Next of Kin

by Sharon Sala

  During all that time, she never asked about family back home other than her grandmother. Lou Venable was the only member of their family her parents had not abandoned.

  Lou had sent Christmas and birthday cards and tiny messages of love to Beth throughout the years, but despite the connection Lou refused to give up, her family never went back. And then it had been too late.

  Beth saw Will periodically after that, when he was coming through L.A. on a long haul, or when he brought birthday and Christmas gifts to her from Granny Lou. But it had never occurred to her to move back, not when it was her behavior that had driven them away and estranged them from the rest of the family.

  Now here she was, holed up in some strange house with people she didn’t know, hiding from a man who wanted to kill her and grieving for a friend she’d loved dearly. In the worst of times, her thoughts were turning more and more to family, to the people to whom she was kin.

  As she sat, she noticed a car pulling up to the curb and realized it was the pizza delivery they’d been waiting on for their dinner.

  “Pizza’s here,” she called out.

  “About time. I’m starving,” Dewey said. He tossed his cards onto the table and headed for the front door, pulling money out of his wallet as he went.

  Andrea got up and opened the cabinet to get some glasses for the free Pepsi that would come with the order as Beth headed for the bathroom to wash up.

  Halfway there, Beth heard a pop. She turned to look just as Dewey crumpled to the floor. All of a sudden Andrea was screaming at her to get down and running toward the living room with her gun drawn.

  Beth took a dive behind the sofa as a barrage of bullets ripped through it just above her head. The gunman was still firing as Andrea entered the living room. He spun toward her, popping off a round that splintered the door facing beside Andrea’s left ear, but she didn’t flinch as she fired three rounds into his chest. The force propelled him backward. He landed faceup across the threshold with his feet on top of Dewey’s lifeless body.

  For Beth, the silence afterward was heart-stopping. Who was still alive? Did she dare move? What if the killer was waiting to see if she got up? God, oh, God…what should she do? Then she heard Andrea’s voice.

  “Beth! Are you okay?”

  Beth breathed a shaky sigh of relief. “Yes, I’m okay.” She crawled to her feet, then saw Dewey’s body and the blood spreading out onto the floor beneath it. “Oh, my God, is he okay?”

  “No,” Andrea said and turned away, her cell phone already at her ear.

  Three

  As luck would have it, Special Agent Ames was one of the agents in the car with Beth. The other agents were silent and had been ever since they’d taken her from the crime scene, and she was tired of it. She wanted answers.

  “Agent Ames?”

  He looked over his shoulder from the front seat.

  “Yes, ma’am?”

  “This is my third move in less than a week. What the hell is going on?”

  He hesitated, as if judging his words. “We’re not sure.”

  Beth frowned. “So if you’re not sure, then you can’t assure me it won’t happen again, right?”

  It was obvious Ames didn’t like the question. His expression was condescending, as was the tone of his voice. “We’ll make sure, okay? You leave the worrying up to us.”

  Beth shuddered, remembering Sarah’s sightless eyes and the vision of Dewey’s body sprawled out on the living room floor.

  “That’s easier said than done. It’s my life on the line, and people are dying because of me.”

  “We’ve upped security,” Ames said.

  She heard him, but she no longer trusted the process. She blinked away tears as she leaned back in the seat. She’d been raised smarter than this. Her people had called the Appalachian Mountains home for over five generations. Life was hard there, but they were not the kind of people who sat back and waited for someone else to solve their problems. Wherever the Feds were taking her was fine, but she needed a backup plan. If something like this happened again and she lived through it, she was gone.

  Ike Pappas was having breakfast when his phone rang, informing him of the second failure. He listened without comment and, once the message was delivered, hung up without a goodbye.

  He sat for a moment, looking down the table at his son, who was picking at his food without much interest.

  As if sensing his father’s scrutiny, Adam looked up.

  “Is everything okay?”

  Ike nodded.

  “Mom’s service is this afternoon. Don’t forget,” Adam said.

  “I won’t forget.”

  The scent of Ike’s favorite coffee and the omelet he was having suddenly turned his stomach. His beloved son was grieving because of something he’d done.

  Ike wasn’t a man who cringed at the sight of blood or ever second-guessed himself about the choices he’d made. Lorena had given him no choice, but he regretted the need. Unfortunately, Adam would never see it that way.

  However, the phone call had left him with larger concerns. He wasn’t as disconcerted about the death of Pacheco, one of his most reliable cleaners, as he was about the fact that Beth Venable wasn’t dead, too. That was a real problem. The longer she stayed in the wind, the riskier his position with Adam became. He couldn’t let his son find out what he’d done and be faced with the impossible situation of what happened next. Either the legal system would execute Ike, or Adam would try to do it for them. There were questions he had yet to ask himself, like: Could he let his own son take him down? Or would he be able to do to Adam what he’d done to Lorena? But Ike hadn’t risen to control of the organization by being indecisive. His eyes narrowed as he shoved his plate aside and stood up.

  “See you later, son, and don’t worry. I’ll be back before it’s time to go to the church.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’m going to check on a couple of things.”

