by Anita DeVito
“Doctor?” Tammy said from a doorway. “Mr. Fabrini will see you now.” She turned and left, expecting him to follow.
Tom shoved his baggage to the back and hurried to follow the assistant. Fabrini’s office was an immense room with a massive desk that would make Lebron James look like a kindergartener sitting in his daddy’s chair. Two chairs faced the desk. Fabrini stood and gestured to the chairs as Tammy walked to the silver coffee service sitting on a side board.
Never one for small talk, Fabrini got down to business. “Tell me what you know.”
“The investigators aren’t saying much. Early stages blah, blah, blah. They are scheduled to be on site tomorrow, if you haven’t heard. I began the follow-up interviews but didn’t get anything new.” He held back the odd behavior of Carter and Hawthorne, not ready to say what it meant.
“You’re sure it was sabotage?”
Tom leaned forward. “What have you been saying?” Whoever hit him wanted to stop his investigation. If the old man had been talking, Tom wanted to know to whom.
“I’ve been saying accidents like this don’t happen at my company.” He bellowed like a fog horn. “I’ve been saying that when I get my hands on the guy who did this, I’m going to turn him into sausages.”
As threats go, it was graphic but not specific. He would have said it to those closest to him—his son, Stinson, Tammy. Who else could he have worried?
“The witness accounts supported my observations. The problem is what actually happened and what should have happened aren’t the same. Then there is the failure itself. A clean break. Is it natural? I don’t know. Not yet.”
“Will you be able to tell us who did it?”
“Fingerprints aren’t my area of expertise.”
Fabrini came to his feet, his cheeks growing flush. “There were fingerprints?”
“I don’t know. I was being figurative. I wouldn’t know how to collect them if they were there.” He paused to consider tactics. “I want to talk with the people closest to Hawthorne and to you.”
“Me? What are you accusing me of?”
“You’re coming from the wrong angle. If someone did this to cripple F&F, they were by default coming after you. If we can figure out the who, maybe that will lead us to the how.”
Fabrini fell back into his chair, deflated. “What could have been done differently? We have some of the strictest safety practices in the industry. What could we have done differently to protect my men? My company?”
“Once we know what happened, we’ll be able to talk about how to prevent it. Frank, if this was a case of sabotage, all the safety protocols in the world may not have been able to stop this. A determined man is a dangerous one.”
At that moment, a determined woman crouched under a desk one floor up, listening with interest to the quiet argument being held ten feet from her.
“What were you thinking going back there?” The male voice was young and reeked of frustration.
“It’s not a big deal. I covered.” The voice was arrogant, the kind that came from getting away with things.
“Your old man gets wind of this and we are both dead.”
“Don’t worry about him.” So cocky was Fabrini junior. That fit the picture Peach had in her head.
“How did you lose the delivery?” Dealer asked. This voice she didn’t recognize, but it was clear who he was. If Junior would just call him by name, it would be the cherry on her sundae.
“I don’t know. I swear I don’t,” Junior said. “It was in the truck when we got there. I stowed it under the seat when Riley and his goon had us searching for ghosts in the middle of the night. When I got to Joe’s the next day, it was gone.”
Pride was a wide, broad smile. The risk had totally been worth it. The dumbass hadn’t even made it hard with the bag sticking out in the backseat.
“That one is coming out of your hide. You better break open Daddy’s checkbook. Twenty-five grand tomorrow night.”
“Come on, man. I can’t come up with that kind of cash that fast. What if I got the blow back? Riley has to have it. Where else could it have gone?”
Dealer snapped. “Tomorrow night. The money or the product. Or you’ll be the one taking a dip.”
One set of footfalls moved across the floor. A door opened, then closed. Peach stayed where she was. Five seconds passed. Then ten. There was an explosion of profanity followed by some serious thumping. A foot against something. Then the second set of footfalls crossed the floor and went out the door.
