Fern Michaels' Godmothers Bundle: The Scoop, Exclusive, Late Edition, Deadline & Breaking News

by Michaels, Fern

  Quickly, before anyone else came inside, Rag removed the dark green plastic lid on the trash can, took the red envelope out of his back pocket, and inserted the corner of the envelope’s edge at a seam along the base of the lid. Tape would’ve helped, he thought, but this would work. Placing the lid back on the can, he peered down and looked inside, just to make sure the envelope remained intact. It would totally ruin his day if LAT Enterprise, whoever the hell “they” were, failed to locate the note with the information about his offshore bank account.

  Yep, it was exactly where it belonged. He quickly exited the bathroom, glad for the breath of fresh air. As he walked away from the stench, he briefly wondered if the guy wearing the boots had ever heard of a courtesy flush, because it smelled like something had crawled up his ass and died.

  A short walk across the pier was an arcade that afforded him a bird’s-eye view of the men’s room. Looking at the carnival-style arcade, with all its noise, kids running around in circles, parents tossing away hundreds for two-dollar toys, Rag thought he couldn’t have picked a more perfect location to monitor the comings and goings of those in need of a place to relieve themselves.

  While Rag was positioning himself, Goebel, with Chester at his side, was meeting Dave and the three cops at the base of the pier. The dog was beyond well disciplined, and for that he was thankful. He had his master’s scent from a T-shirt Chris had found in the trunk of Abby’s car. He hoped it wasn’t necessary to use the dog’s olfactory skills, but just in case, he was prepared. Something he’d learned after spending more than thirty years in the NYPD: never, ever enter into a situation unprepared.

  All eyes were on the Louis Vuitton luggage containing one million dollars in cash. Goebel had removed it from Toots’s Thunderbird when he took Chester out of the Escalade. Now it was their main focus.

  He removed a small box about the size of a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. “Dave, you know what this is, don’t you?”

  “Yes, it’s an ink bomb,” Dave said.

  “This one is motion activated with a three-minute delay. This’ll give him time to exit the bathroom and be out in the open when the device explodes. Hopefully, in all the confusion the Santa Monica police officers will be focused on crowd control, so we can jump in, grab the bastard, and whisk him away.”

  “What if he suspects something and doesn’t take the luggage?” Keith asked.

  “Then it’s going to be up to the rest of us to catch him. Remember, you’re going to be inside, on the john, while all this is going down,” Goebel explained. “If you see anything, you’ll radio us so we can surround the bathroom.”

  The atmosphere pulsed with testosterone, each man more than willing to do his part, whatever it took, to capture the son of a bitch responsible for taking Abby.

  “Keith, make sure you’re in the stall before Dave goes in. We don’t want anyone else to get his hands on that luggage,” Goebel said. “And we don’t want anyone to spot it in the trash and report an abandoned suitcase to the authorities.”

  “Dave, once he’s inside, wait two minutes. Then put the luggage in the trash can. We know he’s going to be watching for someone to come in there with a suitcase and leave empty-handed. It’s imperative that you leave the area as fast as you can, so he feels secure enough to make the pickup.”

  “Will do,” Dave responded.

  “Have I left anything out?” Goebel asked, aware that he was human and knowing full well that there were times when input from someone else could point out omissions. No one said a word. Goebel looked at his watch. Four thirty-one. They had twenty-nine minutes before showtime. They scattered like ants to their designated positions.

  “Good luck,” Goebel called out. They were going to need all the luck they could muster, and then some.

  Abby’s life was in their hands.

  Chapter 26

  Abby struggled to contain her fear. She tried counting to one hundred, then a thousand. Nothing.

  Panic-stricken, she counted seconds, then minutes, in order to calculate how long she’d been locked inside the small, sweltering closet. Guessing she’d been in the closet for about half an hour before she began counting, Abby tried inhaling through her nose, then slowly exhaling through her mouth. It was difficult given the three layers of duct tape around her mouth, but she managed to use her tongue to maneuver the tape away from her lips in order for a pocket of air to escape. It was just enough to keep her anxiety from overwhelming her. Never having suffered from claustrophobia, Abby felt a new sense of empathy for those who did.

