Swiveling, she eyed the locks on the outside door, debating if she had time to unlatch and escape or if she should make a run for the backdoor and be faced with the same problem.
The door to the bodyguard’s apartment swung open, and she eyed the man in relief as she worked the locks on the front door. “He was in my apartment!”
Ketchum had made it to the last few stairs, and he jumped, scaling them completely.
One lock undone.
She looked back and froze. Instead of intercepting Ketchum, the new muscle from the first floor apartment focused on her. She knew from the expression on his face.
He was no bodyguard to her.
He was a threat.
A cohort of Ketchum’s.
The brass weapon in her hand was no match for the both of them, but she wielded it all the same as she fumbled with the next lock.
There’s a time when defeat is inevitable. When all hope for escape is gone. When destiny feels like certain death. A moment of unclouded clarity. Overcome, she swung the fireplace tool at the glass sidelight next to the door.
The glass shattered with a melodious tinkle, and she broke the oval glass in the door as well. Her swing toward Ketchum and her fake bodyguard was intercepted. Fake bodyguard threw the fireplace poker aside and dragged her with a meaty hand clamped to her upper arm.
The downstairs apartment was smaller than her own, but what surprised her was the wall of surveillance monitors over a large desk.
Cams of the stairway, the porch, the street, the inside of the garage, views from every corner of the property.
Fake Bodyguard shoved her onto a chair, and after closing the door, Ketchum moved toward her. Blood dripped from a gash below one of his ears onto the shoulder of his shirt.
“I thought you said this was going to be easy money.” Fake bodyguard plucked at the edge of a duct tape roll.
“It is.” Ketchum assured and looked up from an electronic tablet to instruct, “Make sure her hands are in front.
“’One person,’ you said. ‘One stupid girl’ is what you said.” Fake Bodyguard looped the tape tightly around her wrists.
“Forget it, we’re almost done.” Ketchum turned to her. “As I was saying before you so rudely and abruptly ran out, I’m willing to negotiate here. A one-time payment and you’ll never see or hear from me again. Your mother will never see me again.”
One person, you said. One stupid girl.
“Where’s my mother?” Where was the real bodyguard?
“She’s fine. Soon as you make this bank transfer. Two-hundred-fifty thousand. Then the two of you can have a family reunion.”
“Where is she?”
The tablet was shoved into her restrained hands. “Just make the transfer.”
“I can’t do that much.”
“You can and you will.”
“No. It’s too much. It won’t go through.” Fresh panic set in. Not over the money. Because at this moment, if it would make him go away, if it would ensure her mother was safe, she’d make the transfer without blinking an eye. But during the meeting with Gage’s father and her new financial team, she remembered some of the highpoints. The cap on transfers to non-linked personal bank accounts was much lower than he was demanding.
“Shut up and just do it.”
“Fine.” If she had to prove it, she would. It would buy time at the least. “But not on this.” She waved the tablet. “On my own laptop.”
“Goddammit, girl. Just fucking log in and do it!”
“No! You could be logging my info. I want my own computer!”
“Get her laptop.” Ketchum nodded to Fake Bodyguard. “Get her phone too, in case the bank calls to verify.”
They itched among themselves and then questioned her as to where it was. While he was gone to get it, she scanned the room for anything to use as a weapon or any means of escape the second this turned bad. There was no predicting what they would do when the money didn’t go through—or even if it did—and she wanted to be ready.
“Where’s my mom?”
“Couldn’t find the phone.” F.B. was back with her computer.
Ketchum ignored her repeated question, instead snatching the laptop from his accomplice’s hand and slamming it into her lap. She flipped the top up and hit the power button.
“Just tell me where she is. I want to call her.”
A muffled sound from another room of the apartment caused their heads to swivel in that direction.
“Is that her?”
The screen was loading with desktop icons, but her attention was on Fake Bodyguard who was sprinting to the other room.
Tossing the laptop aside, she stood, intent on checking on her mother, but Ketchum shoved her back into the chair so hard, her teeth jarred.
“Your mother is wherever she always is. But if you don’t get that transfer done, I make one phone call and she isn’t. Comprehend?”
Her gaze fell on Fake Bodyguard when he returned and insisted, “Make her hurry, will you? He’s coming to.” And she understood. At least she thought she did. Real Bodyguard was restrained somehow in the other room.
Snatching the laptop up, Ketchum barked out orders as he typed onto the keyboard and handed it back to her. “Here. Type your password and PIN, and I’ll do the rest. We’ll be gone. Poof. Out of your life.”
The homepage on the screen was familiar, but there was just one hitch. A hitch that she was sure would mean he wouldn’t be gone. Wouldn’t poof.
The last time I’d seen that bank logo, I’d been checking my account balance in the bar in Belize.
The last time she’d seen that bank logo, she’d been checking my account balance in the bar in Belize.
“That’s not my bank.” And as he stared, his face a mask of furious incredulity, she expanded. “The money was moved.”
“No games, girl. I’m warning you.”
“The funds were moved right after they rolled to me.” Again, she weighed her options of escape, or at least a fight. “Because of suspicious transfers over the years.” She added with as much satisfaction as fear.
