Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper

by Jennifer Archer

  Convenient. Too convenient, maybe?

  The knight had shed the gallant attitude by the first stoplight. Since then, he had only acted annoyed. Annie darted a glance at his vehicle’s bent bumper. Some white stallion. Why was the cabbie so eager to know her business? So willing to watch after her when he didn’t seem to like her very much?

  And then it came to her. Just like that. A possibility that chilled her more than the snow. Could the guy work for Harry and Reno?

  Heart thundering, she turned her back on the cab and started walking again.

  A thin bent man approached from down the sidewalk, shoulders slouched and head down to ward off the blowing sleet. He wore a lightweight jacket, a bandanna tied around his head and pulled down past his eyebrows. He carried a small brown paper sack. Annie sympathized with the old guy for half a second. Then the headlights illuminated his face, and she saw that he wasn’t an old guy, at all. He was a young dude. A young dude who slowed his pace and eyed her up and down. A young dude who smelled like rotting veggies and regurgitated whiskey and had a dagger tattooed on his cheek.

  “Nice coat,” he grunted.

  “Thanks,” Annie mumbled and stepped closer to the curb.

  The cab’s horn blasted a second time.

  She shot a quick look over her shoulder. The vehicle inched along behind her. Confused and frantic, she returned her attention to dagger-cheek.

  His upper lip curled back, and maybe her imagination was only playing tricks on her, but she would’ve sworn the guy only had two upper teeth. They looked like fangs. “You share your coat with me, I’ll share my hooch with you,” he said, then jerking his head toward a nearby alley, he drew a bottle from the sack.

  Oh, gawd. Her heart tripped. She turned to escape inside the diner and the lights went off inside. A Closed sign hung on the door.

  Annie didn’t wait for a third horn blare. She swung around and darted for the cab. She’d take her chance with the irritating cab driver. He made her uneasy, too, but at least he smelled better than the tattooed vampire. Jostling the briefcase and her purse, she opened the front passenger door, climbed in and slammed it.

  The cab driver slanted a bland look her direction as he pulled away from the curb. “What? You don’t like Mad Dog 20/20?”

  “Hey,” Annie said, panting, “I’m not in the mood, do you mind? And before you accuse me of being rude again, I’d like to thank you for waiting for me.”

  “I never said you were rude. You did.”

  “I said you were thinking it.”

  “I wasn’t. Ungrateful, yes. Foolish and impetuous and—”

  “Okay. I get it.” Her heart pounded harder when she looked across at him, harder still when she thought of all the risks she had taken tonight, starting with breaking into Harry’s office, all the way up to climbing back in this cab thirty seconds ago with a man who might be one of her ex-boss’s goons.

  Annie studied his profile a moment. She hadn’t really seen his face up close until now, but the low, smooth rumble of his voice had shot a tingle straight through her the first time he spoke. Or maybe she’d overdosed on adrenaline while escaping Harry, and that had been the true source of the tingle.

  She tried to be quick and discreet in her examination. He didn’t look like any cab driver she’d ever seen. His features were as attractive as his voice, though not as smooth. Not even close. She guessed him to be around her age, though the years had left lines and crevices on his skin that she had been spared—which was good, as she doubted they would look as appealing on her. There was a rawness about the sharp-edged angles that made up his face. A thin white scar slashed his left eyebrow. His chin and jawline were strong and both in need of a shave. Thick dark hair curled around the edge of his coat collar.

  She shifted to the steering wheel.

  He flexed his fingers.

  Large hands. A little rough.

  And then he faced her and she saw his eyes. Dark and direct and penetrating. She swore they looked straight through her, as if he knew just what she was thinking, just what she had done.

  Blinking, she lowered her gaze to his lips. Their fullness surprised her; they were the only thing soft about him. And they looked warm while she was freezing all over.

  A flush of heat spread over her face. The man didn’t look like a goon. He looked like every woman’s rough-and-tumble fantasy.

  He lifted a brow, a smug smile tugging at his mouth.

  She looked away, embarrassed he’d caught her summing him up.

