Wrong Number, Right Guy

by Tara Wylde

  Something doesn’t feel right about this explanation. Yet another thing to stew about.

  “And then there’s the computer stuff,” Daryl continues.

  “Which is?”

  “On several occasions, Ella has been brought in to work on Abutilon’s computer system. She’s even designed a few programs for them. Programs that have already been connected to at least one or two of Abutilon illegal activities.”

  My cell phone rings, startling both of us. I look at the screen, hoping it’s Ella, that she can provide some sort of reasonable explanation that negates everything my best friend has said about her. But it’s not Ella’s number on the screen. It’s one I don’t recognize. I almost hit the red reject button, but at the last second I change my mind and tap the green answer icon.

  “Hello.”

  “Jason. Jason Monroe.” The caller is breathless, like she’s just finished a long-distance foot race. The voice sounds like it belongs to an older woman. There’s something familiar about it, though I can’t pair it with a name or a face.

  “Speaking.”

  “Thank God. I found this number in Ella’s things and hoped it was yours.”

  Recognition dawns. “Is this Ella’s friend? Adele?”

  “Yes,” she confirms. I hear her draw a deep breath. “I’m calling to tell you that Ella’s manager at the call center just called me and said that Ella hasn’t shown up for work, which isn’t like her at all. He thought that maybe she was too sick to phone in.”

  When I left Ella this morning she’d been perfectly healthy. Before I can say this, Adele continues talking.

  “She’s been having some problems with the Bianchi family. She owes them money and Abe Bianchi has been putting some pressure on her.”

  And just like that all the pieces fit together. I catch Daryl’s eye.

  “Mister Monroe—” There’s no mistaking the fear running through Adele’s voice. “I’m afraid he’s done something to her.”

  29

  Ella

  My head feels as if it’s about to explode from the inside out. The pain is so intense, I’m afraid to open my eyes.

  “You may as well stop pretending to be asleep.” A familiar voice, which causes my stomach to roll and buck, sounds near my ear.

  I crack one eye open, wincing as light stabs my cornea. A second later Abe’s fat face blocks out the brightness as he leans over me. I preferred the pain.

  “Nice of you to come back to the land of living.”

  I work some moisture into my mouth, which feels as if it was stuffed full of cotton. “Go to hell, Abe.”

  A blast of rancid breath precedes his trademark chipped-tooth grin. “You’re going to get there before I do.”

  Not liking having him above me, I ignore my pounding head and slowly lever myself into an upright position and look around.

  My best guess is that they’ve stuck me in either a garage or some sort of auxiliary room in a warehouse. Possibly the inside of a storage unit.

  I estimate that the room is approximately ten feet by sixteen feet. The walls are made of corrugated metal. Overhead floodlights illuminate the space. No wonder I’d been all but blinded when I opened my eyes.

  I’m lying on a narrow cot, which is one of two pieces of furniture in the room. The other is a rickety card table that holds an expensive-looking laptop computer.

  A pair of handcuffs around my wrists limit my range of motion. Abe reaches over and fingers one of the cuffs, and I recoil as far as I can before the wall stops me. “I like having my chains on you,” Abe purrs, the sound raising goosebumps on my flesh. “They enhance your appeal.”

  I swallow the urge to scream at him to get away from me, sensing that it’s just the type of thing he wants me to do, and I refuse to play whatever sick and twisted game he wants to indulge in.

  “Why the hell did you take me?” I snarl. “Why am I here?”

  Abe shrugs one massive shoulder and looks bored. “You owe us money,” he reminds me.

  “I’ve owed you and your father money for nearly seven years, but you’ve never grabbed me off the street. You’ve never jacked up the interest rate before.”

  Abe gets up and walks over to the card table. In one hand, he holds a large, black gun. He holds it with such ease, it looks like a deadly but natural extension of his hand.

  I don’t even want to think about why he feels the need to carry the weapon when there are only two of us in the room and I’m in cuffs.

  Abe touches the laptop and the screen springs to life. I shift on the cot. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m one hundred percent positive that I’m not going to like it.

  “The problem, sweet Ella, is that when my father gave you that loan, he never expected you to work so hard to pay it off.”

  My brows knit together. “What are you talking about? Why would he lend me the money if he didn’t expect me to pay it back?”

  “Before handing you that money—” Abe looks over his shoulder at me. “—he checked you out and learned you had skills that could benefit him. He was particularly impressed by the fact that you were being head hunted by so many government agencies. When he gave you the money you needed for your brat’s surgery, he knew that between the amount you wanted and the interest rate, you’d never be able to pay it back. He figured it was only a matter of time before you got tired of trying, at which point he planned on using your government connections to his benefit.”

  I’m not surprised. That was the exact reason I’d turned down all those three-letter organizations in the first place. I’d been young and desperate, but I’d known there was no way I could work for the government in any capacity while I was indebted to the mob.

  Still, having my suspicions confirmed makes me feel even worse than the drug-induced headache.