She waited in place for two full minutes before easing her way into the desk chair. Moving quickly, she started the computer. The system was on a server, but fortunately for her, Fabrini didn’t spend the same kind of cash on his network security that he did on his décor. The file system used was simple and organized. She quickly found the files on the hotel and casino F&F was building on the lakefront. When completed, the seventeen-story structure would look like a ship going down in the water. She shuddered. So much for good taste.
The server was too big for her to copy all the project files. She didn’t know which other projects were Hawthorne’s, and she didn’t have time to go through them one by one.
But she did have time to plant a little program that would make a return visit much faster.
She pressed her ear to the door. Hearing nothing, she opened it a crack and scanned the third-floor hallway. Empty. She hung her messenger bag across her body and went casually for the back stairs. Out the back door, she crossed the soft grass toward the fast food restaurant where the Beast waited for her.
She picked up French fries and a milkshake because she had missed lunch and then climbed into the truck. As she sat waiting for traffic to ease, she saw Tom in the passenger window of the black Escalade. The window went up as it turned out of F&F’s front drive.
“Isn’t this a coincidence?” Decision: mind her own business or follow.
She gave them some space then pulled into traffic. “You don’t learn, do you? That man is trouble.” Popping a fry into her mouth, she drove casually. Just another worker bee sucking on a milkshake on her way home. A silver SUV swung out of F&F, cutting her off. She stood on the brakes to avoid the crash, the Beast’s backend kicking like a mule. The son of a bitch floored it, opening the distance between them. It wasn’t your normal “oops I cut someone off, let me make up for it.” This was the start of a race. Peach stomped on the gas, sending the four hundred-twenty horses under her hood into a sprint. The gap closed as they turned right. She was close enough to hear the SUV’s tires squeal around the corner. It sped out of the turn, and she followed it. Red lights began flashing, and the arms of the railroad crossing gate came down. Tom’s Escalade stopped. The silver one didn’t.
The curtain lifted on a nightmare. The silver SUV hit the Escalade hard, pushing it toward the tracks. The driver had to be Jeb. He fought for control, leaving rubber on the road, but the SUV had momentum on his side. In the distance—the near distance—the whistle of the train wailed ominously.
“Nope. Not gonna happen.” With calm, focused intent, she demanded more from the engine. She controlled her speed and swung wide, then plowed into the silver vehicle’s quarter panel at full throttle. Impact ripped control from her hands. Colors flew by and then came to a sudden end.
Tom braced his feet, standing on an imaginary brake while Jeb used the real one to keep them off the tracks. “Jeb.” Watching in his mirror, he saw a white pickup racing up. “Jeb! That’s Peach’s truck. I swear it’s the same.”
“Hold on.” The hit came, knocking them forward, and then they were free. They did a donut and ended in the on-coming lane, feet away from the gate arm as the train roared through the crossing.
“What the hell is going on?” Tom yelled as he clung to the Jesus bar. “Where’s Peach?”
“In the ditch. Get her!” Jeb slammed on the brakes, coming to a jarring stop next to where the steel carcasses lay in the ditch. The silver SUV ended with the passenger side embedded
in the soft mud. Peach went in nose first. Nobody moved in either vehicle. “God damn it, Tom. Get your girlfriend. Now!”
Tom burst from the cab and slid down the short, steep hill. The long, wet grass made the footing difficult, even in his work boots. Her driver’s door nearly touched the SUV. He had no room to get her out. “Peach! Peach!” He wrenched open the passenger’s door and found her laying heavily over the steering wheel. Crawling in, he pulled the veil of hair from her face. “Peach, honey. Open your eyes for me.”
Her eyes fluttered but didn’t quite open. He sprung the latch on her seat belt and began pulling her dead weight from the seat. “Peach, honey. I could use some help here. We really need to get out.” Her eyes slowly opened. “Use your legs, honey. That’s right. Just a little further. I have you.” He backed out of the truck, taking as much of her weight as he could. She crawled blindly, her arms and legs plodding uncoordinatedly. He encouraged her, watching her arms tremble. He caught her when they collapsed, pulling her the rest of the way out of the truck.
