Stoking the Embers (New Adult Romantic Suspense): The Complete Series

by Johnson, Leslie

  “You are not to speak to anyone. Look at anyone. If you attempt to call for help, I will know and Beth will be punished for your failures.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Is this understood?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good girl. And Steph? You have five minutes to make your decision and have your sweet little ass sitting in that black van. Don’t be late.”

  Click.

  The moment the phone goes dead, I jump to my feet, but find myself turning in circles. I’ve got to pull it together. I’ve got to calm down. I’ve got to think.

  The encrypted phone!

  Maybe I can call for help, or at least open up a line so the detectives could have me followed. As casually as I can, I grab my purse and head into the bathroom. I pull the phone from my purse, hit the programmed button and press it against my ear.

  “Miss Vonnegut? What’s your emergency?”

  “I need help,” I whisper. “My friend, Beth. They’ve kidnapped her. They said I have five minutes to go out the back and get into a black van. What should I do?”

  The man I’m speaking to must have covered his phone, his voice is muffled. I can tell he’s talking to someone else.

  “Miss Vonnegut, do you trust us?”

  Do I? “Yes.”

  “Then we need you to follow their instructions.”

  I gasp. “What?”

  “Follow their instructions. Go down the back steps like they said and get in the van. We will follow you from there. Take this phone with you, the disposable one as well. Place this phone in a pocket, keep the other in your hand. They will likely request your phone; give them the disposable if they do. Is that clear?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very good. Go to the van. Don’t look around. Don’t try to look for us, but know that we’ll be there. We will only call this number if it is urgent. Answer it if you are able.”

  “I understand.”

  “Good luck, Miss Vonnegut. This is a very brave thing you’re doing. We’re here for you.”

  I hang up the phone and stuff it in the pocket of my cargo shorts. I grab the disposable and a sweater, unsure if I should take anything else. Nearly a minute goes by as I stand in the kitchen, a statue of indecision.

  I’ve got to go.

  Ken knew I’d been worried about his backdoor, even though I’d never admitted it. He’s installed a second lock and a security chain and purchased one of those little single door alarms that raise hell if a door is open. He’s even propped a chair under the handle for good measure.

  I pull away the chair and disengage the locks and alarm. My breath is coming so quickly, the far edges of my vision begins to grey. I force myself to breathe in fully, then exhale the same way.

  Out onto the balcony, I skip down the steps, turn right and see the black van sitting at the end of the sidewalk. I almost lose my courage.

  Beth.

  I have to save Beth.

  At the side of the van, I don’t hesitate; I pull open the door, jump in and slide it closed. I don’t look back. I don’t look around.

  The interior is icy and there are two men sitting in the front cabin seats. At least I think they’re men. The ski masks make it hard to tell.

  Pulling away from the sidewalk, we’re soon in traffic and heading out of the city. I’m desperate to turn around, desperate to see if my protectors are following. I don’t dare, I just stare straight ahead. I look down at my hands and realize I’m still holding the disposable phone. They didn’t take it. They didn’t search me. Strange.

  I’ve been in the van for nearly ten minutes when I decide to speak to my captives, make myself seem more human. Engage them. Isn’t that like a Hostage 101 thing?

  “Where are we going?”

  Silence.

  “Is my friend okay?”

  Silence.

  “When will we be there?”

  Silence.

  “I’m really scared. Could you at least speak to me?”

  Silence.

  I never realized silence could be so terrifying.

  Brrr. Brrr. Brrr.

  The phone! Not the one in my hand, but the one in my pocket. I ease my hand down and slide it out, using slow movements, trying to be covert. It continues to vibrate in my hands as I draw it to me. The men in the front don’t seem to notice.

  I press the answer button and slowly lift it to my ear. I don’t say a word. I don’t dare draw attention.

  I wait. And wait. I clear my throat, hoping the agents understand the sound as an equivalent of ‘hello’.

