven, his gray hair slicked back. He had on a set of clothes that appeared to have been purchased in this century, and his eyes were void of red lines. But more than anything, he had this satisfied glow about him. “You look like a happy guy, William. How did you get the kids for the night?”

  He crossed himself, something I’d never seen him do when Billy and Drew had been kidnapped. “I guess the stars were aligned,” he said with a chuckle.

  I realized that the only booze I smelled in the air came from my breath.

  He was just getting started. “It was the strangest thing. Out of the wild blue, the boys texted me about this funhouse. Apparently, the buzz about this party got around pretty quickly. And they were begging me to bring them.”