“M-my bag. I need it.”
He leaned in, fishing her bag from the floor. A shot rang out. Instinct had him covering her body with his.
“Get up here, Tom. Now.” Jeb squeezed off two rounds, discouraging any intervention by the SUV boys. He was out of the Escalade, using the front end for cover. “They don’t have an angle. Move it.”
Using her truck for leverage and cover, Tom carried most of Peach’s weight up the slope. He struggled the last few feet, hampered by her staggering and the wet grass. With determination, he swung her into his arms and ran as Jeb laid more cover. The sound of the shots fueled his legs until he finally opened the back door, hurried Peach in, and then followed.
“On the floor,” Jeb yelled as he jumped into the running vehicle.
Shots rang out as their tires squealed. They sped backward down the road. Sirens sounded in the distance as Jeb executed a three-point turn and floored it. He took the first turn, pulling over to let a police car race past. “We’re clear,” he said, pulling out at a normal speed.
Tom crawled off the floor where he had covered Peach’s limp body. “Peach? Talk to me.” He lifted her onto the seat and snapped the seat belt across her. She had a red streak blossoming across her forehead. “The air bag didn’t go off. It looks like she bounced her head off the steering wheel.”
“That monster probably predated airbags.” Jeb glanced back. “She looks dazed.”
Tom repeated her name and tapped her cheek until there was a flicker of light. She looked around the cab and then stared at his face. Her fingers traced his jaw. “Somebody is trying to kill you.”
Relief swept through him as clarity came into her eyes. He sat in the center seat and fastened the seat belt. “I noticed.” He captured her hand and kissed the palm. “You saved me again.”
“Damn it. I swore I wasn’t going to do that. I don’t even like you.” She pulled her hand away, curling it into a fist and trying to look fierce.
He took her hand back, caressed it. “Liar.”
She looked at him and then quickly away. “Where are we going?”
“Your house,” Jeb said. “Where do you think they are going to go when they trace the plates on your truck?”
Her gaze snapped to Tom’s, and he saw fear in her eyes. “Poppy.”
Chapter Nine
Tuesday, April 11 four p.m.
Peach hadn’t hesitated saving Tom, but she never considered that she’d be trading Poppy’s life for his. If she’d had thought about it…she would have found another way. There was no lying, pretending she would have left them on their own with the silver SUV. If she could have been certain the Escalade could have escaped on its own, then maybe. Woulda, shoulda, coulda, didn’t. There wasn’t any point looking back; she needed to move forward. “I’ll need to move Poppy. Somewhere he’ll be safe. I can live in my car. Well, I’ll need to get it back. Maybe I can use the Beast.”
“No,” Jeb said. “It’s too hot right now. Let the cops impound it.”
“We’ll take you to our house,” Tom said. She shook her head, refusing to indebt herself to him, but he kept selling. “It’s secure and will give us a chance to figure this out.”
She continued to shake her head. “I can take care of me and Poppy.”
“Of course you can, but I owe you. That’s the second time you helped me. Last time you put yourself in danger to do it and this time your grandfather. Let me do something to make it up to you.”
Collecting a debt was different than issuing it. Maybe. “Where do you live?”
“A farm outside Nashville.”
It was too far away for her to be effective looking for Rico and burying Fabrini. She’d find another way. “Do you know who those guys are?” she asked, changing the subject.
Tom shook his head. “They appeared out of nowhere.”
“They pulled out of F&F. It came racing around the building and cut into traffic after you.”
“Son of a bitch.” Jeb glared at Tom in the rearview mirror. “Clyde, what in the hell did you get yourself into?”
She let them bicker; she had her own problems. At least Poppy was safe. He left the house when she called and was across the street, at the neighbors. He had friends in the area. Maybe he could stay with someone until she cleared this up.
