by Lakes, Lynde
Paula stared at the men standing by the van. “Fine undercover team,” she muttered. “Two potbellied, graying men.”
Bard tightened his grip on her hand. “Shut up. They’ll hear you.”
As they approached the van, a man with a wine birthmark on his neck the shape of an ink blot stepped forward and shook hands with Bard. “I’m Tom, and this is Laird.” Tom gestured with his head toward the potato-nosed man tinkering with something under the hood. Laird looked up, nodded, then went back to whatever he was doing.
“What’s with the woman?” Tom asked.
“She’ll be working with us,” Bard said. “She’ll stay in the attic and SOS you in case my wire goes down.”
Tom’s eyes darkened. “Reed didn’t mention her.”
“I know,” Bard said. “But she’s a fact we’ll have to live with. Now let’s get on with this, I don’t have much time.”
Paula frowned. She didn’t like being discussed as if she weren’t there, but she kept silent. Telling them off would only slow things down. Her focus had to stay on getting Charlie’s killer.
“We’ll be outside monitoring the operation,” Tom said.
“You’ll both wear a wire.” He added a second microchip recorder to a bag. He glanced at Paula and shook his head. “Explain to her where it has to go.” Tom handed Bard a small bag. “This is everything you’ll need, gear and instructions. Yell, if you get in trouble. We can’t always tell by the dialogue that you’re in crisis.”
“You’ll be there early?”
“We’re setting up right away. We’ll pull our van into the garage of the boarded up house across the street.” Tom gestured with his head at Paula. “Are you sure you want her with you? If things start popping, she could get in the way.”
“What I want and what has to be are two different things. She’s in.”
“I hope that decision isn’t your last, Nichols.”
****
The kitchen took on a surreal brightness as tension sizzled between Paula and Bard. The strain knotted Paula’s stomach, but she kept her hands busy by making sandwiches. Her heart pounded. In a couple of hours they would meet with the looting ring. Going with Bard was dangerous, but after what happened to Charlie she couldn’t trust the system.
She flinched when the phone rang. Bard paused from checking through the gear and growled, “I’ll get it.”
From Bard’s side of the conversation, Paula could tell it was Ray. “Ask about Gary,” she said, giving the code sentence she and Ray had agreed on.
Bard nodded. After a few moments he covered the mouthpiece and said, “Gary’s fine.”
Bard and Ray talked a little longer, with Bard mostly listening. He held himself very stiff as though every cell in his body was on alert. Then he said,”Yeah. I’ll tell her.”
Bard hung up the telephone and studied her face. “Ray told me to tell you he did the little job you wanted done, and he’s set up the neighborhood meeting, and the key people will be there.”
A shiver of excitement surged through Paula, and she fought to contain the sly smile trying to break free.
“What’s that all about?” Bard’s eyes were turbulent. He came close, almost toe to toe, but didn’t touch her. “Making trouble for me again?”
“That’s me, Bard, the neighborhood troublemaker.” She wished he’d take her in his arms and kiss her. But he wouldn’t. He was too upset over the way she’d moved in on his operation.
“The restraining order didn’t scare you a bit, did it?”
She shrugged. “Made me mad, that’s all.”
“If I had any sense, I’d have you locked up for the night. Cory isn’t the only cop on the force.” Bard’s voice was too quiet, too controlled, and his swift, jerky movements warned that he was about to explode.
She lifted her chin. “I haven’t broken any laws, yet. Besides, no matter what cop put me in jail, Cory could get at me.”
“That’s the only thing stopping me.” Bard rubbed his hand across his jaw. “But you’re so damned unpredictable, and that scares the hell out of me.”
****
Janus hid his excitement as Lopez slipped into the passenger’s side of the truck and handed him the journal.
“Didn’t cost us nada.” Lopez grinned and flashed his gold tooth. “She kept it close by in her bedroom like I thought.”
“Did you read it?” Janus paged through the journal.
