by Kimber Chin
Philippe's tech person grinned. “Of course. Not only that but I'll put a bug on the transfer site. As soon as the website is accessed, I'll get the I-P addie. It won't be long enough to get to a location but if you're already there..."
"We'll be following him,” Anne piped up, happy to take action.
"Not we, Anne.” Philippe shook his head sternly. “You've done enough."
"But—” Anne stopped when she saw Philippe's eyes, black as coal. It was a losing battle and distracting him from the real issues.
"What do you think, Marlow?” Philippe asked the detective.
The man smiled for the first time that meeting. “I think you're onto something and the department will help all we can. We don't have the computer support but we can give you any officers you need."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Twenty Two
"So if Philippe is following Maple, what are we doing here?” Nancy, her car seat pushed way back, rested her bare feet on the Volvo dash, wiggling her purple painted toes while she could still see them.
Anne would have the car detailed after the constant grazing her pregnant friend was experiencing. There were candy wrappers and empty Ziploc baggies everywhere. “You didn't need to come."
"Oh, yes, we did, Annie-kin, especially if we valued our lives,” Stanley piped up from the backseat, his hands manipulating Anne's long hair into a collection of tiny braids.
"Philippe wouldn't really kill you."
"How do you know? You didn't see him.” Nancy mumbled through a carrot-stick-filled mouth. “Philippe was worried about you. Told us not to leave you alone.” She placed an index finger on her chin. “Why is that Annie? Is it because he thought you wouldn't stay at home like he requested? Hmmm, could there have been some weight behind that theory?” Nancy turned her head to the left and right.
Blasted man knew her too well. Anne wasn't about to sit at home, waiting for a phone call. Uh huh, not her. “Okay, okay, he might have been right about that but I had a hunch."
"A hunch? Sweetie, next time, could your hunch lead you to a spa instead of...” Stanley wrinkled up his nose,” ... this pathetically decorated Cyber Cafe? Can the space theme be any more obvious? It's begging for a make-over, to bring it back from the heinously color blind future."
That sent Nancy off on another tangent. “That reminds me, can your interior decorator friend come over to look at the house before I have the open house? I want it to..."
Anne's attention drifted away from her friends’ banter. Keeping an eye on the front door, she studied the e-mail threat again. Somehow she couldn't picture Kevin, a hardnosed executive, writing it. “If I lose, you lose.” The game talk was a common business analogy, sure, but the use of you and I? It sounded too personal, too emotional.
When Anne broached the topic with Philippe this morning, he didn't want to hear about it. After last night, he was completely focused on Maple, certain that Maple was the culprit. That was Anne's fault. She had used her skills to sell him on Maple as the guilty party. And yes, much of the evidence pointed in that direction but this note, well, this note didn't sound right.
"Oh, there's Denise,” Stanley squealed, “I have to talk to that girl.” Before he could open the door, Anne pounded her fist on the controls, activating the power locks.
"Hey.” Stanley's bottom lip curled. “Why'd you do that for? Didn't you see that darling purse she was carrying?"
"Stanley, we're on a stakeout.” There was silence in the car as Anne's unspoken message was absorbed.
"Shut up! You think Denise...?” Stanley's expression was incredulous.
Anne felt bad. Denise was Stanley's friend. “She's the only other person with something to gain."
"If they're blackmailing you for a million cool ones, everyone has something to gain,” Nancy pointed out. “Even I would be tempted."
"Girl, I'd sell you out for a lot less.” Stanley's gamine grin flashed. Is he wearing lip gloss? Anne wouldn't put it past him.
"I'd sell you out for one shiny quarter,” Nancy snapped back, her eyes dancing.
Anne rolled her eyes. This was like going on assignment with two-year olds. She loved her friends but she was too strung out to enjoy their antics. She had a bad, bad feeling they had the wrong person, and that had led her to waiting here. Would that person be brazen enough to use the same entry point? It was a long shot, but all Anne had to go on.
The person should be logging in soon. Anne checked her watch, thirty minutes to transfer time. Getting close.
