by Byrne, Wendy
“That would be great. I’ll swing by the club later and pick you up.”
“Sounds good.”
After dressing and taking a cab to the office, she used her new keycard to get inside. While she didn’t know much about computers or typing, she could answer the phones and refer anything difficult to Shane. She was doing just that when a man came through the door.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Shane.” The guy scanned the office, taking note of where everything was. After the other night, his behavior made her a little nervous, or maybe it was a combination of all that had happened over the last day and a half that made even inconsequential gestures seem ominous.
“I’m sorry, but he’s on a case. May I have him call you?”
“Don’t bother.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Give him a message for me, will you?”
“Sure.” She took out a piece of paper and pen ready to jot down the information.
“Tell him to drop this case he’s working on for Vince Perry. It’s only going to land him in trouble.”
Not quite expecting that kind of message, she gulped back the hint of fear blocking her throat. “And you are?”
“Daniel O’Neil.”
Without another word, the man left the office. Not just any man—Shane’s stepfather. Now that she knew that, the resemblance to Patrick was unmistakable.
Immediately, she picked up the phone to call Shane. Instead, she got his voice mail and left a message about Daniel’s visit. Wednesday. He was probably teaching the kids at the school. She’d have to try him later. But she needed to tell somebody.
Vince Perry? That had to be the Marcos case. The defendant was still in a coma as far as she knew. Why hadn’t she paid more attention in court?
She went through the Rolodex next to the phone, spotting Vince Perry’s name. A perky receptionist answered the phone. “I’m calling from O’Neil & Ryan Investigations and would like to talk with Mr. Perry, please.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Perry is out of the office currently. Would you like his voice mail?”
“No, thanks. I’ll try back later.” With that, she hung up. Turning over the card, she saw a small notation on the back—CP 555-6341. Cell phone?
She punched in the numbers. After a few rings, voice mail kicked in and she left a message.
* * *
Shane finished up a little early at the school, partly because he was tired and partly because he wanted to swing by the hospital. He wanted to see for himself that Carissa was recovering.
It had to be a freak accident, but he couldn’t get rid of the niggling thought in the back of his head that it was much more. And try as hard as he could, it wouldn’t go away.
He flipped open his phone and noticed that Gabriella had called. But before he could call her back, his phone rang.
“Boss, it’s Mack. We’ve got some trouble here at the club. Gabriella got here a little early and …well…I don’t know if she’s going to perform tonight.”
“What’s wrong? Is she sick?” Shane felt ill. He couldn’t stand the thought of something happening to Gabriella on top of everything else.
“She’s acting a little strange, like maybe she’s high or something. She keeps rambling about Carissa. And then she starts crying. Right after that she starts laughing. I don’t know what to do.”
“I’ll be right there.” Shane hung up and made his way through traffic to the club. On the way he couldn’t help thinking about Mack’s comments. It didn’t sound like the Gabriella he knew.
Then again, maybe the stress of the last couple of days had taken a toll on her and she’d had a few drinks before coming in tonight. Shane shook his head. That didn’t make sense. She was supposed to be answering phones at his office.
She’d volunteered.
Shane shook off the questions and crossed the street to the club. Even though it was early, the door was unlocked.
“Gabriella? Mack?”
The place seemed eerily quiet. Had he taken her out back for some fresh air?
As Shane made his way through the back and into the back hallway, somebody tackled him from behind, bringing him to the floor. From then on it was a blur of fists and kicks until he finally passed out.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Where was he?
It was nearly eleven and Shane hadn’t shown up at the club. Gabriella had tried to call him several times on his cell phone during the course of the night, but voice mail kept picking up.
Then she’d called the hospital and asked them to page him, thinking he might have stopped by—or God forbid—Carissa had taken a turn for the worse. When he didn’t answer the page, she’d asked the duty nurse in intensive care if Shane was there.
When he wasn’t, she’d then asked to talk to Jimmy. The good news was Carissa was beginning to come out of the coma a few minutes at a time; the bad news was he hadn’t seen or heard from Shane since earlier that morning.
Shane was always at the Blues Stop. Except for last night and the whole thing with Carissa. But she knew about that. If he wasn’t going to show for one reason or another, why wouldn’t he have called?
Then again, he didn’t have to. Maybe he was at home, getting a good night’s sleep and had turned off his phone. Maybe he was out on a date and saw her number pop up and didn’t want to be disturbed. But wouldn’t he have checked his messages? And wouldn’t he have checked in with Jimmy this evening?
Why did he blow off her message? Didn’t Shane understand she wouldn’t have called unless she needed to talk to him? She didn’t figure his stepfather’s warning was for show. Since Vince Perry hadn’t returned her phone call, either, her nervousness was ratcheted up another notch or two.
She suddenly had a horrible thought. What if Shane had had a giant fight with Daniel, his stepfather, and things had gotten really ugly and one or the other was now dead? Based on the level of dysfunction between them, anything could have happened. Shane might have listened to her message, but instead of calling back, headed right over to Daniel’s. She hadn’t thought of that possibility.