“I don’t believe you.”
Another sound from the other room had Fake Bodyguard edgy. “We need to go.”
Ketchum exploded, ripping one of the chairs from its place at the table and tossing it as if it were a dollhouse toy. “Fine. Sign into your bank and give it here. I’ll figure out the max amount.”
“Someone’s here.” F.B. informed over his shoulder and stepped just to the side of the large window overlooking the street.
Gage? Desperately, she craned her neck for a plane of view. Faintly from the heavens above, she heard her cell ring.
“Sign in now!”
Her fingers tapped the keys while Ketchum moved closer to the window. F.B. stationed himself in front of the monitors.
Could she make it to the door before one of the two caught her? As if picking up that thought wave, Ketchum turned. “Signed in yet?”
“Almost.” She picked up her shaking, bound hands for emphasis and dropped her fingers to the keys again.
Her phone continued to ring. She heard it in the interims of silence. From the other room came an erratic bump here and there.
“Son of a bitch!” F.B. roared from the window.
“Signed in?” Ketchum.
“Can you stop asking every second? I can’t think!”
“What’s to think? Sign the hell in!”
“I can’t remember my password. I’m trying.”
“That’s a lie. Just sign in before I knock your skinny ass outta that chair.”
“It’s not a lie. I’ve been living on a cash stipend for three months. Just shut up and let me think!”
“This is not good. Not good at all.” F.B. swore continuously from his lookout perch. “There’s two of them. I think we’ve been made.” He raced back to the window, and from beneath his jacket, he produced a pistol.
“What are you doing?” She freaked when he checked the clip and
popped it back in. “I’m in. Look! I’m in.”
“Give it here!” Ketchum yanked the computer from her hands.
“What the hell…” F.B. frowned at whatever he was seeing through the slit of drapery and glass.
“The PIN. You put your password in but not the PIN. Give it to me now!”
She was on the floor wincing at the fiery pain in her elbow joint before she realized Ketchum had ripped her from the chair like a ragdoll.
Her head blanked. As surely as a whiteboard that was suddenly erased.
“No bullshit about wanting to put it in yourself. You lost that privilege.”
“You gotta see this.” Totally ignoring the ruckus behind him, F.B. continued his monologue. “These two are brawling in the street.”
She absorbed the information, wondering for the life of her who would be fighting outside the house, but she didn’t dare even look in that direction. Last time she had taken her attention off of Ketchum, she’d found herself here on the floor. “My birthday backwards. Is the PIN.”
“I don’t know your―”
“Okay. Yeah. They’re in the gate. Coming to the house.” F.B.
“Then shut up about it and take care of them!” Ketchum yelled. Kneeling, he shoved the computer at her and snapped, “You’ve got five seconds to put the PIN in or I’ll wrap my hands around your neck and make you hold your fingers up for each number.”
The click of the safety released. F.B. positioned the gun and cracked the apartment door. Ketchum’s attention was diverted, and she took that opportunity to try out another move from her self-defense seminar years ago. Lifting her wrists above her head, she brought her arms down as hard as she could, using her hipbones and the momentum to rip her wrists apart and break the tape.
Ketchum spun back to her, but she already had the computer with a hand on either side of the screen, and she arced it in a swing so that the edge of the heavier keyboard clocked him in the temple. Immediately, she put distance between them and watched astounded as he crumpled. It looked as if she’d knocked him out!
F.B was in the hallway now, and through the broken windows, she saw Gage and Logan sprinting up the porch steps. Running, she used her weight and momentum, barreling into the back of F.B. while screaming out a desperate warning to Gage and Logan. Using the banister, F.B. caught his balance and reflexively turned the pistol to her.
“Scarlette!” Gage shouted her name in a way she’d never heard it. Terror. Frustration. Above all, love. One of his arms extended through the broken glass and he grappled with the locks at a disadvantage of not knowing which were already released.
“Stay out, or I will shoot her.” F.B. might have been acting like an extremely unseasoned criminal, but now, without Ketchum yapping at him, he was unruffled.
“Drop it.” Deadly calm, she heard the order come from behind her and although it had been months, she recognized the voice of her longtime neighbor and bodyguard. F.B. hesitated, but had his own moment of clarity. Reengaging the safety, he set the gun on the stairs, and Real Bodyguard demanded, “Hands up, motherfucker,” before stepping forward and grabbing it.
“Scar…” Gage’s arm hooked around her waist, dragging her far from the action. “Thank fuck.” He hugged her close, but not before she noticed the scrape on his temple. Still against his chest, she twisted her head and found Logan just as scuffed up.
What the hell?
Chapter 45
“What the hell?”
Gage had expected Scarlette’s question. Police procedure was over. Ketchum and his accomplice had left in the back of a squad car hours ago. Scar’s live-in bodyguard had been escorted to the hospital the moment his temporary replacement (times two) had arrived. The two men were downstairs. One stationed outside and one inside the downstairs apartment with the surveillance equipment.