"Did you see what beautiful was wearing?” Stanley's mouth moved non-stop. “That pink suit, I swear is Armani, the detailing is exquisite, the lines.” He kissed his fingers.
"She sure knows how to dress.” Nancy sighed.
"Unlike that other tall blonde. Did you catch her getup?” His nose wrinkled.
"Other tall blonde?” Anne's head snapped up, her thoughts flying to another tall blonde she knew. Could that be Suzanne? Could Suzanne be mixed up in all this?
"Blonde for today.” Stanley snorted. “The ragamuffin was completely synthetic and clearly deranged. I mean why get all that work done if you are going to dress it up in bag-lady threads? A hoodie and ripped jeans? What is she, a member of a teenage skater gang?"
A hoodie? Ripped jeans? No, definitely not Suzanne.
"Maybe she's a famous actress.” Nancy wiggled in her seat.
"Infamous, more likely, Nance Valance. I've had more than my fill of ugly for the day. Do we have to do this stakeout thingie much longer?"
"Yeah,” Nancy's normally bubbly voice held a bit of a whine, “I need to go to the bathroom."
"Cutie, no wonder.” Stanley petted the top of her hair. “You've devoured most of La La Land."
"I'm eating for two.” Nancy swatted his hand away.
"More like twenty, mommy dearest."
Anne's phone rang, a classical rendition of “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” filling the car. She answered it with a sharp, “Anne James."
After the call ended, Stanley hung over the seat back. “Please tell me super duper studmuffin got his man and we can go?"
"No, he didn't. It wasn't Kevin Maple after all.” Anne took a deep breath. Philippe was understandably ticked off. “They've narrowed it to this area, the person is signing in from the Cyber Café."
"So it's...” Stanley's voice drifted off.
"I guess it is.” Anne was disappointed too. She liked Denise. The woman seemed so nice, so genuine. For all her suspicions, Anne never really thought her responsible. “I'm sorry, Stanley."
Nancy wasn't. She unbuckled. “What are we waiting for? Let's go get her and then take a potty break."
Anne didn't think it would be quite that simple. “No can do, Nance. I told Philippe that I wouldn't approach Denise.” Her word was binding. Philippe knew that; that's why he forced the promise from her. “I'm to wait, make sure she doesn't leave before he gets here. Don't know when that'll be, what with traffic and everything. He's clear across town
"It'll take him forever to get here.” Nancy huffed, blowing her bangs up. “My bladder's going to explode by then. ‘Sides, why would he think Denise'll wait around that long? She'll get her money and go."
Anne's thoughts exactly. “Nance, I can't even talk to her. I promised."
"You can't talk to her, Annie-kin,” Stanley's voice was unusually solemn, “but we can. Let's you and I, Chancy Nancy, pay Denise a surprise visit."
Her friends would do that? Touching, but Anne couldn't let them. “This isn't fun and games, Stanley. Blackmail is illegal, a sign of a desperate woman. It's dangerous."
"Dangerous, bah,” Stanley dismissed the concern. “She might be hard up for the cash, but violent? This is Denise we're talking about, right Nance Valance?"
"Well.” Nancy rubbed a worried hand protectively over her tiny bump of a belly.
"Fine,” Stanley huffed. “Be that way. I'll talk to her my own sweet self. I could offer to do her hair or something. Spiff
her up for her mug shot."
He could distract her, keep her in the building ‘til Philippe arrived. Stanley was impossible to get rid of when he didn't want to go. Denise would never know. Yeah, that could work. Anne's eyes lit up. “She's probably accessing the net from the back office. If you can keep her there, Stanley, I'll hustle the other people out and then lock the front door,"
"And I'll lock the back door. The washroom's gotta be there anyway,” Nancy added, not willing to be completely left out.
"Greedy Miss Beautiful won't be going anywhere.” Stanley's grin was the saddest Anne had ever seen it. “Not with this team."
Anne checked her watch, fifteen minutes to go. “This team has to get moving."
Stanley popped his head in first, signaling to them that the coast was clear. While he chatted up the attendant, Nancy headed toward the washrooms. As predicted, situated in the back.
Now what? Anne looked around. Stanley disappeared into the office area. The attendant plus five others were left. Best to clear out one person at a time to avoid suspicion.