She would feel awful if something went horribly out of control between the two men. How could she find out if something bad had happened? She opened her purse and fingered the card with Patrick’s number on it. But how would she broach the subject? She chewed on her lip and tried to think of a way to phrase the question that didn’t sound too accusatory or scary.
She didn’t like having all this speculation simmering around her brain without anyone to talk to about it. It could be nothing, or it might very well be something really serious.
Either way, with only partial facts, she couldn’t possibly know. This whole thing was nerve-wracking.
Even Donna noticed her distraction. “What’s going on with you tonight?” Since her son had been casted and was back to normal, she’d come to work that night.
Gabriella filled her in on everything, especially Daniel’s visit. “That’s why I’m so worried. For all I know both Shane and Daniel could have had a shoot-out or something. Why else wouldn’t he have shown up tonight?”
Donna shook her head. “He’s probably knee-deep in one of his cases. With Garrett gone, I’m sure he’s extra busy. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s been around here as much as he has. Then again, I shouldn’t be.” She stretched her short legs out in front of her. “What’s with it between you two?”
Good question. Every time it felt as if they were making progress, coming to some kind of weird agreement, there’d be a huge backslide. His not checking in with her was a typical example. She tried to work herself into an angry lather over his inconsiderate behavior, but didn’t manage to get too far before worry took over.
“We kind of had a moment the other night. It’s a long story, but suffice it to say I threw myself at him and he shut me down.” She shook her head. “Embarrassing but true.”
Donna lit up with a spark of energy. “So how far did you get exactly? Any near nakedness involv
ed?”
“Not even close. Only some intense kissing….”
“Now that’s a damn shame.” She shook her head.
“You’re telling me.” How could she explain the chills that raced up and down her arms every time she relived that brief but intense kiss?
She laughed. “Talking about sex isn’t going to get the next set planned.”
“True.” Gabriella nodded and forced her mind to focus. “I was thinking about incorporating the guitar.” She pointed toward the corner, but it wasn’t there. “Where did it go?”
“It hasn’t been there since I came in tonight.”
“Mack must have put it back in the closet.” She stood and walked down the hall towards the closet. Donna followed.
“What the hell are you doing back there?” Mack’s near scream made her jump as if she’d done something wrong.
“I was trying to find the guitar. It wasn’t in the room so I thought you might have put it back in the closet.” Her already frayed nerves were sending signals that they were near the breaking point. She was jumpy and anxious and her hands seemed to have a constant tremble.
“I didn’t touch the damn thing. Besides, it’s time for your next set,” he barked in response.
“Geez, Mack, you need to chill. You scared the poor girl half to death.” Donna scowled at him.
When she came out for the next set, she noticed Patrick in the audience. She waved and he responded, but seemed preoccupied. In fact, he didn’t seem to be drinking if the can of pop at his fingertips was any indication. She almost got the impression he was on duty, based on the way he was observing the crowd. Each time the door opened, his glance shifted in that direction. He had to be waiting for somebody. But then, about ten minutes before close, he left.
Gabriella glanced at the clock. Two in the morning and still no Shane. Where was he?
Unease and fear had worked through her during the course of the evening with each passing moment that he’d remained a no show. Now that it was time to go home, and he still hadn’t arrived, and hadn’t called, her discomfort escalated. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
“Shane didn’t call, did he?” She finally asked Mack while she waited for Donna.
Despite his normal nosiness when Shane wasn’t around, tonight he’d kept a relatively low profile except for his earlier outburst. “Nope, but with Stu tending bar, he doesn’t need to be here.” He shifted back and forth from one foot to the other.
Donna emerged from the back and Gabriella picked up her purse and got ready to leave. “We’re out of here.”
Once outside, she glanced up and down the street, searching for Shane’s car. The black one down the block looked like his, but there were probably a lot of the same cars around Chicago. But maybe she should walk over there and check it out.
A shiver rumbled along her spine. She’d had enough intrigue to last her a lifetime. Right now, she wished she could conjure up Shane on the spot. It would have made her feel a whole lot better.
“Do you think Mack had anything to do with Shane not being here tonight?” It was no secret they didn’t like each other. They could have had a ginormous fight. The idea grew by leaps and bounds inside her brain until she was halfway certain she might start screaming or singing at any moment.
“Like a fist fight or something?” Donna spurted out a laugh. “Reality check, Gabriella. Mack could be wielding a machine gun and Shane would still find a way to beat the crap out of him.”
“Hmmmm. I guess you’re right.” Still, doubt lingered in the back of her mind. “Where do you suppose he is then?”
She shrugged. “Maybe he was feeling kind of awkward at not taking you up on your offer the other day and needed to protect himself from your advances.” Donna snickered as she walked towards her car. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”
Oh God…wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Then again, Shane wasn’t the type to beat around the bush. He’d straight up tell her to back off, wouldn’t he?