  “Do you need me to go with you?”

  Ike shook his head. “You stay here. Do what you have to do.” Then he left the room.

  It wasn’t a problem sending someone else to finish the job he wanted done, but it might be a problem to find the target. He began running through a mental list of people as he headed out the door to where his car and driver were waiting.

  Beth had no idea where she was, or even what the outside of the third safe house looked like, because they’d whisked her inside so fast she’d barely seen the color. As Ames had promised, they’d upped security considerably, but she wasn’t sleeping well. When she did go to bed, she slept fully dressed.

  Now there were three agents instead of two keeping her company at all times. She didn’t remember their names, and they called her Miss Venable. They were as clinically anonymous as they could be and still do their jobs, and unlike the previous location, there were no fast-food deliveries here. Food was cooked on the premises or brought in by agents coming on duty. To keep herself occupied, Beth often did the cooking, even though her appetite was gone. She felt hopeless, even aimless. Until Ike Pappas was brought to trial, she was stuck in limbo. Being proactive, even in these small ways, was what was keeping her sane.

  It was a fluke that she had a little over five hundred dollars in her purse from when her own apartment building had been evacuated, not that she had any way to spend it. She didn’t know what her employer had been told, but she’d been assured her absence had been explained to the extent that she would not lose her job. Everyone was in charge of her business but her.

  A couple of days ago she’d overheard two of them discussing another case and noticed a sack on the cabinet that held some throwaway phones—phones an undercover agent had requested because they couldn’t be traced. While they weren’t looking, she’d slipped one out and hidden it in the bottom of her purse. She never thought of it as stealing but simply as adding to her own protection—just in case.

  During one of the later shift changes an agent had left a
map of the city behind. Beth folded it up and put it in her purse, too—another “just in case” addition to her stash.

  On the sixth night in the new location Beth made spaghetti with meat sauce and a tossed salad for their dinner. The agents sat down to eat, praising her cooking skills while she picked at the food on her plate and tried not to feel sorry for herself. At least she was still alive. Time to be grateful for small favors.

  One of the agents finished up before the others and leaned back in his chair with a groan.

  “That was great, Miss Venable. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, while trying to remember his name, then deciding it didn’t matter.

  He would be gone by the next shift and someone else would take his place. As soon as she cleaned up the kitchen she was going to go watch some TV in her room. If she were lucky, she would fall asleep and wake up to a better day.

  Gunshots!

  Beth woke up with a start, her gaze going straight to the television and the old Western movie playing out on the classics channel. It took another moment for her to realize the TV had been muted and what she was hearing was coming from inside the house. She flew out of bed just as a bullet came through the wall and smashed into another wall near where she’d been lying. In a panic, she crawled toward the window that overlooked a back alley, praying the attackers had not surrounded the house. She didn’t see anyone outside, but it was a moonless night, and there was no way to be sure.

  Another spray of bullets came through the wall. She stifled a scream as she slung her purse strap over her shoulder and pushed up the window. Her heart was hammering, her hands shaking, as she crawled out into the alley and slipped away into the night.

  Beth ran blindly through the neighborhood without looking back, taking dark alleys instead of well-lit roads, running until her legs were shaking and her lungs were burning, crossing streets only after traffic had passed to make sure she wasn’t seen. Once, as she ran past an overflowing Dumpster, an alley cat suddenly darted out from under it with a hiss and a squall, startling her into missing a step. She fell hard in the dirt and debris, catching herself with outstretched arms.

  Pain shot through her hands and up to her shoulders as she stifled a scream. Within seconds of hitting the ground, she was back on her feet. The palms of her hands were cut in what looked like a dozen places, and blood was dripping all over the ground and on her clothes. The knee of her jeans was torn and bloody, but she could still move. Ignoring the pain, she glanced over her shoulder and slipped away in the dark.

  She had no idea how much time had passed before she came out of an alley near an all-night quick stop. The worst of the bleeding on her hands had stopped, except for the places where the cuts were deeper, but the pain was growing worse the longer her wounds went unattended.

  She eyed the flickering fluorescent lights over the pumps, then looked through the windows to the lone clerk inside sitting behind a counter.

  Mickey’s One-Stop-Shop was open for business.

  After a hasty glance up and down the near-deserted street, she waited for a couple of cars to pass, then crossed and slipped inside.

  The clerk looked up as the door opened.

  Beth hoped she didn’t look as desperate as she felt.

  “Ladies’ room?”

  He pointed.

  She headed toward a hallway with her head down, then locked herself inside, and quickly used the restroom and washed her hands, wincing as the water hit the open wounds. The blood had dried, which made it harder to get off, and some cuts were deeper than others. In the real world, she would most likely have gotten stitches, but not in this one. Eventually everything would heal—if she lived long enough.

  If the worst thing that happened to her tonight was the injury to her hands, she would consider herself lucky. Meanwhile, she was far enough away from the safe house to take a few minutes to gather her thoughts. What she needed now was help from someone she trusted. Someone Ike Pappas could not buy off.