  Wiggling her toes, she stared out the front window. She wasn’t accustomed to New York winters and even wool socks didn’t keep her feet warm. But she had a feeling her toes would burn holes in the soles of her Gucci boots if this guy so much as glanced at them. She couldn’t wait to get home and put an end to this crazy night. The small stash of emergency cash she kept in her underwear drawer wasn’t much, but it would pay for her ride with enough left over for a modest hotel room. She couldn’t stay at her apartment and risk Harry showing up.

  Annie suddenly realized she didn’t have any idea where they were. Nothing outside the cab windows looked familiar. She tensed. Was he headed out of the city? It occurred to her that she didn’t have a clue what goons looked like. Maybe they all had toe-melting stares and lips that made a woman want to pass out cold just for the chance of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Who knows? I haven’t been given my orders yet.”

  “Your orders?” Her heart jumped up to strangle her.

  “Yeah. From you. Where to?”

  When her heart let go of her throat and slid slowly back to where it belonged, Annie told him her address. “You know where that is?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, then chuckled.

  “Is something funny?”

  “I was thinking about your boss…. Judging by the way he was guarding a certain part of his anatomy, I have a feeling he’ll be singing soprano for a while. You do that to him?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.” His laughter melted away another slice of her tension, and she told herself he couldn’t possibly be Harry’s or Reno’s employee. But then, she’d proven repeatedly that she wasn’t the best judge of character when it came to the opposite sex. “I hope you’re right about the soprano,” she said. “It would serve him right.”

  She also hoped what she found in Harry’s briefcase would justify her taking it. Maybe she’d acted rashly, but she refused to entertain regrets. What she’d witnessed in the past few weeks regarding Harry’s business dealings had convinced her more than ever that getting mixed up with Reno twenty-four years ago had ended her mother’s life.

  Though everything she’d recently learned about her mom seemed to indicate Lydia Macy was not the completely selfless, devoted wife and mother that Annie, with the aid of her father, had built her up to be, she could not accept that her mother hadn’t loved them with all her heart. There had to be an explanation for her mother’s behavior that last year of her life, one that would make sense and exonerate her. Some demon, real or imagined, must have preyed on her weaknesses, confused her, pushed her to choose the company of scum over her own husband and daughter.

  As far as Annie was concerned, that demon was Frank Reno.

  As her aunt Tess had guessed, Annie had come to New York to try and better understand her mom, hoping by doing so she’d better understand herself. But now she wanted more; she wanted both Reno and Harry to pay. She wanted revenge for the people they manipulated. Justice for her mother. For Lacy. For her father and herself and all they’d lost twenty-four years ago.

  Leaning back against the seat, she skimmed her palm across the briefcase in her lap. If she found the evidence she expected inside it, tomorrow would be a very interesting day. If she didn’t…

  Annie released an unsteady breath as she contemplated what Harry might do if she found nothing…and he found her.

  THE SNOW FELL FASTER. Fat, wet flakes hit the windshield. Joe switched the
wipers to warp speed.

  His opinion of his passenger had shifted some after watching her outside the diner trying to decide whether or not to accept his offer of a ride. If that bum hadn’t showed up, he thought she actually would’ve struck out walking rather than climbing back in his cab. She didn’t trust him.

  Joe had to respect that. One thing his years on the force had taught him was that few people should be trusted completely. A sad way of thinking, maybe, but if he’d come to it sooner, he’d probably be a lot better off right now. Miss Macy had guts. And she might actually have a brain in that pretty head, too. He wondered if she had used it wisely with Landau tonight? Whatever she’d pulled on him must’ve been a doozy for her to be so on edge. If it wasn’t just some irritating but harmless stunt on her part, she really might be in some serious shit.

  “Here we are.” He pulled to a stop alongside her apartment building.

  “I’ll be back in a minute with the money I owe you.” She gathered her things and reached for the door, then hesitated and cast a glance out the back windshield.

