Hunting April

by Danica St. Como

  Abigail's tone deepened. "Using the excuse that you were drunk doesn't cut it.

  That's total bullshit. Let me tell you my theory, sport. Remarks that pop out of people's mouths while they're under the influence must sprout from somewhere. Those little niggling, pesky thoughts don't just magically appear. They float around in your brain until the alcohol or drug fogs the little gray cells enough that common sense, decency, and compassion are overpowered. Then your mouth opens, and in goes your foot, right up to the thigh. We're not children; there are no take-backs or do-overs. What's said is said. End of fucking discussion."

  Silence. Then, very faint, April heard a noise that could have been a sob. Oh shit, now what do I do? Then more odd sounds. Omigod, they're strangling each other! She snuck closer to peek through the crack, prepared to slam against the door, push it wide open to break up the attack—

  April felt her cheeks heat with embarrassment. The couple was so not arguing.

  Bathed in the ambient light of the clear star-filled sky, a naked Glennon stretched out in bed, on his back. An equally nude Abigail sat astride him, taking great care not to hit his sling or cast. She rode his cock while he caressed her pert breasts with his good hand. The moans escalated as Abigail's hip action increased.

  April didn't know whether to retreat and hope the wooden floor didn't squeak, or stay put. Never been a voyeur until now. She watched as Abigail brought her arms up and folded them behind her head, arched her back as she lifted her long blonde hair. It was the first time April had seen the silky strands loosened from Abigail's usual workaday ponytail.

  Glennon groaned, pushed his pelvis up and into his willing partner.

  "That's it, Abby. Ride me like that. Ride me hard."

  "You are hard, baby, hard as an iron rail. Don't think you can get much harder."

  The rhythm of Abigail's movements seemed to ramp up, then the moaning from both parties increased.

  April took advantage of the escalating voices to back away from the door, to tiptoe back to her room, quietly shut herself in.

  I suppose this means there's no need to worry about Glennon wanting to share me with Daniel. She settled in the side chair. Then again, I don't need to worry about Daniel at all.

  Wrapping her arms around her folded knees, she let the tears come again—for the last time.

  * * * * *

  When April reached the kitchen at about quarter after four, her two housemates were wide awake and already there. Abigail took eggs, milk, and other ingredients from the fridge. "C'mon, folks, we all need sustenance."

  Glennon crutched by, kissed Abigail in passing. "Hey."

  "Hey to you, too. Sit, eat."

  April still wore Daniel's shirt and hugged it tightly around her body. Might as well get this over with before I lock myself in a closet for all eternity.

  She didn't sit. She watched Abigail and Glennon, felt uncomfortable in the company of the sated, happy couple. Images of their recent romantic interlude continued to parade through her mind.

  "Listen. I have a plan."

  * * * * *

  By five a.m., April was behind the wheel of the lodge's Explorer, heading south and east to connect with the Interstate. Before she lost her nerve. She ignored the incessant ringing of her fresh burn phone. Abigail and Glennon continued to call, as they tried in vain to convince her not to make the trip. At least, not to make the trip alone.

  Pounding his fist on the kitchen table, Glennon had been the most vocal. "April, be smart about this. Hand the flash drive to the FBI wrapped in a big freaking red ribbon and let them deal with it. I can put you in touch with the right people. They'll have orgasms over a gift like this—at the very least, they'll drool unattractively. You'll be a national hero. Heroine."

  His mouth twisted in a false grin. "Well, you would be, if the story ever saw the light of day. Which it won't."

  April shook her head one more time, adamant. "You don't understand. I can't just hand it over. Angelo needs to be stopped, once and for all, or I'll always be looking over my shoulder. We all will. The man is a flipping lunatic. I knew it, and now you've seen it. If something isn't done about him, none of us will have a moment of real peace. Even if he was arrested and prosecuted, even if he made it to prison, witness protection won't keep us safe. Do you want to give up your lives? Do you want to exist like that? I don't.

  I want us to be safe and sound, I want family and friends to be protected. This is the only way."

  Abigail chimed in. "Jesus H. Christ, April—but Tony M?"