She started furthest away from the on-line solitaire-playing attendant. Her reasoning was that it was closest to the door, the area with the most potential for action. A pimply-faced teenage boy furiously typed away on a computer, intent on playing a shoot ‘em up type of video game. Anne sat in the empty seat beside him. “Excuse me, can I talk to you outside for a moment?"
"Busy.” He didn't take his eyes off the screen.
Anne leaned closer, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Please."
This got his attention. He looked at her like in a drunken stupor, his bleary eyes clearing. The boy swallowed a couple of times and agreed.
"Take your stuff,” Anne kept her voice low.
This granted her a perturbed look but he did as requested, following her. Once outside, Anne quickly explained the situation. Maybe she exaggerated the danger a bit but it got results. The boy high-tailed it out of there, not looking back.
Anne's next target was across the room. The businessman, easier to convince, didn't take as much time. Anne checked her watch, time she no longer had. The three other patrons would have to stay. Anne couldn't risk being outside. The door needed to be locked.
Anne sat in the chair vacated by the teenager, his computer active, and for want of anything better to do, picked up the piece of paper beside the mouse pad. A flyer,
Cyber Café franchises for sale, so this was ... no, later.
Anne would think about that later. Right now she focused on the remaining people. The attendant with a piercing through his bottom lip and a tattoo on one forearm looked like he could take care of himself. There was an elderly man, a coffee at his side, slowly hunting and pecking on the keyboard. Anne doubted she could warn him without him making a fuss.
Next was a teenage girl, fingers flying, instant-messaging friends like crazy, while chatting on her phone. It would take too long to even get her attention.
The fourth must be the hoodie Stanley referred to. She was tucked in the corner, her face shielded from view, a portable privacy screen on her monitor. She sat there, her fingers resting on home row, her back straight.
Waiting. What was she waiting for? A growing unease built in Anne. There was one person she knew of in the Cyber Café waiting. Anne checked the time. One minute to. Could be. Keeping an eye on the back room door, Anne casually approached the mysterious hoodie.
Mere steps away, the woman's computer started going crazy. Alarm sounds blared making everyone jump, even the self-absorbed teenage girl. Perfectly manicured fingertips frantically grabbed the manual volume controls. No matter what the hoodie tried, the alarm continued.
To seal her fate, the privacy screen fell off, exposing a bright red blinking failure notice, a notice that Pete Thorne had designed. Anne didn't need further confirmation. It hadn't been Denise after all. Then who? As the mystery woman struggled with the computer, partially rising out of her seat, her hood fell back.
"Suzanne.” Anne's gasp turned the blonde's head. Their eyes met. Anne braced herself. She was prepared. She could handle the crazy woman this time.
Suzanne pounced, surprisingly quick for such a tall woman, something silver flashing in her hand. Blast it all to hell, a gun. Anne might have been able to handle Suzanne but she couldn't handle Suzanne armed. Philippe had been right. She shouldn't have approached her blackmailer.
"You had to have it all, didn't you, bitch?” Anne felt the cool metal press into her side.
"I don't know what you're talking about.” With their height differential, Suzanne's free arm easily wrapped around Anne's shoulders, squeezing her neck. The gun wasn't needed; all it would take was one sharp snap.
"You have Philippe, though who knows for how long.” Suzanne moved Anne back toward the door. “You had to deny me my money too?"
"What money?” Out of the corner of her eye, Anne saw Stanley and Denise watching white faced. Don't come closer, she silently pleaded.
The grip around her neck tightened. “Don't pull that crap with me. Despite my blonde hair, I'm not dumb. I own a successful consulting company."
"Owned.” Anne didn't know where she got her nerve from. “You won't own it long from jail."
"I'm not going to jail.” The laugh was thin and brittle. “Philippe wouldn't risk the negative publicity."
Suzanne dragged her backwards. Anne had to think fast, they were almost out the door. “He won't have a choice if you kill me."
"If you co-operate, I won't have to, will I?"
"Suzanne, don't.” Denise, the Denise that Anne thought guilty, stepped forward, her hands outstretched, her palms up. “It's not worth it."