  She dug the throwaway cell phone from her purse and dialed a number she knew by heart. It rang four times with no answer. On the verge of panic that her call was going to voice mail, she heard a click, then a whiskey-rough voice with a soft, Southern drawl.

  “Will Venable.”

  The familiar voice of her uncle was as welcome as rain on dry ground.

  “Uncle Will…it’s me, Beth. I need help.” She meant to take a breath, but it turned into a sob, and then exhaustion took over and she started to cry uncontrollably.

  Will had a soft spot for his brother’s only child and had been a stand-in father for Beth ever since her parents’ deaths four years earlier. Hearing her distress unnerved him.

  “Bethie, honey, what’s wrong?”

  She began choking back sobs as she tried to explain.

  “I witnessed…there was a murder…and we called…and the police came and… Oh, Uncle Will, it got my best friend killed.”

  Will couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What in hell? Sugar? Where are you?”

  She took a deep breath and made herself focus. “A quick stop on the south side of L.A. called Mickey’s One-Stop-Shop. The FBI hid me in a safe house, because they said the killer would try to get rid of me like he did Sarah, but then they moved me, because they said the location was compromised, and they took me to a second house. I wasn’t there long before they found me. One agent was killed and I was shot at. Oh, my God, Uncle Will, there were so many shots being fired, I don’t know how he missed me. The killer is some big-time mob guy, but his people keep finding me. They just shot up the third safe house tonight, and I don’t know what happened. I don’t know who’s dead and who’s still alive. When I heard the shooting start I went out a window. I don’t trust them to keep me safe anymore.”

  “Sweet Jesus, Bethie…I’m so sorry.” As a long-haul trucker, it was a hell of a time for him to be on the other side of the country. His mind was in a panic, but he couldn’t let on. “Look, honey, here’s what we’re gonna do. Do you think you can get a cab from there at this time of night?”

  “I don’t know. Hang on while I ask,” Beth said, and hurried out of the bathroom to the night clerk. “I need a cab. Do you know of a driver who’ll come here this time of night?”

  The clerk’s eyes widened, but he didn’t hesitate. “Maybe. Depends on where you want to go.”

  Beth put the phone back to her ear.

  “I heard him,” Will said. “What’s the address there?”

  “What’s this address?” Beth asked.

  The clerk rattled it off.

  Will recognized the area and immediately shifted gears. “I heard. Skip the cab. You’re not far from a wholesale warehouse. Just stay there, honey. Whatever you do, don’t leave. I’ll find someone to come pick you up.”

  “Pick me up? Who do you know who’ll pick me up? Where are you, Uncle Will?”

  “I know truckers, honey. Lots of ’em. Right now I’m on the other side of the country, but I’ve got friends. We’re gonna get you out of L.A.”

  “But I don’t know where to go that will be safe.”

  “I do,” Will said. “You are going to your granny Lou’s.”

  Beth gasped. Back to Kentucky? Her thoughts immediately went to Ryal.

  “But—”

  “No buts. I know what I’m talkin’ about. There are thousands of places to hide in those hills, and Venables take care of their own. I’ll set up the rides. We’ll use trucks to relay you cross-country. All you have to do is get in. I’m in North Dakota, but I’m already leaving Minot. I’ll meet you on the road and have you home before you know it.”

  “Okay,” she said softly, then walked away so the clerk couldn’t hear. “I’m scared, Uncle Will.”

  “I know, baby. I’m scared for you, but you just stay there until someone comes for you. It will be okay. I promise.”

  “How will I know who it is I’m supposed to trust?”

  “They’ll be haulin’, honey, so look
for a semi. When the driver comes in, he’s gonna call you Angel. He’ll take you as far as he’s going, but I’ll make sure there’s another trucker to keep you moving east until we meet up. You can trust these men just as if they’re family, and I’ll be in contact with them—and you—every step of the way. I love you, Bethie. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, I promise.”

  Beth hung up and dropped the phone back in her purse. When she turned around, the clerk was staring.

  “So do you still want a cab?”

  “No. Someone is coming to get me.”

  It hadn’t taken Will long to find out who was in L.A. A few shout-outs on his CB radio and he had a half-dozen names of men he trusted, and the numbers to their personal cell phones. What he had to say didn’t need to go out over the air. When he saw Bo Jackson’s name on the list, he started to relax. He’d known Bo for more than twelve years. He was a good man, and happily married with a wife and three daughters. If Will was lucky, he would catch Bo before he left L.A.

  His expression was grim as he punched in the number, and he didn’t relax until he heard Bo’s voice.

  Bo Jackson hadn’t questioned Will Venable’s request to pick up his niece. All he had to hear Will say was “she needs help and keep it off the air,” and he was on the job. He had just loaded up for a run back to Flagstaff and was still close by. It would be a ten-minute detour, and he knew the area. Finding Mickey’s One-Stop-Shop would be a piece of cake.

  Beth picked up a small tube of antiseptic cream for her hands, some painkillers, a honey bun and a Coke to eat while she waited, and headed for the checkout counter.

  The clerk saw her fumbling with bills and change as she was trying to get money out of her purse.

  “What happened to your hands?”

  “I fell.”