  Abe stalks across the room toward me. “We had it all worked out, and you ruined everything by just walking away from those offers.” He halts beside the cot. I can’t stop staring at the spittle gathering in the corners of his mouth.

  Since I can’t think of a single response that won’t come off as either flip or sarcastic, I hold my tongue and his gaze. There’s no way in hell that I’m going to let him know that I’m more scared than I’ve ever been before.

  “My dad was royally pissed, but after thinking on the matter for a few weeks, he decided that since you were working meaningless jobs that barely paid enough for the basics, that it wouldn’t be long before you got tired of scrimping and saving and decided to come to us for an alternative solution. And he knew just what that would be.” Abe leers at me. “He was all set to make you our main money person.”

  It had happened once and only once. Unable to make my monthly payment, I’d gone to Abe’s father, hoping to convince him to give me an extension. Instead he told me that if I was willing to use my computer skills and give up a few hours of my time, he’d waive that month’s payment. The only thing I had to do was sit at a computer and move some money from one set of accounts to another.

  I’d done it, but I’d almost wished he’d demanded that I sell myself on some street corner like he did all the other girls.

  I’d had nightmares for months that the cops were going to come and arrest me on money laundering charges. That single experience convinced me I wasn’t cut out for a life of crime—which is why I’ve worked so hard to at least keep the interest on the loan paid.

  And I’ve done it. With the exception of that one incident, I’ve kept my nose clean and made every single payment on time, which is more than can be said for my rent check. But it doesn’t explain why I’m currently sealed in a cold, empty room in the middle of God knows where with Abe.

  “I still don’t understand why you decided to kidnap me today.”

  He waves his gunless hand at the computer. “We have a shipment coming in. We need your help getting a shipment into the city. Originally it was supposed to arrive this weekend, which is why I increased the interest rate on your loan.”

 
; “What does that have to do with anything?”

  Abe blows out a heavy sigh and adopts the long-suffering expression of someone who feels they’re dealing with an idiot. “It’s better if people come to us voluntarily. Cooperation makes them more reliable, less likely to snitch. Raising the interest to something you can’t possibly afford on your wages should have been the incentive to come over to the dark side and…play.”

  “Oh.” Now that he’s laid it out for me, it makes perfect sense. It also explains the feeling I had earlier this week that Abe was up to something. I should have put it all together myself, and maybe I would have if I hadn’t been so distracted by Jason.

  “We’ve talked long enough.” Abe reaches down and grabs hold of the chain that links the handcuffs together. He gives it a sharp tug, pulling me off the narrow cot and to my feet.

  30

  Ella

  “Get your pretty ass over here and sit down.” Abe continues to haul on the chain linking my hands together, not caring that the incessant pressure causes the metal bracelets to bite into my tender skin.

  I have no choice but to grit my teeth against the discomfort and follow at his heels like some half-trained puppy.

  He kicks the metal folding chair so it slides a few feet away from the rickety table and points the muzzle of his gun at it.

  “Sit,” he orders. Now that I’m near the computer, his tone is lighter, almost gleeful.

  Heart pounding in my chest as a layer of cold sweat chills my skin, I obey. It’s not like I have much choice.

  The computer in front of me is nice. I’ve seen pictures of it in catalogs and online and have read articles about how much power it has under the hood, but considering that its sticker price is several thousand dollars, I have never done more than silently lust after the brand, knowing full well I’ll never be able to afford one of my own.

  Abe keeps the gun pointed at me. I watch wide-eyed as it bobbles and sways while he uses his free hand to dig into his pants pocket. He pulls out a small silver key.

  “What is that for?” I ask.

  Abe ignores the question. He grabs my left wrist and uses the key to unlock the bracelet, then, moving faster than it seems a man of his size should be capable of moving, he relocks it around the arm of the metal folding chair.

  Satisfied I’m secure, he pokes at the computer’s keyboard, waking up the high-tech machine. “Time to get to work.”

  I stare at the screen. A program has already been loaded into the computer but it’s not one I’m familiar with. And until I know what it does, I won’t even know how to begin going about using it.

  “What do you want me to do?” I keep my eyes glued to the screen, terrified that if I look at Abe, the false bravado that’s the only thing currently keeping me together will disappear and I’ll fall apart.

  “You stupid bitch!” Abe’s meaty fist slams down on the tiny table with so much force that the computer bounces up a full inch before clattering back onto the tabletop. I wince and cringe back against my chair. My hand jerks against the cuff in a futile attempt to free myself.

  Abe leans close. His lips contort in a sneer that sends a fresh wave of panic through me. How had I once thought that he was once a relatively harmless jerk?

  Now that the smarmy exterior is gone, and I’m finally seeing him for what he really is, I realize that not only is Abe dangerous, but he’s also nuts.

  The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach warns me that the combination, along with the desperation he’s feeling about whatever this shipment is, makes him far deadlier than his father ever could be – and right now all of that emotion is directed at me.

  “You’re supposed to be so smart.” He hurls the words at me. “That’s what Jerry keeps telling me.”