  “Hi, babe.”

  The way he says ‘babe’ sends a shudder through me that’s so violent, the phone is nearly wrenched from my hand. I try to speak. I try to make a sound. This is the encrypted phone. The safe phone. The phone that was supposed to be my lifeline.

  “Enjoying the drive?” Jerome’s voice is conversational. “It’s beautiful this time of night, isn’t it? A perfect night for our reunion. See you soon.”

  The phone goes dead in my hand.

  Chapter 13 - Ken

  I watch as they put Gage into the black and white. At least they didn’t cuff him; professional courtesy has a few advantages. He’s being taken in for questioning. They want to record his testimony immediately, get it on video, and also swab his hands for gun residue.

  “We want to do this by the book,” Flores says to all the officers milling about. “Not one loophole. We do this right. Tight.”

  He sends the officers off to question neighbors and record their versions of the story. A teenager had videotaped almost the entire thing and gave his phone over more willingly than anyone had expected.

  Watching the video is surreal, like an out-of-body experience. As I watch the replay of everything, I can’t believe how close that dude came to shooting me in the back.

  I look at the teenager and say, “Next time, can you put the phone down to shout out a little warning?”

  The teen has the grace to blush and then snarks, “Didn’t want to ruin the audio, dude.” Then he smiles and nods. “Kiddin’. I’ll remember that the next time I’m hidin’ behind a tree witnessing a throw down.”

  I rumble his long hair. “Hope that’s not anytime soon.”

  He pulls away and shakes his head, whipping the brown strands back in places. “You a fireman?”

  I nod. “Training to also be a paramedic.”

  “That’s cool. My brother and me, we used to drive our mom crazy lighting fires in the fire pit and then rushing around with the fire hose and putting it out.”

  I smile. I can remember doing that. “How old are you?”

  His chin tilts up. “Fourteen.”

  I pull a business card from my wallet and hand it to him. “When you turn fifteen, we have an explorer program that you can join, check things out, see if the idea of running into fires is as exciting as it used to be.”

  “Is it lame?”

  I laugh. “Describe lame.”

  “You know, sitting around talking about how oxygen feeds fire and water puts it out. Kid’s stuff.”

  I go to rumple his hair again and he pulls back, giving me the ‘dude, don’t’ look. I hope no kid of mine ever wears his hair so long his eyelashes get caught in the stuff.

  Kid? Mine? Did I just use those two words in the same sentence?

  I avoid that question and instead focus on the kid in front of me. “A little of that, but mostly you learn fire-fighting skills, how to work a hose, ladder techniques, breathing apparatus use, how not to cut your foot off with an axe.”

  A part of me expects the kid to yawn any second, but instead, he looks more interested as I go down the list. He even pushes his hair back from his face and, for the first time, I can see his eyes. They’re a clear and intelligent looking hazel.

  “After you graduate from the program, you can do ride alongs’. Ride with us to fires, car wrecks, medical emergencies, stuff like that.”

  “So, I could help?” I can see the little boy he w
as just a few years ago shining in his face.

  “Yep. A little at first and more as you get older. You won’t be leaping into a burning building for a few years, but I think you’ll like it.”

  The boy looks around as a tow truck pulls up to begin lifting my truck. “Do all fireman get into gun battles? That was GTA stuff that went down.”

  “You play Grand Theft Auto?” I start walking in the direction of my truck, thinking I could save some of the non-perishable stuff. I jump in the bed and begin handing bags to the kid, who doesn’t even hesitate. He just grabs them and sits them on the sidewalk. He’s fully engaged, talking about the cars he’s designed, the races he’s won, the trophies he’s gotten in the virtual world.

  “You’re staying out of the strip clubs, right?”

  “Uh, yeah… right.” He smirks.

  “That’s what I thought.” I think about how sexually aggressive video games are these day. It makes me think of my sister.

  I look down at the kid. “Treat women right. Be respectful.”