“Jus’ the pages marked with the paper clips. We’re famous.”
“My name’s in there?” With effort, Janus masked the urgency in his voice.
“Just your code name, Janus. Also, my name, Deeter’s, and Leroy Damas’s. Good thing I gave Damas an eternal siesta. He wasn’t cut out to take risks. A little pressure and he would’a blabbed everything.”
Janus’s neck muscles tightened. “Are you sure he didn’t?”
“I checked. He never came to.”
Lopez dialed the radio to a Latin station that blared a Ricky Martin salsa.
Janus frowned and turned down the volume. “Who put the paper clips on these pages.”
Lopez shrugged. “Maybe Bard. I think he’s playing a game with us, no? A deadly game for him, right, Janus?”
****
Paula and Bard sat on the living room floor of the dark, empty house. Uncertainty hung suspended in the stale, humid air. Waiting for Janus and his gang had given Paula too much time to think about all the things that could go wrong.
Bard sat alert and grim-faced, with his back against the wall. An aura of tightly controlled energy emanated from him. He checked the chambers of his gun, probably out of nervousness,then slipped the weapon back into his waistband.
The house had been closed tightly all day in ninety-degree heat. It seemed that every meal ever cooked there had been absorbed by the peeling paint on the walls. Putrid odors of a clogged toilet came from the bathroom. God, she wished this was over.
Moonbeams sliced through a bare window and sent a pattern of light onto the wall in front of Paula; the configuration looked like an open door into something shadowy and unknown. Even though the image was a bit frightening, it fascinated her. The more she looked, the more the passageway took on meaning. It was an omen, a warning that she was taking a course that would either change her life forever, or end it.
She exhaled to release some of her anxiety. Her muscles had tightened almost to their snapping point.
“You okay?” Bard whispered.
“Never better,” she said, then let out a soft, nervous laugh.
Bard captured and held her gaze. “Better get up in the attic now.”
She suddenly wondered the wisdom of wearing Daisy Dukes cutoff jeans. They were great to fight the heat, but what if there were spiders and other critters in the attic? It’d be okay, she told herself. She wouldn’t be up there that long.
“Remember,” Bard said, “stay out of sight, even if it seems things are going sour. Let Tom, Laird and me work it out. That’s the only way this insanity has any chance of working.”
“Whatever you say.” She was glad to leave it to them, as long as they didn’t mess up, as long as Bard stayed safe.
“I mean it. You can hear everything and let your microchip pick up the audio, but you’re here to listen and witness, that’s all! Got it?”
“Got it.” She bit her lip. “Shouldn’t the gang be here by now?”
Bard flipped on his penlight briefly and glanced at his watch. “Yes. Now get in the attic.”
She didn’t move, needing a few more moments before climbing into the stifling tiny space. What a time to remember she was a bit claustrophobic. She nervously touched the policewhistle on the chain around her neck.
“What’s with the whistle?” he growled.
“Extra protection.”
He snickered. “So, if we run out of bullets you’ll blow that in the gangs ears and break their eardrums?”
“It’s to wake up those overly seasoned, gray-haired G-men you call your backup
in case they fall asleep on the job,” she retorted with equal sarcasm.
He darted a sharp glance at her. “Your gun’s loaded, right?” he asked in a husky whisper.
Glaring at him, she removed the gun from her shoulder bag and flicked open the cylinder. “Nervous?” Her tone was purposely taunting.
“Only because you’re here.”
Paula winced internally. She returned the gun to her bag and picked up one of the flashlights and weighed it in her hand. A tiny doubt crept into her mind. What if he lost his edge because he was worried about her? She closed her eyes briefly to give herself a moment to pump up her ebbing confidence.
Dammit. He needed her; he did. She squared her shoulders. She would trust her instincts. She honestly believed he was walking into a trap, and her gun could be the equalizer that would save his life.
She studied his serious profile. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. He was close enough to touch, but she clenched both hands around the flashlight, as if gripping it would ease her urge to trace her fingers along his firm jawline.
