Run to You

by Lynne King

  “Who handles Gandini’s legit businesses?” Jack asked.

  “He doesn’t trust many with his financial affairs. There’s his lawyer, a right slime ball. About six months ago he dumped the accountancy firm who he claimed was responsible for the screw-up regarding his tax. He’s now with Benjamin Johnson, who’s part of a well-established and reputable firm based in Manhattan.”

  “Then he might have advised Gandini of making certain things unobtainable without destroying them.” Jack finished his second cup of coffee and signaled the waitress over for the check.

  Joe waited until the waitress had taken payment from Jack and left. “I should think Gandini has already looked into those close to him. As far as Benjamin Johnson’s involvement, the only criminal act he’s likely to have committed would be done on paper for his client.”

  Why did that name ring a bell? “Johnson, you don’t happen to know what his wife’s name is?” Jack looked at his brother.

  “Can’t say I do, but it’s easy enough to find out.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got to get back to the precinct. There are a few things that need checking out.” Jack stood up and gave his brother a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Keep out of trouble.”

  “It’s you who needs that advice. You forget, it was Mikey and you who were always getting into scrapes and I usually got the blame being the middle one.”

  Jack knew his smile was a sad reminiscent one. They rarely mentioned Mikey now. He’d been dead seven years, but not one day passed when a little reminder wouldn’t crop up and knock him for six. Mikey being the youngest and with their father gone, he should have protected him. Instead Mikey’s role models were other gang members and his death a violent one, caused in a gang fight with another youngster.

  Rising from Jack’s bed, Liz sipped from the mug of tea that had been placed on the bedside table. That he could accommodate her request and it tasted really good brought an appreciative smile, but what made her feel so warm and happily secure was the kiss he planted on her cheek before leaving. She felt that whatever happened, Jack would be there for her and stand by her. Until, that is, the key she had removed from his pocket reared up in her thoughts. Why hadn’t she put it back? Now it was too late and he would have reason to distrust her again. That’s if he didn’t already realize it was gone. Going over to her purse, she removed it from the inner pocket where she had placed it earlier.

  After a quick shower, Liz put on her white jeans and a colorful silk blouse with a plunging neckline, revealing a lacy cream camisole underneath. She slipped the key inside her bra where she could easily retrieve it and hopefully drop back into Jack’s pocket when he returned, and without him noticing.

  For the rest of the morning she padded barefoot around Jack’s apartment. The air conditioning worked brilliantly and she had made herself a tuna salad and shared the tuna with Romeo. Now she wanted Jack back, to feel him close to her and to snuggle up on the sofa with him, doing something mundane like watching an afternoon soap on TV. She picked up the photo of Jack with his brothers. She and Jack had similar painful pasts, both losing their parents, only with Jack he was resentful and blamed them, his mother for deserting and his father for his weakness. The ring tone of her cell phone sounded and she went over to her purse and retrieved it. Lorraine’s number came up.

  “Liz, where are you?”

  She didn’t answer straight away and her silences made Lorraine continue, “Please talk to me, let me know you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine and no, I couldn’t run away, not this time. I’m staying in that detective’s apartment, the one I told you about. He feels I’m safer here and he really wants to help me.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “Yes,” Liz replied and for a moment she thought Lorraine had hung up on her.

  Finally she spoke, “I’ve got to go and, Liz, I wish you’d taken my advice.” The line clicked dead this time.

  Baffled, she stared back at her cell phone. Why had Lorraine rung? It certainly wasn’t to offer support. Going into the kitchen, she took a carton of orange juice out of the fridge and was pouring some into a glass when the entrance door burst open. The view right down the hallway was clear where she stood. A dark-haired man entered, followed by two others.

  “Ah! Elizabeth, we meet at last.”

  It was the smooth Italian accent that had her reaching for the handle of a carving knife sticking out of a wooden block. She could never forget his voice. It was the same one she had heard before Shaun had been killed. The knife was held clasped in both hands as she waved it in front of her.

  “Stay away from me,” she hissed. Fear took hold, her body trembled so much she had to clench the handle tightly to stop her shaking from revealing itself.

  He tutted and stood still at the entrance to the kitchen and held his hand up, warning the two men behind to stay where they were. He wasn’t at all how Liz imagined. Tall, slim, with glossy, jet-black hair and dressed in cream chinos and a black polo shirt, his looks and appearance were straight out of a fashion magazine.

  “I would put that knife down unless, of course, you plan to use it.” Whatever his visual impact, his tone betrayed the evil intent. He moved a step toward her.

  Jabbing the knife forward, her voice sounded alien, even to her. “Back up or I will use it. This is a cop’s place. He’s due back here any minute.”

  “Such aggression from one so charming-looking as you. What makes you think we have come here to do you any harm? Surely a bullet would have sufficed against that knife you’re waving about if that was the result we wanted.

  “Well, then get the hell out,” she screamed. “I don’t care what you want, leave me be or I will use this.”

  He stepped closer, making Liz step back and finding herself pressed up against the stove. She had no choice. He was calling her bluff. He made a grab for her wrists, the movement so swift she hadn’t time to react as he brought her wrists down hard on the edge of the countertop. The pain shot through her arms making her cry out as the knife slipped from her fingers and she sank to her knees.