  Sensing her apprehension, Joe said, “Why don’t I walk you up and save you the trip back down here?” When he realized she was going to protest he added, “Besides, this little escapade of yours spooked me.” He feigned a shudder as he said with mock terror, “I don’t want to stay out here alone.”

  Her smile surprised him. So did the fact that he liked it so much. Unlike her newspaper smile, this one touched her eyes. It also revived those torrid fantasies he couldn’t afford to entertain as long as he worked for her father. Fantasies that took place while spending the night inside her apartment with her, rather than outside in the hallway alone. Which is what Milford Macy would expect of him after what went down tonight.

  “Come on up,” she said. “I wouldn’t want you to sit down here trembling with fear.” She slipped the long strap of her purse over her head, across one shoulder and beneath her arm, then climbed out of the cab holding tight to the briefcase.

  Joe met her at the curb and walked beside her across the snow-covered walk to the building’s entrance. While she pulled out her key, he shoved his hands into his coat pockets and stood far enough back so as not to increase her anxiety. She was still unsure of him, he could see that. The image of Harry Landau holding his crotch came to mind again and Joe wondered if he shouldn’t be wary of her.

  The keys slipped from her fingers and landed on the cement with a jingle. When she stooped and picked them up, Joe saw that her hands shook. As she tried the lock again, he stepped up behind her. “Here. Let me.” He placed his hand over hers, and she turned her head slightly and looked up, her face so near to his the warmth of her breath brushed his cheek. Her blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty as he guided her hand to the lock and, together, they inserted the key.

  The door opened and Joe stepped back. He shook snow off his hair, brushed it off his shoulders before following Annie into a brightly lit hallway and up two short flights of stairs.

  At her door, she said, “I’ll just be a second. Wait here.” Then her eyes widened and she quickly covered her mouth and let loose a sneeze that would have easily rattled the windows if there had been any in the hallway. She lowered her hand and winced. “Excuse me. It’s this perfume. I’m allergic.”

  “Too bad. I like it.”

  Joe watched her self-deprecating expression shift again to one of wariness, watched her eyes darken with the same unwanted awareness he felt in himself. He imagined lifting a hand, tracing the curve of her jaw, her smooth pale neck, the hollow beneath her throat. He pictured himself lifting the purse strap over her head, easing the coat from her shoulders as he backed her against the closed door. And as the moment stretched and energy crackled in the air between them, it was easy to pretend she wouldn’t resist, that she would welcome his hands on her body, his mouth on her breast, soothing that angry red scratch.

  Joe blinked and the fantasy vanished.

  Annie glanced down, pink staining her cheeks. She opened the door and went inside, closed it behind her.

  That’s it, Joe thought, cursing quietly and raking a hand through his hair. Time to call old man Macy and put an end to all this. He would deliver his report about what had happened tonight and be through with it. Macy could take it from here. Why should Joe give a damn if Annabelle Macy was in over her head? He didn’t know her. He didn’t care about her. She might look good, but she damn sure wasn’t his type. He didn’t even like the woman.

  He started down the hallway, cursed again, returned to her door. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t walk away. And not only because he was low on cash, short on work and the rent would soon be due. Until he was certain that the woman was not in any danger from Harry Landau or Frank Reno or anyone else, he couldn’t leave her alone. He’d just have to lock up his libido. It shouldn’t be all that difficult; he had no use for fancy-pants women. Especially this one.

  He’d keep telling himself that.

  ANNIE STOOD in the dark with her back against the door, drawing deep breaths, her eyes closed. Except for her feet, she no longer felt cold and she wasn’t all that afraid anymore that Harry might jump out of the shadows. Now it was the man in her hallway who frightened her. More so, her reaction to him.

  On the other side of the door, she heard him utter a particularly foul word, and thought, I couldn’t agree with you more. Good gawd. What in the hell was she thinking letting him get so close? He was a complete stranger and she could not afford to be reckless. Right now, she couldn’t trust anyone except herself.