"It's Suze, and how would you know what a million dollars is worth?” Suzanne stopped moving to confront Denise. “A million dollars is nothing to you. You tossed away a million dollar idea like it was garbage. Why would you care? When you can steal a wealthy man, not caring about the precious years another woman invested?"
Crap, this was all about a man? “Not everyone's Michael."
"Shut the fuck up.” Anne was lifted up by the neck, the lack of circulation making her woozy and limp.
"But I didn't toss my idea away, did I, Suze?” Denise again drew the woman's attention away. “It was taken by you. That business plan I gave you never got to Philippe, did it?"
"I don't know what you're talking about?” Suzanne mimicked Anne's voice.
Was that what she sounded like? Like Minnie Mouse?
It was a surprise anyone took her seriously.
"I think you do,” an achingly familiar voice joined the conversation.
Philippe! Oh no. Anne's knees almost buckled. He was not supposed to be here. How did he get in? Must have been through the back way. Nancy was to have locked the door. Now he'd put himself in danger, risking his own life to save hers.
Philippe's heart stopped when he saw the pistol pressed against Anne's slight frame. His fearless woman was in big trouble this time. He forced himself to think, pushing the blinding rage away. He had to. It was up to him to get Anne out safely. Her white knight.
"Golly, gee, the gang's all here,” Suzanne's normally cool voice sounded slightly hysterical. Not like the Suzanne he knew. She didn't look like his Suzanne either, her hair ratty, her clothes faded and torn.
His eyes must have reflected his thoughts because Suzanne continued, “I was myself with Michael. He didn't like it. I made myself gorgeous for you, Philippe and you didn't like it. Men—you're never satisfied, are you?"
"It isn't the outer beauty that I'm interested in, Suzanne.” Philippe took a step toward the two of them, avoiding looking at Anne. He was well aware that Detective Marlow had guns aimed and at the ready. Once Suzanne pulled her own gun, there was no other choice. This would not end well for his ex. All that mattered was that it ended well for Anne.
"My name is Suze.” The woman tightened her grip on Anne's delicate neck and his sympathy for Suzanne fled. “Not Suzanne. Suzanne was that woman b
ack in New York. I've told you people that time and time again."
"I didn't...” Philippe kept her talking. If she transferred her rage to him, Anne would be safe.
"Listen. No one ever listens to me.” Suzanne allowed Anne to breathe again. Philippe heard her ragged gasps. “Never. All you want is a pretty face."
"Not true, Suze.” All Philippe wanted at this moment was Anne, safe and sound in his arms.
"How could it be? Look at me.” Anne's voice was raw, husky. “I'm about as far away from a star as possible."
A star? Like a North Star? Philippe looked into those beautiful brown eyes. Damn woman was going to do something foolish. Philippe squeezed and released, squeezed and released the set of keys in his hands, thinking, thinking. He had to distract Suzanne. That way if anything happened, it would happen to him, not his brave woman. The keys were gripped so tightly they cut into his fingers. A star. Philippe looked up to the ceiling for inspiration. The glass covering the fluorescent lights, his keys...
Philippe caught Anne's eyes and nodded. Quickly and without further warning he threw the keys into the light fixture. The sound of broken glass and loud popping noise got Suzanne's attention, long enough. Long enough for Anne to move, twisting away from Suzanne's grip and slamming the blonde right under her nose with her palm. The hit must have been hard because Suzanne dropped the gun to grab her face, howling in pain.
Anne kept moving, sinking to the ground, sliding the gun across to Philippe. The handle was moist and warm to his touch, the safety still on. Philippe aimed the gun at the cursing Suzanne. Though it was clear that she wasn't going anywhere, he wasn't taking any chances.
By the time Suzanne straightened up, police had her arms pulled back and her wrists cuffed. Her nose dripped blood and was noticeably crooked. Anne did that. His Anne.
"You'll pay for this,” Suzanne screamed as she was herded out.
Phillipe watched her go with sadness and relief. Whatever happened to Suzanne, he didn't know. She seemed to have everything a woman could want. But Anne was all he wanted.