  The kid doesn’t blow me off. He looks right back at me, his face solemn. “Yeah, I know. My big sister, she…” he takes another couple bags and sets them with the others “was disrespected a couple months ago. She ain’t been the same since.”

  I wince then feel the familiar rage. I swallow it. “She getting help? Talking to a therapist or anything?”

  “Naw. I’m not even supposed to know. I heard her crying one night and talking to her friend over the phone.”

  I remember Steph telling me about what happened to Beth a couple years ago. How she hadn’t reported her rape, hadn’t wanted to endure a second assault in the court room. I realize I don’t know what to say to this kid.

  I jump down from the truck and put a hand on his shoulder. “A long time ago, something bad happened to my big sister and she never told anyone either. It ate at her and she started making really bad choices. Bad choices. You get my meaning?”

  The kid nods.

  “That doesn’t mean it will happen to your sister. I know another girl who was raped,” the kid flinches at the word “and she came out stronger. Take down the world kind of strong. Another woman I know, a woman I love actually, was physically abused by an ex-boyfriend. Emotionally abused too. She’s the best, sweetest, most wonderful person I know.”

  “People suck, dude,” the kid says.

  “Can’t disagree with you on that one. But not all people. Not even the majority of people. Don’t let the bad turn you against the good.”

  “But the bad is real bad.”

  I think of Jerome. The goon in Stephanie’s apartment. The three stooges from today. “Yeah. Their stink is loud, I agree with you on that.”

  What can I say to this young man that I can believe for myself? “Put your energy on the one person you can control—yourself. You do good. You make a difference. You take charge of your attitude and your life.”

  The kid swallows and nods. “Nice talkin’ to ya. I better head back home or my mom will be going crazy, ground me from the strip clubs.” His smirk is back.

  “Can’t have that, can we?”

  I walk him to his skateboard and he does a little kick and the thing flies up and into his hands. “You’re pretty good at that,” I say, meaning it.

  “You ain’t seen nothin’. Been practicing the Double Lazer, almost got it down.” I have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Come by the station. Show me sometime?”

  He smiles. “Yeah. I’ll do that. Check out that program too. Maybe talk about my sister a little more?” The last was said in a voice I could barely hear.

  “Yeah. All of that. You just be careful in the meantime. Wear a helmet for God’s sake.”

  The kid smirks and takes off. “Helmets are for pussies,” he calls over his shoulder as he does some kind of crazy jump and whirl thing.

  I hold my breath, but he makes the landing perfectly.

  I yell after him, “Courage and stupidity are kissing cousins.”

  Unable to help myself, I laugh when he turns and flips me a double bird.

  Chapter 14 - Jerome

  She’s so close I can almost smell her. Smell the lotion she slathers on in defense of the desert heat. The shampoo she prefers. Best of all, I can almost smell her fear.

  She will never again underestimate me. The power I hold over her life… and her death… will be forever etched in her mind. Wherever it is she ends up.

  I pace my confines, like a tiger paces a cage. Headquarters, I like to call it. It’s a warehouse Anna owns in Northtown, North Las Vegas. What a shithole, right in the heart of crimeville. It’s one of several she possesses, or so she told me. I chose this one because it’s special; it contains an underground bunker, not easy to find in Nevada. It’s very interesting, all that Anna can dip her finger into. Her connections are extensive.

  Right now, I’m underground in my office, the place I’ve practically slept in the past few days. The computer and servers the dumb fuck police have been looking for surround me; technology so advanced that men on the right side of the law will never see them or even know they exist.

  My phone buzzes. I look at the screen: ETA 7 minutes.

  Perfectly on time, of course.

  I step out of my office and turn down the long hallway. I pass door after door after door. This is a temporary ‘holding’ facility, very much like a prison. There are bars on the doors, but in this prison, the rooms are padded.

  “Too many girls were dying from hurling themselves against the walls,” Anna had told me in explanation.