If only she could play some music to get her mind off her inner turmoil, but she had to stay alert to every sound. She was painfully aware of every noise, every smell, and every breath she or Bard took. It was amazing how the darkness brought her other senses into sharper focus. Every rustle of the leaves, every click of the crickets, every mournful howl of the dog down the street, were an escalating orchestra, intensifying her fear. And awareness of Bard. She glanced at him, as a new rush of longing swept over her. Did they have a future together? With the ruthless men they had to face, a better question might be, did they have a future at all?
The floor felt gritty and sticky as she braced her palms on the hardwood to get up. Paula frowned and wiped her hands on her faded cutoff jeans. She went to the window and peered out, still delaying. The full moon cast its silvery phosphorescence over bushes and trees. She rubbed her arms. Somehow, it seemed safer out there.
Bard came up behind her; his breath was warm on her hair.
Motionless, she waited for his touch. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to touch her, she turned and faced him. If only they were alone in the moonlight, some other place, some other time.
She knew that Bard believed she was putting them both in greater danger. His silence troubled her. Had her stubbornness to be in on the capture of Charlie’s killer diminished Bard’s love for her? Sweat trickled down his cheek. He reached past her and opened the window a little wider. It didn’t help. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze.
If even a little air filtered in, it would be better than the dead, musty air that had dried all the moisture from her mouth and left her tongue feeling like a wad of cotton.
Bard stepped inside the living room guest closet and flashed his light up at the open crawl space. “Don’t forget what I told you. This rope ladder will hold your weight.” He tested it by yanking downward. “Get up in the attic now, pull the rope up behind you and close the opening.”
“What do you think is going to happen?”
His gaze darkened, intensified. “If you do like you’re told, you’ll have Charlie’s killer when it’s over. If you don’t, we’ll both be dead.”
Roaring engines and the vibrations of heavy trucks came up the street toward them. Paula eyes met Bard’s.
“Get up there, now!” he ordered.
Moving quickly, she grabbed her bag and one of the flashlights and stepped into the closet. As they turned sideways to pass each other, Bard gripped her shoulders briefly. “No matter what happens, don’t come out!”
He lifted his hand. For an instant, she thought he was going to caress her cheek. Instead, he just handed her the rope ladder. “Thanks a lot,” she said in a sarcastic tone, and climbed up, adding, “for nothing” under her breath.
Paula watched the light disappear as Bard softly closed the door. The attic was like a sweat box, and full of wispy cobwebs. Something scurried across her hand. She bit down on her lip to keep from letting out a yelp.
Thank God she’d planned ahead.
She climbed back down and found the slanted, egg-shaped hole Ray had drilled in the door for her. From the living room, in the dark shadows the hollow looked like a natural knothole. It was large enough to keep Bard’s moonlight-bathed silhouette in sight.
Paula had made this small change in plans, knowing she’d miss too much in the attic, and be too far away to help if they found Bard out.
The roar of big engines and the double wave of crunching gravel trumpeted that two trucks had turned into the driveway.
Bard went to the window and looked out.
Paula heard the rumble of men’s voices. She strained in vain to hear what they were saying. Heavy booted footsteps thudded on the walkway; then soft footsteps emerged over her head on the roof. Paula froze and said a little prayer that everything would go as planned.
“Bard,” Lopez called, as he entered the back door of the house. “You’re in here, no?” His tone was melodic, friendly.
“Yeah,” Bard answered. “In the living room.”
Lopez came through the doorway smiling and carrying a high-powered battery lantern. The dark room flooded with an ominous glow.
Five overweight, ex-bodybuilder types trailed Lopez. Three of the men had rifles and two had handguns tucked in their waistbands. The two with handguns were the bikers Deeter had lived with. The solemn five fanned out around the room and stood staring at Bard like a firing squad waiting for orders to assume the fire position.