  “Next time, do what I ask and you won’t get hurt. Get her up and let’s get out of here,” he commanded to another man who had stepped in behind him. This one looked the part, big and mean-looking.

  Liz saw this as her last chance. They were going to kill her anyway. Going back on her behind, she brought her knees up at the same time into her chest. As he leaned over to pull her up, she rammed both feet into his abdomen. The shock and impact sent him tottering back into his boss. Scrambling to her feet, she pushed past into the hallway and ran toward the open entrance. When another goon appeared from the corridor, Liz dived into the spare bedroom and straight over to the mattress, her hand thrusting under the mattress in search of Shaun’s hidden gun. An arm snaked around her waist pulling her back, but not before her fingers had gripped the handle. As she was swung around, she bought the gun up and aimed it toward the entrance and to who, despite his leanness, now seemed to fill it with his presence.

  “Go on, pull the trigger.” The arrogance in his dark gaze dared her.

  She had never fired a gun in her life, had never pointed one, had never held one or seen one up close until she had removed this thing from Shaun’s hand. She didn’t even know if the safety catch was on and yet here she was threatening to take another’s life with it, to commit murder. Her gaze met his again and she felt the intelligence behind his dark hooded eyes, he knew just what she was capable of. The gun dropped from her fingers.

  “I thought as much. Now are you going to be a good girl and come quietly along or do I have to let Marco, who has his own sadistic methods of persuasion, loose on you. Believe me, he doesn’t take kindly to having his lunch brought up.”

  She knew now the one she had kicked in the stomach and who was now busy clutching it while glaring at her was called Marco. The look spoke of pure vindictiveness. At least he wasn’t the one holding her around the waist, otherwise she felt her life would have been ov
er by now, the breath squeezed from her. Her head nodded acceptance and compliance.

  As they left the building, three men and her, she felt sure someone would raise the alarm. Surely her shouting and the door being smashed in would have raised an alarm. This was a cop’s place in a nice neighborhood. Didn’t that count for something? It was also a building full of professional working people who were not around during the day and the odd person they passed had nothing to see. There was no gun pointing at her and no fight left within her to protest. The 4x4 with tinted windows was parked in the outside parking bay marked out for visitors. She was made to sit cushioned between the one seemingly in charge and Marco who wanted to kill her while the third man, who never spoke, got behind the steering wheel.

  The journey was a long one and it soon became clear they were leaving New York City far behind. Upstate New York was the abrupt answer when she tried asking and going by the vast amount of area that covered, it could mean just about anywhere. In the end she closed her eyes and tried to escape her thoughts. Jack, where are you now when you promised me I’d be safe, that you would protect me. Would she ever see him again? That thought was more painful than what might lay in store for her.

  Finally the movement ceased and she opened her eyes to find the car had come to a stop. What confronted her when she stepped out into the humid air was both alarming and beautiful. So much space and isolation—fields stretching out in all directions and horses grazing nearby—made it all seem unreal considering her circumstances. The ranch-type house, its adjoining garages’ open doors revealing the limousine she had been terrorized in and a gleaming Mercedes, completed the distorted picture. Surely she hadn’t been brought to Gandini’s home. On the wooden veranda a couple of men stood leaning up against the porch. They looked like ranch hands in their attire of jeans and cowboy boots. The guns openly on display in shoulder holsters told her differently.

  “Any trouble, Sonny?” one of them asked as they approached.

  “Nothing I couldn’t handle, though Paula here got a case of stomach cramp.” He laughed back.

  She now knew his name, Shaun’s killer and the one her life was in the hands of. He gripped her forearm and marched her up the steps of the veranda and into the building. Once inside the hallway, the other two disappeared ahead of them, leaving Sonny still gripping her arm. Before Liz had time to take in the lavish surroundings, she was led up the highly polished wooden stairway, onto a long landing and brought to a halt in front of the second door they came too. Releasing his hold on her, Sonny opened it up wide, then with his other hand pushed her in it with such force she only just managed to retain her balance.

  “My uncle will see you later. In the meantime I will have some food sent up.” He paused with his hand on the door. “Don’t try anything foolish. The men have orders to kill if you try to escape.”

  Liz looked away as she heard the door slam behind him, the key turning in its lock. Now all she was left with was a deathly silence. Her eyes glanced around at the confines of her prison. There was little to look at, a single bed that she was now sitting upon and the one window. Going over to it, she struggled with the catch until it finally opened up wide. A movement below made her peer down at the huge drop and then at the figures who stepped into view. It might as well have bars across it making her imprisonment complete, she thought hopelessly. Ducking back when one of them looked up, she started pacing the room.

  Hours passed, or so it seemed, with no sign of Gandini, the house eerily silent the whole time. At one point, out of sheer desperation that another hour would send her insane, Liz was nearly convinced they had abandoned her here, that she should try to escape. One look out of the window shattered such hopeful delusions. The food tray, containing a dried-up cheese panini, lay discarded on the floor where Sonny had placed it earlier without satisfying her with one single reply to her questions. Eating was one of the last things she felt like doing, though the cup of coffee had slid down her throat in one thirsty gulp.