Ketchum and his accomplice had used an animal tranquilizer dart on her regular security as he was entering the property and then restrained him in his apartment for two days with further doses of tranquilizer. He’d told the police that he’d had a window of approximately a minute before the drug and his assailants had overtaken him, but his phone hadn’t worked. He suspected them of using a ‘pocket jammer’ to prevent his call for help the moment he realized he was under attack.
They’d used the keys in his pocket to get him back inside his apartment, and a lock picking kit to get inside her apartment. This explained the jammed, uncooperative lock when she arrived home.
“Seriously, guys.” She looked to Logan who had immediately busied himself cleaning up the mess in her apartment the moment they’d walked in.
When he pretended not to hear, Gage sighed. “I was on my way back even before I got your text. It took so long because I’d had Allison just pull over and let me out before she got on the freeway. I got the text while walking back toward your place, and I tried to call you to see if you wanted to pick me up. When you didn’t answer, I kept walking while calling Logan to give him hell for not picking me up at the airport. He was already on his way here, so he swung by. Picked me up. By the time we got here, we were arguing.”
“You were on your way here?” Scar turned inquisitively back to Logan, and Gage gritted his teeth. Not ‘wow, Gage, you were walking back to my house?’ The part of that story she’d taken so quickly away was Logan.
“Yeah. To apologize. In person. About the dating fiasco.” Logan, to his credit, seemed embarrassed.
At this, Gage left her side for the first time since finding her at the end of a gun muzzle. Opening the fridge, he peered in, biting back his jealousy as Logan proceeded with the mentioned apology.
The moment he’d looked beyond Logan to the house and had seen the broken windows had been the most terrifying moment of his life. And he’d had some doozies, if near death experiences counted.
Scar’s fridge was near empty. One bottle of water occupied space among a few condiments. He left it for Scar and opened cabinets until he found a glass. California tap water might be lethal but he’d take his chances.
“You eat today?” He returned to the couch where Logan had hijacked his spot. Without preamble, he jammed himself on the piece of a cushion between Scar and the armrest, happy for the excuse of his body touching hers.
“I think.” She spaced off staring toward the fireplace. “I’m not hungry if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I’m gonna order. Is that okay?”
“Here?”
A stab to his gut. The one-word question was as good as saying, ‘Why my house? Eat at your own damn house.’
“I’m not leaving you.” Stubbornly, he began scrolling through his ‘food finder app’ for nearby takeout and ignored the kick to his pride when she frowned while mulling over his words.
Logan spoke up. “Well, I had a thing tonight. My friend’s band.” The group his assistant named wasn’t among any he knew. “You remember, Scarlette.”
Another sting of jealousy pricked when she nodded.
“I can cancel. But since your stalker’s in custody, I thought I’d go.”
Just go. Damn he may have drawn blood biting his tongue this time.
“Sure. I’m good. Go. In fact, I may not stay here tonight. It’s too soon.” She walked him to the door. Hugged him. Ouch again. “Thanks for cleaning up—and everything.”
Logan left. Scarlette decided for sure she couldn’t sleep in the house where she’d been attacked hours ago. He felt like an ass for not being more sensitive to this and understood her aversion to ordering food and sitting down to a meal in this place so soon. She decided on the Bel-Air hotel just down the road.
“Can you just grab me anything you see out of that basket on the dresser to get me through the night? It’s the tour packing reject pile.” She pecked at her phone. “I’m going to call Mom again.”
He selected clothing and toiletries, piling them on the bed for her perusal and easy packing and texted security while she called Henni for the third time that evening. He knew she was wo
rried because Ketchum had mentioned accomplices in Belize waiting to pounce if things didn’t go right. As much as it riled him to do so—since in a way, Henni had been the cause of this climatic situation with her usual lack of smart choices and careless handling of situations as they arose—he’d arranged round-the-clock security for her for the next several days.
“They got there.” Scar ended the call, and she looked so relieved, he felt petty for his anti-Henni attitude. It didn’t matter that he thought she was a shitty mother. She was Scar’s mother. Her only living relative that she knew of.
“Good.” He indicated the spread of items on the bed, and she nodded her thanks.
In less than five minutes, she’d dumped one of her smaller bags from tour into the bathroom floor and began selectively refilling it. “Did you already make the reservations?”
“Yeah. I got us a suite.” Something crossed her face, and he wondered if it was the ‘us.’ Hurriedly, he added, “Two bedrooms, a Jacuzzi for you to soak in, and the kitchenette has both a hot and cold beverage maker.” He waggled his eyebrows while touting the perks as quoted to him. But mainly he’d wanted to stress the two bedrooms. He was picking up on some extreme vibes.
It was normal, he knew. She was shaken. Traumatized. And he was no shrink, but surely, their on-again-off-again, freaky relationship was the last thing on her mind right now. It wasn’t as if they’d ever had more than a few months of being a couple secure enough to seek solace in each other at a time like this without overthinking things.
“Sound okay?” He reached out, running a finger down her arm. “It’s like I said, I don’t want to be away from you right now.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She zipped the bag and seemed to shake from a fugue. “It’s not that. It’s that…” And then she turned and his heart stopped. Her eyes were limpid with unshielded emotions. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Love. “…I think I changed my mind. I’d rather go to your house if that’s okay.”
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 55