“This is the inventory of what’s here,” Bard said, handing the list to Lopez. “If we work fast, we can strip the place in less than forty-five minutes.” He stared at Lopez. Dead silence followed. “Why is everyone just standing around? Hop to it. Let’s get to work.”
Lopez flashed the lantern in Bard’s eyes. Bard raised his hand to ward off the brightness. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Another man’s silvery silhouette appeared out of the darkness behind Lopez.
“Guess you and Janus already know each other,” Lopez said sarcastically.
“Les! It’s you!” Bard said.
The shock in Bard’s voice matched Paula’s own dismay. Les! Janus was Les! Her knees went weak.
“You didn’t think I’d go for that pathetic loan-shark story,did you?”
“Why not?” Bard asked, his voice totally unruffled. “It was true. I needed quick money. Lots of it. You and I are alike that way, both out for the big bucks. Think about it, I wouldn’t have believed this of you either.”
“Can it!” Les, aka Janus, gestured, and two of the men grabbed Bard. They roughly frisked him and took his gun. Panic tore through Paula but true to Bard’s instructions, she stayed rooted to the spot.
“Want to give me the wire in your shorts, or shall I yank it out myself?” growled the biker with Harley Hoods tattooed on his left bicep.
Paula wrinkled her brow. How did he know about the wire and where it was? Only she, Bard and the backup agents knew about the tiny microchip.
Bard gave the chip to the biker, and the big ape threw it on the floor and stomped it.
“I read Charlie’s journal.” Les shifted his weight. “But I let you play out your game for kicks.”
Paula couldn’t believe it. They had the journal. She thought it was still in the center of the book box where she’d hidden it.
“I silenced Damas,” Lopez said, “so he wouldn’t warn you.”
“And Deeter, too, I suppose?” Bard asked coolly.
“No,” Les said, “he was mine.”
“Thanks for clearing that up,” Bard said. “But admitting it wasn’t too bright. Get smart. Give up. The place is surrounded.”
Paula was calmed by the confidence in Bard’s voice. Give up was a signal to the guys listening outside. But Bard’s wire had been smashed. She grabbed her own microchip from its hiding place in her bikini briefs and repeated “give up” softly. A small triumph surged through her. Bard needed her a
fter all. And any minute Tom and Laird would charge through the door.
“You mean the guys in the van?” Les snickered. “Good try, Bard.” Then he shouted, “Bring in our other guests!”
Two bikers shoved Tom and Laird into the room. Paula gasped. The backup duo were gagged with their hands tied behind their backs. They stumbled and fell to their knees. Their faces were bloody, swollen, as though they’d been used as punching bags.
“Looks like I blew it,” Bard said without emotion.
Paula groaned to herself. That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. His cover was blown, his backup gone, and with a room full of armed men, her .38 was like a peashooter against a line of machine guns.
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Your move, Les,” Paula heard Bard say in his deep chess player’s voice.
Les looked balefully at him and his inept backup men. “You got that right. Hope the three of you’ve paid your insurance.” Les laughed. “And claimed me as your beneficiary.”
“Fat chance.” Bard’s tone was even. “Who does the dirty work, you or your thugs?”
“You, I’ll handle personally. The other two, well, the men can draw straws.”
“Did your men draw straws to kill Charlie?”
“Nah. He was special. Like you. But not as much fun. You walked right into our trap. Not Charlie. He was more experienced, more troublesome. We had to chase him down like a dog.”
Pain and rage shot through Paula, but she forced herself to listen and bide her time.
Les aimed his gun at Bard’s head. “End of the social hour.”
Paula’s breath caught.
“One more thing, Les,” Bard said, clearly stalling. “Why did you single out Paula Lord?”
“Obvious reason. Defuse the leader and the whole neighborhood falls.”
Paula liked the concept, only reversed—defuse Janus and the whole gang falls.
Bard inched backward, toward the window.
Les raised the gun a fraction, pointing the barrel right between Bard’s eyes. “Freeze, Nichols.”