“You coming?” Donna’s voice pulled her back to the problem at hand.
“That’s okay. I’ll take a cab. I think I see one coming now.” And she really wanted to check out that car to see if it was Shane’s. Then she’d go wherever it made the most sense to look for him—starting with the hospital.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then. Maybe we can check on Vanessa Young and see if she’s able to talk to us yet.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
After Donna pulled away, Gabriella made her way down the block. The closer she got to the car, the more convinced she became it was Shane’s. While she didn’t know his license plate number, the back window had been replaced after the gunshot incident and there was still a sticker from the installation company in the right hand corner. She’d look for it.
But as she got closer, she became more nervous. The eerie silence on the street in combination with the light breeze brought goose bumps to her arms.
Hustling along the last fifty feet or so in her heels, which weren’t meant for doing any kind of near-running, she spotted what she’d somehow known she’d see: the small decal advertising A1 Auto Glass affixed to the corner in back.
At that moment, she knew deep inside her bones something had happened. There was no way his car was here and he wasn’t. She peered inside, thinking maybe he’d passed out, or was hurt. But he wasn’t there.
Regardless of what he thought, she had to contact the police. After punching numbers into the cell, the screen went blank. “Damn it.” This was not the time for her phone to need charging.
She ran back to the club and pulled at the front door. It didn’t budge. Mack and Stu must have locked up right after she and Donna left.
Undeterred, she went around back. As usual, the door was propped open with a small chunk of wood.
She heard voices coming from in front. Unless she was mistaken, it was more than Mack and Stu shooting the breeze. Something stopped her from calling out. She inched her way along the dark hallway and thanked God no one had seen fit to replace the burned out bulb in the light fixture. The scrape of chairs against the floor and raised voices caught her attention.
At the end of the hall, she stopped. It took several seconds to process the scene. Two men had pushed Mack against the edge of the bar. She couldn’t see Stu, but from her angle she didn’t have a clear view of the entire space.
“Where is he?” One of the men had a gun, and pointed it in Mack’s face. She didn’t know what had happened prior to this point, but he had a cut on his left cheekbone.
“I told you he was in the closet last time I checked.” Mack’s face had gone ashen.
“That broad was snooping around. Did she let him out?” Oh, God, it was that O’Brien man who’d threatened Shane the other day. She couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if he had a black eye. In addition, his arm was bandaged.
Before Mack could respond, the other guy spoke. “We said from the start we needed you to get rid of the bitch so O’Neil wouldn’t want to spend so much time here, but you screwed that up royally. Now we have a mess because of your incompetence. We’ll have to go find her once we leave.”
When seconds later a small ‘pop’ sounded and a stream of red flowed down the front of Mack’s shirt, she could only stare in disbelief.
Blood. Lots of it.
Somehow she stopped the scream clawing at the back of her throat while self-preservation took over to prevent her from singing. Her body shook as the scene flashed before her as if distorted by strobe lights. Mack crumpled to the floor. The other men in the room acted as if nothing had happened, discussing options and yelling at one another.
Shaking, she tiptoed towards the back as swiftly and as quietly as she could manage and slipped out the door. She didn’t much care for Mack, but wishing him dead was another thing. Based on their last comment—about keeping the bitch away—she had no trouble believing their next stop would be to search for her.
Where could she hide? Who could she c
all? O’Brien was a cop. Were the other men cops as well?
Suddenly she felt like Alice falling into the looking glass. Somehow she’d tumbled into a world she knew nothing about.
Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to steady her pulse. It didn’t work. Her heart banged inside her chest like a kettle drum during the Fourth of July parade. Her limbs quivered uncontrollably.
She took in her surroundings, trying to adjust to what had happened and trying desperately to think. At nearly three in the morning, the alley behind the Blues Stop was quiet. Only the occasional distant sound of a car disrupted the stillness.
First things first. She needed to find a phone. Right after getting as far away from here as possible.
Stumbling along as quickly as she could on four-inch heels, she made her way around the dumpster directly outside the back door. While the heels slowed her down, she didn’t dare pull them off to walk through the littered alley.
She wanted to get the hell out of Dodge, go to the nearest police station and hope they got back to the bar before it was too late.
Suddenly a man burst through the back door. She crouched down, plastering herself against the brick wall of the building to hide. Only a few feet away, she didn’t dare breathe.
“Where the hell did he go?” the man shouted.
As she cowered against the building, she pinched her nose to ward off the noxious fumes coming from the dumpster: whiskey, stale food, and something she didn’t want to think about.
“He was out cold,” the other man said.
She peeked through the small slit between the building and the dumpster. With no lights in the alley and no moon tonight, there was nothing to alleviate the darkness. Which was probably a good thing since if there were, she’d have been spotted by now.
“Obviously you were wrong. I’m going to go find a flashlight. You bring around the car. In his condition, he couldn’t have gotten far. We’ll take care of him once and for all. Then pick up the bitch and they all can go for a little swim in the Calumet.”