  Her eyes flew open as the parallel hit her. Is this how her mother had become tangled up with Frank Reno so long ago? Had she found herself in New York alone, desperate and confused? Searching for something? Had he reached out to her and she’d grabbed hold, needing so much to cling to someone?

  Stepping away from the wall, Annie flicked the light switch. The lamp beside the sofa came on, flooding the cluttered living room with a muted glow. Maybe everyone was right and she was like her mother, but she would not make the same mistakes. Tempting or not, she would not fall prey to the stranger outside her door. She would pay him, thank him and send him away.

  A bare Christmas tree sat in the corner, the ornaments to decorate it overflowing from boxes on the floor beneath the branches where she’d left them last week. Her bathrobe and yesterday’s clothes were strung everywhere. A pair of red Jimmy Choo heels she’d bought in her past life peeked out from beneath a chair. Dishes cluttered the coffee table where she’d devoured a quick bowl of cereal at 7:00 a.m. while catching the morning news.

  Sighing with fatigue, Annie walked to the sofa and set Harry’s briefcase at her feet. She hated to admit it, but she sorely missed certain aspects of her prior life. Namely, her weekly maid.

  But for now, at least, maids were a thing of the past. Charlene, Reece and even Sara had told her she was silly not to use her trust fund money. But silly or not, Annie wanted to try to make it on her own for once in her life. The things Aunt Tawney had said about her needing a keeper still burned her ears. It embarrassed and shamed her to be so old and only now completely supporting herself. Besides, her father had set up the trust fund, and though they talked briefly at least once a week, she was still upset with him after learning he had never intended for her to take over for him at the bank. And he had hid so much about her mother for so many years. Things Annie had deserved to know.

  As for the small sum she’d inherited from her mother, she refused to dip into it, either. She had never asked herself why she had saved it for so long, but now she was glad that she had. After helping put Harry away, and with any luck his uncle Frank, too, she planned to use the money to open a business of her own. It was something else she and her mother shared in common—the desire to build something, to make it their own. The difference was that Annie would succeed where her mother had failed.

  Starting for the bedroom, Annie passed the end table and ran her hand across the Waterford crystal angel Aunt Te
ss had given her last Christmas. She snatched her bathrobe from the floor as she passed it by, and started to pull the purse strap over her head when a prickly sensation at the nape of her neck made her pause. Nothing in the apartment looked any different than it had when she left this morning. She didn’t hear any odd noises. Still, she sensed she wasn’t alone. Dropping the robe, she held her breath and slowly backed toward the briefcase.

  The instant her hand touched the leather handle, the lamp went out. Shoes shuffled against carpet, and the case was grabbed from her grasp. Pale light from the windows streamed in. Annie swung around and saw a shadow the size of Sasquatch looming over her. She didn’t have time to cry out before the intruder shoved her onto the sofa and darted for the door carrying the briefcase.

  Panic shot into her bloodstream. Gasping, she pushed to her feet and lunged for the case, catching the man’s arm instead. She dug her fingernails into what felt like a sweatshirt. He tried to sling her off and when she clung, dragged her with him toward the door.

  Annie shrieked, kicking and holding onto his jacket. On pure instinct, she lowered her mouth to his wrist and bit down.

  The feral sound of rage he made raised the hair on her arms. While still holding the briefcase in one hand, the burly man used his opposite arm to catch her about the waist. He lifted her up like a quarter-pound rag doll. Her feet left the floor. Annie screamed and didn’t stop. The man dropped the briefcase to cover her mouth.

  A crash sounded. The door flew open. In the spear of light that sliced in from the hallway, she saw the cab driver leap toward them.

  She twisted, kicked, the toe of her boot connected with Harry’s briefcase and sent it skidding across the room.

  The driver plowed into them and they all hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

  Annie scrambled away from the grunting, cursing men and let them have at each other. On hands and knees she made her way to where the case lay, grabbed it, stood and stepped toward the window, praying she could make it to the fire escape on the other side before the intruder came after her. Her chest ached and her breath spasmed as, hesitating, she glanced back to where the two men blocked the door. The cab driver was on his back and taking a pounding.