  Each room contains a bed and a toilet and each has a drain in the center of the floor. When I’d asked about the drain, Anna had smirked. “Oh Jerome, darling. Think about it. There are varying tastes we cater to here. Easier to clean-up with a hose than a mop and bucket.”

  Clean-up.

  I hadn’t asked her about the drains again.

  As I approach the third door from the end, I stop and peer through the bars. The bitch is inside, sitting on the cot, her face pressed against her knees. I know she heard me approach, but she doesn’t look up.

  It pisses me off.

  “Enjoying our fine accommodations? Anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?”

  She doesn’t move. She doesn’t say a word.

  “You sure? I’m about to serve up an order of Stephanie a la mode. It’s a house favorite.”

  Her head pops up and if looks could kill, I would have died a thousand deaths where I’m standing. “Liar. She’s being protected.”

  That is funny. “Poor little Beth, hasn’t connected the dots yet. Not surprising. You never were that bright.”

  She stands, walks over to the bars and fucking spits on me, most of it landing in my face. I don’t react. I just stick out my tongue and lick away the places I can touch.

  Beth flinches, disgust washing over her face. “You’re crazy. Bona fide nuts.”

  “Maybe. But who’s on this side of this cage and who’s on that side?”

  Her face changes, becomes beseeching. Ah. She’s about to beg. I’m rewarded with, “Please. Don’t do this. I swear I’ll never tell. Ever.” Cue the tears. There they are. No matter how bad-assed a person thinks they are, in the face of brutal reality, they are no more than sniveling cowards.

  Broken.

  Pathetic.

  Cowards.

  “I’ll help you get better.”

  Interesting, she’s changing tactics. Let’s see where this little road leads.

  “I know something bad happened to you when you were a little boy…”

  She squeals as I reach through the bars and snag her face in my hand. “Shut up!” I scream at her.

  She tries to pull her face away, but I pinch her jaw tighter. I reach my other hand through the bars and circle those fingers around her throat.

  “You know nothing. You are nothing. You are only what I say you are, do you hear me?” Her face grows redder and redder. She trie
s to nod.

  I push her back and she takes huge gulps of air. “You really do need to learn your manners, Beth. Where you’re going, a smart mouth will get you killed. Or worse. Not killed.”

  That shuts her up.

  My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket: ETA 2 minutes.

  “Better get going.”

  She opens her mouth to say something and I hold up a single finger. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Her mouth closes and she turns her back to me.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say something about her ass, how it seems a little bit wider than it used to. I hold back. I really don’t have to stoop to that level. Besides, I like a little meat on my women. I’ve not had my turn with her yet.

  Whistling, I walk down the hallway and up the flight of steps. They’re the only things I don’t like about this building. Why Anna hasn’t had an elevator installed, I’ll never know.

  Getting out of the bunker is another issue I have. Waiting for the damn stone door to slide open. It pisses me off every time I have to wait. A full seventeen seconds—I know because I’ve counted—for the antiquated pulley system to get the thing open. If Anna makes as much money as she says she does, why doesn’t she do something about this?

  I scoff. She’ll probably be having me pay for the updates. That’s most likely how the bitch got so wealthy—she simply ropes men into paying for everything.

  Men like me. How many others?

  The thought stops me. Not for the first time. I’m not that stupid.

  I’ve been banned from asking personal questions. I guess her age to be mid-thirties, but it’s hard to tell. She could be much older. She has that ‘wise soul’ thing about her even though she looks young and relatively fresh.

  I don’t know the number of men she’s been with. I don’t know when she became sexually active. I don’t know where she grew up or anything about her past.

  I do know that Anna Alkaev didn’t exist until sixteen years ago.

  I do know that Anna loses her Russian accent sometimes.

  I do know that the account numbers she has me wire money to change nearly every time she has a request.

  I do know that she drives me crazy.

  I do know that she makes me sane.