  Sweat trickled down her back, settling at the base of her spine. The skin around her wrists and ankles felt raw and bruised. She tried to kick off her shoes by ramming the heels of her sneakers against the legs of the chair and pushing up. Nothing. She wished now that she’d thought to wear socks as they would have helped to absorb some of the perspiration. She wiggled her toes every once in a while to keep her feet from falling asleep. She had to do something to get the hell out of this heat box, or else she would completely lose it.

  Turning her neck from left to right, she managed to use the elasticity of the tape to force it away from her mouth. Finally, she could actually touch her top lip with her tongue. That gave her hope and reduced her anxiety to a manageable level.

  Knowing that Goebel, her mother, and her godmothers were aware of her abduction, she realized that it could only be a matter of time before they found her. And her mother wouldn’t stop until she did. Abby tried to keep the thought uppermost in her mind. Soon, she’d be out of this two-by-two closet, and home. Anywhere but here. Chester. He would wonder what had happened to her. They’d been together for five years. Poor thing, but again she assured herself that he was being well taken care of by someone in the family.

  Then she thought about Chris and the time they had spent together.

  Their last date.

  Had it really only been a few hours ago that they’d walked the red carpet together? They’d both decked themselves out for the event just because Abby, as editor in chief of The Informer, which was close to overtaking the National Enquirer as the leading tabloid, had received an invitation for a stupid movie premiere! Just thinking about the senselessness and stupidity of the powers that be in Hollywood caused her stomach to churn. As much as she’d enjoyed all the fanfare and hoopla that went along with her job, and her lifestyle, she was absolutely ready to consider a new career. And it would definitely not be in Hollywood.

  Wet with perspiration, Abby tried once again to find a position that didn’t deaden her nerve endings any more than they were already. Shifting from one side of her butt to the other, hoping to relieve the numbness, she squeezed her glutes just the way she did at the gym. If anything, when she was found, she’d be able to get up and walk without assistance.

  Abby tried to stretch the muscles in her lower back and felt a tinge of relief.

  Hope, that was what she had to cling to. If not, she didn’t even want to imagine how this nightmare would end.

  Toots and Phil hadn’t said much since Goebel and Dave left Bubba Gump’s to drop the luggage off at the arranged spot. Sophie chattered enough to keep them all entertained.

  “Toots, have faith. Remember, Goebel is one of the best in the business. Like you, Phil, you’re one of the best cardiologists in Charleston. We’re going to find Abby, and when we do, we’re all going to party like it’s nineteen ninety-nine.”

  “Please, Sophie. That is so yesterday,” Ida informed her. “We’re going to thank the big man upstairs. Then we’re going to party. Then we’re all going to become movie stars.”

  Toots looked at Ida like she had little green men coming out of her ears. “No thanks. This Hollywood stuff is going to be my downfall. When Abby is home, I plan to have a serious discussion with her about The Informer. I want to get rid of it, sell it to anyone who wants it for whatever they are willing to pay. I’ll take a loss. I don’t care. It’s the root of all my troubles now.” Again, for the hundr
edth time, tears pooled in Toots’s eyes as she thought of all the trouble owning the paper had brought her. It just wasn’t worth it.

  “I’m not so sure Abby will agree with that, and maybe she can buy the paper herself. It’s been her baby for the past two years now,” Chris said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

  “No matter what we do, we’ll all do it together. Toots, you can always join Ida and me. We could teach you how to dress the dead and make their final journey as pleasant as possible,” Mavis said, though Toots knew that dear old Mavis was just trying to cheer her up.

  “What did you just say that you do?” Phil asked, doubting that he could have heard what he thought he had and suddenly more curious than ever about this group of women.