  "Just trust me, okay? I have the inside track—I know what I'm doing." Praise be to all the gods in all the heavens, please let me know what I'm doing. "If anything happens to me, tell my folks I love them so much. And promise that you'll remember to feed the cat."

  * * * * *

  "What do you mean, she's gone?" Daniel continued to pace as he snarled at Glennon. "How the bloody hell could you let her leave?"

  He refused to acknowledge the fact that Glennon's left arm and right leg were still out of commission.

  Abigail, who was obviously not out of commission, jumped in Daniel's face.

  "Back off, buddy. How were we going to stop her? She's free, over twenty-one, cranky, totally jacked up with an overabundance of righteous indignation, and we believe she's armed. The FBI has her Glock in evidence, but the .22 seems to be missing. To make it worse, she's a woman on a mission. You bailed out, pal. You really have no stake in this, do you? Nothing for you to say."

  "I'm fucking-a well here now. Damn it. Westhampton? To Tony M's fucking fortress? Do you know who he is? Do you have any bloody idea who he is?"

  The great room proved inadequate to contain Daniel's agitated strides.

  Glennon snorted. "Yeah, we all know, buddy. Half my billable hours are spent keeping tabs and traps on Antonio Martone's whereabouts, for our friends in both state and federal law enforcement."

  "When did she leave? What is she driving?"

  "I'd say she has at least two hours on you. Took Lucian's Explorer. Should be easy to spot. SUV, teal, four-door, black brush guard, winch, black roof rack. Maine Black Bear license tags."

  Abigail walked out to the driveway with Daniel, her posture stiff and confrontational.

  "You fucked up, buddy, big time. Admit it. Now she feels honor-bound to protect everyone. Ya gotta admire her guts, but her lifeline is getting shorter by the mile. Glennon is out for the count, and I won't leave him alone. I don't believe this falls under Mac's jurisdiction, and the FBI won't go after Angelo Martone for the hit."

  She stuffed her hands in her front pockets. "I have no idea why, probably because you're so fucking charming, but she has it for you in a big way. And she has it bad."

  Daniel threw his duffle bag back in the car with more force than necessary.

  "Then let me ask you something personal, Ms. Badass Game Warden with a big gun. If she wasn't trying to make Garrett jealous, or use me as the rebound guy, why was she already on full-time birth control? If she wasn't having sex, why the precaution?" He wasn't comfortable with the conversation, but he was determined to understand what had gone on in April's life before he fell, hard, for her.

  Abigail laugh nearly turned into a snort. "And that's what's bothering you? Girl stuff? The supersized tough guy with possessiveness issues is worried about birth control instead of enjoying the perks? Dear Lord, save me from macho men. Let me ask you something, fella."

  "All right."

  "Have you ever had a period? Ever had to deal with it?"

  "For fuck sake, of course not. Why should I?"

  "Exactly. Why should we?"

  Daniel blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

  "Y'know, sometimes you guys are dumb as fence posts. You just don't get it. If a woman isn't planning a family any time soon, there's no reason to put up with having periods. I'm out here in the fucking wilderness, sometimes for days at a time before I can reach anywhere remotely civilized. Not exactly convenient to have, shall we say, female i
ssues. April was on the career fast track. Work, work, work. Work, exercise, more work. Not in the dating pool, not interested in babies. But, maybe, we will want to have kids, some day. In the meantime, why bother with the bother?" Abigail kicked the dirt. "She wasn't bed-hopping, asshole."

  Still chewing over Abigail's words, Daniel settled himself in the driver's seat.

  Bollocks, I should have gone to April last night. "If she checks in, tell her to pull over somewhere safe. Tell her to wait until I get there."

  "Oh, sure." Abigail snickered, and it wasn't pretty. "She'll be all sorts of quick to oblige. Forget that plan, bucko. She stopped answering her cell phone before she even pulled out of the driveway. Didn't want to hear us making sense."

  "Fuck."

  Forty-five seconds later, the dual exhausts of a bright red 1966 Pontiac GTO left twin dust devils in its wake as tires spun out on the gravel.

  I need to find her before she gets herself killed.