Soon, they drove through the quiet neighborhood and found nothing out of order. Still, they didn’t take any chances. Jeb parked on the street behind. Tom and Peach hopped the fence, crossed the yard, and went in the back door.
“Poppy’s room first.” She began setting her grandfather’s most prized possessions on his bed. This was a temporary measure. She repeated it over and over when her throat thickened over the sentimental objects.
Tom moved clothing from the dresser to duffle bags. “When we get back to Tennessee, we can figure out what is going on.”
“Poppy and I are staying here.”
Tom froze and just looked at her. “You can’t be serious. Those men are killers.”
“They are after you. They don’t know who I am. There is no connection between you and me. I’ll report Poppy’s truck stolen and kill the connection between you and the truck.”
“You aren’t thinking. The whole reason we’re moving him is because they can connect him to me. Staying is too risky.”
“Have you ever lost someone? Have you ever had someone taken from you and then be told to sit nice and pretty while ‘the authorities’ saw to it?” She stilled, watching his reaction. His gaze dropped, his lips pressed tight. “You have, haven’t you?”
“Yes.” One word, no elaboration.
“Then you understand. I can’t leave. Physically can’t do it. We’ll stay in a motel for a few days. You go to Tennessee. Things will calm down once you leave. These bags are full. We just need his medicine. They are on the windowsill in the kitchen. Can you get them?”
He picked up the two full nylon bags. “I understand what you’re saying and why. There are other options.”
There wasn’t time for a debate, and she wasn’t changing her mind. Leaving him, she went into her room. She packed her computer and a roller suitcase with essentials for working, then opened the small case she kept under her bed. Guns were a necessity in her world, like taxes. She had legally carried since her Air Force days but hadn’t drawn the weapon once. Her brain had always been enough to get her out of tough situations. Drawing a finger across the polished steel, she felt like she was making a choice, but she wasn’t sure between what. Whatever side of the equation Poppy stood on, that was the one she was taking. She locked and loaded the gun, pulled on her shoulder holster, and secured the weapon. Packed, she looked one last time around her childhood room. It was a mess. Her life was; why should her room be any different?
“Get down!” Tom hissed from a prone position on the kitchen floor.
She dropped to the floor, her bags obliviating stealth. “What’s going on?”
“They’re here.”
>
“I’m going to turn on the television. Poppy normally watches TV this time of day, and the noise will give us some cover.” She crawled into the living room, took the remote control from the end table, and crawled back to the hallway before she turned the television on to the latest self-help guru. The noise covered their voices while being reasonable for the home of an elderly man.
The sun, still hours from setting, lit the rooms well enough to see by. The muffled sound of footsteps on the gravel driveway came through the wall. The screen door opened slowly, sustaining a high-pitched squeak. “Stay here.” She whispered the order and then sprang lightly to her feet. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” They hadn’t locked the doors. Trouble was seconds away, she had the gun but…she grabbed the frying pan from the stove.
Tom couldn’t see where Peach went, and he didn’t like it. What was she going to do with a frying pan against a killer? A door opened, then a solid thump and the landing of a heavy weight. Peach. He was afraid to call out. There was no helping her if he was caught, too. He hadn’t been in a fist fight since college.
“Tom?”
Relief flooded his system at the sound of her voice. “Tell me you’re okay.”
“I need help. The tape Poppy used this morning. It’s on the kitchen counter.”
He found the tape and went to the steps to where Peach stood over the unconscious body. They carried the guy to the basement and thoroughly taped his hands, legs, and mouth. In the windowless basement, he took out his phone and called Jeb.
“We caught one. He’s tied up in the basement. I don’t know if he was alone.”
“No. There’s a minivan on the street, engine running. I’m moving the Escalade into the driveway behind Peach’s house. Be ready to run at my signal.”
“He’s coming,” he said to Peach. “We need to be ready when he signals.”