  Wait a minute. Jerry? The only Jerry I know is my manager. If that’s who Abe is talking about, if they’re connected, then Abe knows exactly who Jason is and has probably already checked him out, learned his net worth. He’ll have also worked out that there’s something going on between Jason and me.

  Meaning that Jason is in almost as much danger as I am. Guilt slices through me.

  And if Abe is working out how to use my connection to Jason for his own gain, is Kelsey in even more danger than she was in just last night?

  Abe’s right, I’m stupid. I shouldn’t have indulged myself last night pretending that for just a few hours we were a real family, one with a whole future ahead of us. I should have told Jason about what was happening in my life, explained the niggling sensation that had been tickling the back of my brain all week, taken steps to get him, Adele, and Kelsey out of the country and out of Abe’s reach.

  Now, because of my greediness, my need to pretend everything is normal, everyone I love is in danger.

  “Yo!” Abe grabs the back of my chair and gives it a good shake, causing my head to jerk back and forth and my teeth to snap together. “Pay attention when I’m talkin’ to you.” He points a thick finger at the screen. “There’s a military shipment coming in to the city today. They’re bringing it to that big base in North Chicago. I want what’s on that truck.”

  “And what does that have to do with me?”

  Abe lets out a frustrated sigh. He’s used to dealing with people who are already in the loop, who know what he needs and what he wants even before he does. Probably long before he does. Having to explain things to me isn’t something he’s used to doing and it’s wearing on his nerves.

  “You’re going to use this computer stuff you’re supposedly so good at and make sure that truck never gets to the naval base. It’s coming here instead.”

  “How am I supposed to accomplish that?”

  “I got my hands on the new computer system the military is using, the one your new boyfriend designed for them.” I remember reading that in addition to designing games and other bits of software for the general public’s enjoyment, Jason had also done some work for the military. “One program is linked to the truck’s GPS. You’re going to use that link and redirect it here.”

  I furrow my brow. “Won’t the driver notice something’s wrong?”

  Abe shrugs a wide shoulder. “Who cares? They’re driving one of those new self-driving trucks, it’s an experimental thing – or something like that. The driver is just there to make sure it doesn't crash into anyone – and by the time they realize that something’s wrong, it will be too late. By then my boys will be ready to step in and take over.”

  He doesn’t have to say it. I know that he’ll kill anyone who’s in the truck when his people start liberating its contents.

  It’s not enough that Abe’s forcing me to commit a serious felony. It’s directed at the U.S. military and people, innocent people who are probably younger than me, will be killed.

  By the time this is over, the government that once wanted to hire me will be bucking to have me strapped to an electric chair.

  Abe grabs the computer’s mouse and clicks an icon at the bottom of the screen. A different program fills the monitor. “This program disarms the truck’s security system.”

  “Why is this shipment so important?” Even as I ask the question, I know I probably don’t want to know the answer, but I can’t help myself.

  Abe’s mouth lifts into a self-satisfied smile. “It’s experimental weapons the military is trying out. It’s the first time they’ve been moved from the site where they were created and tested. My source within the military says that they’re wicked.”

  “And you want them,” I whisper. I don’t know anything about weapons other than that they kill. But I don’t have to know much to know that if Abe is excited about the shipment and the military is being secretive, then they’re not something that should be out on the streets.

  By helping Abe get his oversized paws on whatever weapon the military has developed, I will be the reason any number of untold horrors are unleashed on the city. And I know how these things work. The weapons won’t stay in the city. They’ll be duplicated, modified, re-create
d and passed on until they’re in every city all over the world. The world my daughter lives in.

  An image of Kelsey’s bright smile and trusting eyes floats across my mind’s eye. Letting these weapons out on the street could put her life at risk. I can’t let that happen.

  I take a deep, shuddering breath. “No.”

  Abe googles at me. “No,” he repeats, as if he can’t quite comprehend the word.

  I shake my head. “No. I won’t do it.”

  It happens so fast, I don’t even see Abe move.

  Crack.

  Something hard, probably the side of the pistol, slams into my face. The force of the blow forces my entire upper body sideways. The change in weight causes the chair to overbalance,and I crash to the floor, hitting my head on the concrete.

  Snarling obscenities, Abe reaches down and grabs my shoulders, yanking both me and the chair back into an upright position.

  The right side of my face feels like it’s on fire. Blood from a jagged cut on the inside of my cheek fills my mouth, and where I hit my head is already starting to throb.

  Abe doesn’t care. He waves his gun at the computer. “You’re going to do it,” he screams.

  Fighting a wave of dizziness, I take stock of my situation. Funny, I’ve always understood that people use physical abuse as a means of control. They want their victims to be so afraid of getting hurt that they automatically fall in line with the abuser’s plans. I’m sure that’s what Abe expects.

  But, I don’t know, maybe I’m just wired wrong, but instead of making me back down, of encouraging me to acquiesce to his demands, the pain has made me stronger, more determined than ever to defy him.

  I set my aching jaw and fix my best basilisk glare on Abe. “No,” I repeat. “You can threaten me, beat me, do whatever you like to me, but I’ll die before I help you get those weapons.”