  Chapter Twenty

  Monday, late afternoon

  April stopped once for fuel. She sustained herself with drive-thru food and a couple of power naps along the way. She'd survived before on less.

  It was early suppertime when she reached the Westhampton estate of Antonio

  "Tony M" Martone. She leaned out through her opened window, pressed the buzzer at the security station in front of the imposing spear-tipped iron gates.

  A disembodied voice crackled through the speaker. "May I help you?"

  She looked directly into the camera. "April Hall. Please tell Mr. Martone that his ex-future niece-in-law would like to see him. It's a private matter of great urgency."

  Once inside the palatial stone manor house, April's silent escort—a WWF drop-out who made no effort to hide the Dirty Harry cannon secured in his shoulder holster—relieved her of her .22 Smith & Wesson, then led her past a beautifully benched seating area flanked by huge potted palms. He knocked at a tall, ornate door to the right of the foyer, opened it, motioned April into the room.

  With a sweep of his hand, the elder Martone welcomed April into his study. She checked out her surroundings. A spacious, high-ceilinged room with massive, but tastefully chosen, antique furniture, set off by deep wine, brocade drapes with gold fleur-de-lis.

  She hadn't known what to expect, but she certainly didn't expect the infamous Tony M to be so, well, distinguished. Like an older Ricardo Montalban. Deeply tanned, with a full mane of wavy silver hair, and the sharp black eyes of a raptor. He motioned toward the liquor bottles on the sideboard. She declined with a soft head movement.

  Without preamble, April handed Antonio a large envelope. The old man settled comfortably behind an heirloom desk. The high-backed chair upholstered with midnight blue velvet looked suited to royalty, which she assumed had been carefully calculated. Everything was large scale and opulent, intended to overwhelm his adversaries.

  He opened the envelope. Eight-by-ten glossy photos spilled out, slid across the highly polished desktop. Graphic color photos of a man's bloody body.

  April finally broke the silence, jumped into the deep end of the pool without preamble. "They tell me this is—or was—Valentino Rugakoff. Angelo hired him to kill me."

  The old man didn't bother denying the allegation. "Such an arrangement was not sanctioned." He steepled his fingers. "Your bodyguard is competent."

  "I don't need a bodyguard. I took out Rugakoff."

  The old man straightened in his seat, seemed to reassess his guest.

  "You?" One classic white eyebrow arched.

  "Glock .40 caliber, semi-auto. Six shots to the chest."

  "That would make someone very dead, yes."

  "Just for the record. The man who trained me wasn't my bodyguard. He was my lover."

  He raised the other eyebrow. "I see. And what can I do for you, April Hall?"

  "Actually, sir, it's what I can do for you. Do you have a computer?"

  He took her request in stride. "There."

  A laptop sat on a small, black, lacquered writing desk.

  April unplugged the computer, powered it up on his oversized desk, slid the flash drive into the port.

  "The blackmail file Angelo threatened to send to my parents has been deleted—

  the contents are no one's business but my own. Everything else is as we found it. There are about three hours of edited footage. You might want to fast-forward through certain sections, then study them more closely in private."

  She parked on a comfortable chair facing the desk, the better to watch Antonio's reaction.

  "We?"

  Ah, now we come to the sticky part of my plan. "The bodyguard who's not really my bodyguard, the security expert who opened the files, and a close friend who is kinda-sorta in law enforcement. Their lips are as tightly sealed as mine are. We cannot divulge the information without implicating ourselves, and we do not wish to implicate ourselves. The results could get ugly, and there's no point to it. We have nothing to gain. Sir, we want this entire affair as dead and buried as Rugakoff's remains."

  The senior Martone turned his attention to the computer screen and scrolled through the files. His rich, bronzed complexion paled and his handsome, aristocratic features sagged before her eyes.

  "This is why you ran from my nephew?" He did not look at her, just continued scrolling.

  April shifted in her seat. She arranged her skirt, crossed her legs gracefully at the knees. No longer the doormat, she was April again.