  At last she heard a key turning in the lock. The door flew open and Sonny strode in.

  “Get up. Mister Gandini will see you now.”

  Finally the waiting was over, yet Liz found she was unable to move, transfixed by the prospect of what was waiting for her down below.

  “Did you hear what I said? Get up.”

  Slowly Liz tried to swing her legs off the bed. Yanking her up, Sonny pushed her toward the door, making her unexpectedly turn on him.

  “Stop bloody pushing me. I can walk perfectly okay on my own without your bullying. Back off.”

  Instead of being faced with his angry retort, he went ahead, leading the way down the stairs. In a moment of madness, she thought of trying to make a run for it. She came to her senses as Sonny’s warning resounded in her head, orders to kill. As she followed him closely, he stopped in front of an oak door, pausing to knock first before opening it. Standing aside, he then indicated she was to enter alone, the door closing sharply behind her.

  There was no mistaking that broad frame and the silvery hair as he stood with his back to her, seemingly looking out the window. He stood behind an enormous oak desk that nearly took up the entire width of the room. A leather Chesterfield recliner was by his side. The terrifying memory of being abducted and cruelly thrown at his feet came back, along with the paralyzing fear. That aura of power and dominance that the devil would have trouble competing against was all around her. Then he turned and once again she found herself staring into those piercing black holes, his hypnotic glare threatening to destroy any resolve left within her. Averting her eyes before her strength of mind was dissolved completely, leaving her a grovelling mess on the floor, Liz tried to take in her surroundings. It was an elaborate study, wood paneling with rows upon rows of books lining the length of two walls and works of distinguished artists filling any available space left. Her wonderment must have shown on her face as she stared up at the beautiful priceless works of art set on canvas.

  “You look surprised, Miss Saunders. Did you think someone in my line of business would not appreciate or have the intelligence to warrant such interest in literature and the arts?”

  “What exactly is your line of business? I don’t doubt your intelligence, Mister Gandini, I was merely showing my open consternation that such perfection is deceiving on the eye when surrounded by so much evil. Do I need to categorize what I’m referring to? Try intimidation and abduction for starters. You said I had two days. Why have you brought me here?” Liz gritted her teeth together in order to stem the pure terror that, despite her brave words, had her in its grip.

  His thin lips lifted slightly at the corners. “Why, Miss Saunders, you do have a bad opinion of me. I’m simply a business man who wants back what was stolen and the person made to pay for his crime.”

  “I told you I would try and get the key back. I need more time.” Her voice carried the plea.

  Slowly seating himself in the Chesterfield, he swiveled the open laptop that was on his desk so she could see the screen. The enlarged photo staring back at her was one she had taken. It was her laptop, stolen from the boot of Shaun’s car.

  “Who are these two and how do you know them?”

  Liz took a deep swallow. “I took that photo and several others two weekends ago. We were at an open-air concert in Central Park.”

  “Their names.”

  “Lorraine Johnson and her husband, Ben. Lorraine works at the same bank and that’s how I know her.”

  “A big coincidence, don’t you think, especially when I don’t believe in such things?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as if she was about to hear something really bad.

  “Benjamin Johnson is my accountant.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  On leaving his brother, Jack had driven straight back to the precinct. Within minutes he had found out Lorraine was Benjamin Johnson’s wife’s name and she was the same Lorraine Johnson who worked alongsi
de Liz at the bank. At the time of the heist, she had been on vacation, so her background wasn’t checked—not that it would have revealed anything. Benjamin Johnson was squeaky clean and had no known links with any criminal fraternity. He only handled Gandini’s legitimate businesses. It was too much of a coincidence though and so far was the only connection. What concerned Jack the most was Liz had revealed her disappearing act was to meet up with Lorraine. She had claimed she never told her anything, but maybe that was why Lorraine wanted the meet, to find out what she did know.

  “Is this my partner at his desk or is it a mirage I see?” Jack looked up at Detective Stone. “Yeah, very funny. I left a message, said I’d be in later. Not all detective work is done sitting on one’s ass shuffling papers.”

  “No, but with how you been behaving of late and having met the delectable Miss Saunders, it can’t have been easy letting her out of your sight. Where is she by the way?”

  “Between you and me, she’s now at my apartment and is no longer part of this case. It was a bad idea to try and use her as some kind of bait.”

  “Does the captain know?”

  “Look, once we get our collar and hopefully recover some of the missing goods, she will be of no interest. Her part was circumstantial and she was under duress at the time.”

  “You forget about her being a witness to murder.” Stone sat down and picked up an FBI report. “No guesses who dropped this off, but I thought we ruled out Gandini’s mob for the heist.”

  “We have, but someone close to him organized it and whoever that person is doesn’t care about taking on a mob boss and robbing him.”

  Stone leaned forward and saw what Jack was busy reading. He let out a short laugh. “You’re not looking at his accountant. Shit, Jack, the guy’s a pen pusher. He works with facts and figures, not organizing bank heists.”