  “They lay out dead people, and Ida paints their faces. Mavis dresses them and also sells a line of clothing called Good Mourning for the living. It’s her philosophy that you should be able to wear mourning clothes to other places besides funerals. Toots has buried so many—”

  “Not now, Sophia!” Toots warned her.

  “Sorry. Anyway, we all started new careers when Toots sent for us two years ago.”

  Phil smiled. “And you can fill me in on the details as soon as Abby is home. I can’t wait to hear them.”

  Toots asked, “What time is it now?”

  “It’s four fifty-five,” Chris said.

  “That son of a bitch is here somewhere now, and I don’t even know what he looked like when this all started, much less now. Maybe we should go outside and look, see if we spot anyone who looks suspicious.”

  “No, Toots, that is the very last thing you need to do. Let Goebel and Dave, and my buddies on the LAPD handle this. They know what they’re doing. Besides, if Rag spotted people searching the crowd, who knows what he might do? Let’s wait here a little. It’s going to be over soon, I promise,” Chris said, praying that his words were true.

  “I’d just like to have five minutes with him. I guarantee you it would be the most memorable of what’s left of his worthless life.”

  “Toots,” Sophie said, “I tell you what. If I have the chance, I personally will whack that bastard’s dick off, stuff it down his throat while Mavis shoves a bouquet of flowers up his ass, and Ida can tattoo his forehead with the word ‘useless’ with her permanent makeup kit. He ain’t gonna be anything to look at when we’re finished with him.” Sophie grinned, but Toots knew she was simply blabbering, saying anything to pass the time until they received word from Goebel that he’d found Abby’s location.

  Toots looked out the large window. Her heart did a double beat. “Oh my God, game’s on. There go Goebel and Chester!”

  Chapter 27

  Goebel held tightly to Chester’s leash as he walked along the pier, trying to look as though he was just another old guy out for a walk with his best friend. He looked at his watch. Keying the mic, he asked, “Is everyone ready? It’s showtime.”

  “Roger,” Keith confirmed.

  “All set,” Dave added.

  “LA’s finest ready,” Jeff said.

  “Ditto,” Ron concurred.

  “Okay, Dave, Keith’s in position. Make the drop.” Goebel focused his binoculars on the Marine Science Center, trying to appear as though he was searching the ocean for dolphin activity.

  Dave was amazed at how heavy the suitcase was. Lucky for him, it had wheels. It was difficult to make it appear lighter than it really was, and he didn’t miss the few stares from passersby who noticed he was pulling a three-thousand-dollar piece of luggage along like it was nothing out of the ordinary. It would be tempting to some to take the money and just keep right on walking, but he wasn’t that kind of guy. His integrity was on the line. Abby had been abducted on his watch. He took his duties seriously and wasn’t about to screw this up.

  People of all shapes, sizes, and colors walked the boardwalk and bought treats from many vendors. Children laden with stuffed animals and big, fluffy pink balls of cotton candy were oblivious to what was about to go down. Dave could only hope the operation went as smoothly as Goebel had planned. The last thing any of them needed was innocent bystanders getting hurt. For a moment, he almost radioed Goebel, to say there were children everywhere. But they were professionals, and a woman’s life was on the line.

  It was now or never.

  The steel door to the men’s room looked as if it had twenty-five coats of paint on it and still needed a few more. Dave wondered how many thousands of people came in and out of the area every day of the year. He wanted to search for the son of a bitch who was about to take a fortune and run with it, but there was no time.

  Seeing that Keith was in the stall, he went into the stall next to him, where he hoisted the luggage across the toilet seat. Quickly, he opened the suitcase and placed the ink bomb in the middle of the stacks of hundred-dollar bills. It had been quite a while since he’d seen so much cash in one place. During his years with the Secret Service, he had occasionally worked at the United States Mint, where he’d had quite a few opportunities to see such large sums of money. Now, that was a place for cash. He closed the luggage, then carefully lifted it so as not to arm the motion detector, and quickly glanced over the top of the closed stall door just to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching.