  "Your nephew, sir, imprisoned me in his big fancy house, then, shall we say, reinforced his wishes." She considered for a moment. Rising, she turned her back to him. She shrugged the loose, gauzy blouse off her shoulders, then stood naked to the waist.

  The old man stopped looking at the computer screen, gazed at her, sucked in a strangled breath.

  April adjusted her clothing to cover the scars, turned to face him again, then sat again. "I escaped from Angelo. The how and where isn't important. Then I made a mistake."

  She took a deep breath, stared at her hands for a moment before she could continue. Next, she made strong, solid eye contact.

  "Angelo found us. He sent Valentino for me, and for the flash drive. I had no idea the flash drive was in my possession. As you see, dear darling Angelo couldn't take the chance these files would fall into the wrong hands."

  She shifted in her chair. A flashback hit her, an image of the predatory woman who had taken over Glennon's office. April strengthened her body language. Let's go for the confident look. Glenn Close, not Sharon Stone.

  "Once Angelo recovered the flash drive, ownership of his companies would revert to him on my subsequent demise with nothing more than my death certificate. At the moment, I believe that I technically own his sorry ass." Okay, let's see how this plays out.

  The surprise—then disgust—on Antonio's face appeared totally genuine. After the fast-forwarded videos wound down, he closed the laptop. He pushed the machine away, as if it had all the allure of road kill on a hot summer day.

  "You have courage, coming here, alone, into the lion's den. But maybe this is a small consideration, after killing Valentino. The best at his job. Taken out by such a little girl."

  April's expression hardened, her posture stiffened.

  Antonio held his hand up."Calm yourself. It is a complimento." He sat back in his chair. "So, you come to me. What is it that you want in exchange for your silence?"

  Here we go. Time to let it all hang out. "Your solemn word that I, and mine, will be permitted to live in peace and never be bothered. I'll sign whatever you need me to sign, but I will not set foot, ever again, in the same room as your nephew. I'm sure you understand."

  She rose, unplugged the flash drive and held it up. "The FBI, the CIA, the State Police, the LEOs—they know nothing of this. They are aware only of my belief that Angelo hired the shooter, but there is no evidence other than my word to support my conviction."

  "Then how do you know this to be true? How can you be sure it was my nephew who or
dered the hit?"

  April shrugged. "From Rugakoff's own lips. He happened to mention it—just before he promised to kill my man, hunt me like an animal, then kill me for his pleasure." My dainty antelope, he'd said. She shuddered.

  "Yet you killed him and escaped harm."

  "Yes."

  "And your word is not good enough?"

  "Apparently not without corroboration. In truth, I believe the authorities care only that Rugakoff is dead. I vow to you that we made no copies of these files. I suspect that Angelo doesn't have copies, or he wouldn't have been so determined to retrieve the copy I have. The flash drive is my gift to you—and I leave you to clean your own house." Don't be too pushy here; this man isn't an idiot. Just plant the seed.

  Antonio's expression hardened, ever so slightly. "And that is all you require?"

  April smiled. "Well, sir, it would be a wonderful gesture if you could see your way clear to make a generous donation to the St. Francis of Assisi convent, to assist the good nuns who take in battered women and their children, to bind their wounds and keep them safe. It is a small church with very little money, across the highway from Angelo's neighborhood. Anonymously, or not. Your choice."

  Antonio's countenance relaxed, resumed its handsome features. "It is a small thing. Consider it done. Is there anything else? You ask very little in exchange for such an important gift as you give me."

  He gave her a hard, piercing stare. She met it, bravely.

  "No, sir, Mr. Martone. Just the promise of safe passage, which I requested. I know you would honor such a promise." Let this work, please let this work.

  A soft knock at the door interrupted them. The ex-pro-wrestler approached the desk, walked around to whisper in Antonio's ear. The old man nodded.

  The beefy bodyguard turned to leave—and Daniel Wyndsor barged into the room. The heavy man went for his sidearm, but Daniel quickly held up his hands, fingers splayed. Dressed in his professional dark suit-white shirt attire, he slowly opened his jacket, lifting the lapel with forefinger and thumb to reveal an empty shoulder holster to a calm, but curious, Antonio.