  When he saw it was clear, he exited the stall and yanked the green plastic lid off the garbage can, saw the red envelope, then carefully placed the money inside the can. Just for good measure, he tore several towels from the dispenser and placed them on top of the luggage so that the can would appear to be filled with trash.

  “The package is in place. I’m exiting the building,” Dave said into the small microphone hidden under his collar.

  Once outside, Dave hurried toward the end of the pier like a football safety prepared to jump on anyone who got free from the cornerbacks.

  Rag watched the tall man enter the men’s room with a medium-sized suitcase. About three minutes later, he came out, walking at an unusually fast pace. Rag tried to follow him with his gaze, but he disappeared too quickly into the throngs of people. If the guy was smart, he’d get the hell out of there.

  Rag had hit pay dirt this time around. Heart racing, he glanced around the arcade to make sure that no one leapt out of the corners to grab him. When he saw that all was clear, he left the arcade and casually walked across the pier to the men’s room.

  As luck would have it, there were three people inside the men’s room. Someone was taking a dump in the first stall, and two men were standing at the urinals, their backs to him. Should he wait? Yes, he had no choice. He hoped that dude in the stall wasn’t as smelly as that last asshole, because he was going to have to loiter inside for a few minutes, until the other two guys finished.

  Impatiently, he drummed his fingers against his side. Damn, what the hell were those two guys doing? Were they taking a piss or jerking off?

  Okay, come on, motherfuckers. You don’t need to wash your hands. Get out, and don’t come back.

  He quickly peered out the door to see if anyone else was about to enter. Nothing. So far so good.

  Finally, the two jack-off artists washed and dried their hands and left. Never mind the guy in the stall. It was time to collect his prize.

  When he removed the lid, he nearly crapped himself. All he saw were wads of wet paper towels. Reaching inside, he realized that the paper towels had been purposely placed on top of the luggage. Pretty smart. He lifted the designer suitcase out of the large can and said, “Yes! Wheels! This is my lucky day!”

  He was almost home free. He could taste a fine bottle of wine and a sexy young girl. It was within his reach. Placing the luggage on the floor, he extended the handle and, using his back, pushed open the two-way door.

  Suddenly, the weight of the door was gone.

  “I see you’ve packed, motherfucker! Don’t move.”

  Rag felt cold, icy steel as the barrel of a gun was jammed into the middle of his back. “You’ll never see Abby again if you don’t let me go!” He hea
rd the fear in his voice.

  “Who the fuck is Abby?” the man with the gun asked.

  “Who the fuck are you?” Rag demanded.

  “Who we are is not important. What we want is your sorry ass to carefully walk away from the building and down the pier to the black Lexus waiting in the parking lot.”

  “What?” It was then he recalled seeing a black Lexus parked across the street from his apartment.

  The man shoved the gun harder against his back. “Let’s just say you have a friend in Venezuela who wants to have a chat with you about his wife and some missing money.”

  Rag felt his bowels loosen. “Wait! I can explain. How much are you being paid? I’ll double it.”

  The man with the gun leaned over his shoulder, his warm, foul breath blowing in Rag’s ear. “The only money you ever had is what you stole from our boss. Move now, and don’t try anything funny. Joey here has an itchy trigger finger. It’s been a while since he’s blown someone away.”

  Rag could handle this. Once these assholes saw the pile of money he had, he’d be out of there. Leading the thugs toward the end of the pier with the nose of a gun to his back, he dragged the suitcase alongside as they walked toward the parking lot. “You know there are cops everywhere. You’ll draw attention to us with that gun poking in my back,” Rag said.

  “You make a wrong move, and the cops will be the least of your worries. What you’ll need is a coroner. Keep walking, motherfucker.”

  Damn, Goebel thought, this is not going down as I’d planned. “Keith,” he said into his mic, “what’s happening down there? Who are those two guys with Rag? Buddies of yours?”