Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  Ella Faye jumped to her feet, her suntan oil falling unnoticed at her feet. “Why are you saying these mean things to me? You’re just—just awful. No wonder Len doesn’t like you.” Allie turned her back on her.

  She had only returned to the hotel because she was at loose ends. She had no idea what to do with the information she’d uncovered. She knew Ella Faye had no more information to offer. The woman had nothing of any kind to offer anyone.

  She drove aimlessly for a while. If she was making herself a target for Sidney, so be it. It wouldn’t be the first time. She stopped by Cord’s house. He was at work, but Rand’s grandmother Frenchie was there entertaining some of her retirement home cronies. Cord had rescued Frenchie from that terrible place his wife stuck her in after her stroke and had finally convinced her to move in with him. He was that kind of man.

  It took her a while to extricate herself from the “girls,” who were getting sloshed on Cord’s liquor, but she finally managed. What did it matter if they got drunk? They weren’t going anywhere. They were all about ninety and hadn’t had driver’s licenses in years.

  Her wandering took her to the newspaper office. Rand’s car wasn’t in the parking lot. Then, she remembered. He was probably at her house waiting for her. She’d call him in a few minutes.

  The newsroom was humming, which meant there wasn’t much happening on the streets. She got a tiny sheepish smile from Holly Miller when she walked in, and several people called a hello. That surprised her. Maybe Holly had done what Allie asked her to do.

  She stopped at Holly’s desk. “Is everyone speaking to me again?”

  Holly blushed the color of her lipstick. “It was Alf. He talked to us.”

  “Alf Reed?” Alf had been Allie’s nemesis here at the newspaper since the day she started. He was a veteran reporter who had scoffed at Allie’s inexperience and belittled her for her naivety. Now, he was suddenly her champion?

  She felt a presence at her elbow and turned. Alf stood there, short and unkempt as always, in a wrinkled shirt, with thin gray hair he swept across his head in a futile attempt to cover his male-pattern baldness. He looked good to Allie right then.

  “Hey, girl,” he said. “Good to see you back. I set these children straight about your brother. I was there that day and saw what he did. I can see through bullshit like that. The guy was playing us for all we had. Kids fell for it. I didn’t.”

  Modesty had never been Alf’s long suit. “Thanks, Alf. I appreciate it.”

  “Don’t mention it. I don’t suppose he’ll be around here giving you any more trouble.”

  Allie felt tears spring to her eyes, and she was humiliated. Alf took her arm and steered her out of the newsroom and into the old owner’s office. “What’s up, kid?”

  Allie sniffed and wiped her eyes. “He’s been kidnapped. Sidney Finch kidnapped him.” Then, she caught herself. “Don’t you dare put that in the paper without running it by Cord Arbutten.”

  Alf held up his hands. “Hey, wait. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Then, he leaned forward. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. And I mean it. If you print a word without authorization, I’ll— I’ll—”

  “Hey, Allie. Give me some credit here. I might do that to someone else, but not to you.” He scratched his head and then caught himself, smoothing his hair back down. “Do you have any more details?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll keep you posted.” The pigs with fluffy pink wings again came to mind.

  She hoped Alf kept his promise. If he so much as printed an “unsubstantiated rumor,” she’d get Myrna to throw him off the newspaper.

  Speaking of Myrna. “Where’s Myrna?”

  “She had a doctor appointment. I’m holding down the fort while she’s gone. And your boyfriend was here earlier. You just missed him.”

  How did Alf know about Rand? The answer was obvious. He was a seasoned reporter. He’d notice the slightest innuendo, plus Allie and Rand hadn’t been particularly subtle about their relationship. Such as it was.

  “I’d better give him a call.” She pulled out her cell. When Alf made no move to leave, Allie looked at him and smiled. “Out,” she said, pointing at the door.

  “You sounded just like Myrna when you said that.”

  Allie’s smile widened. “I’ve heard Myrna say that to you, and I didn’t sound a bit like her.” Her smile died when Alf left.

  Rand was her number one speed-dial number. She punched the number and waited. He answered on the second ring. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at the paper. Where are you?”

  “At your house waiting for you. Maybe it’s me, but we seem to be at cross purposes here.”

  “Sidney has my brother.”

  “Are you sure? I know you thought—”

  “I got pictures of Len from mother. The bartender at the Hilton recognized Len. He said Len got drunk and left in the company of a sheriff’s deputy. Len doesn’t drink to excess. Sidney must have drugged him. The bartender described Sidney, right down to his ugly ferret face.”

  Rand whistled. “You’ve been a busy girl. What are you going to do next? And how can I help? Do you want me to come back there?”

  Allie thought about it. What good would it do to be here? Maybe Sidney was following her. Maybe she could lure him out of hiding. She’d make a perfect target crossing the 520 bridge, one he’d remember well, but this time, it would be different. This time, she’d ram his car with everything her Jeep could deliver, and he’d be the one to go off the bridge.

  “I’m heading home. Can you wait for me?”

  “For as long as it takes, honey. I’ll be here.”

  Twenty-four

  It was going to take her longer than she’d planned at the rate she was going, but if Sidney was behind her, she didn’t want to lose him. She laughed. With everything that had happened to her in the last year, this was the first time she’d intentionally set out to make herself a target. Wouldn’t you know it wouldn’t work?

  She kept her eyes alternately on her rearview and side mirrors. No one was darting in and out of traffic. No dark sedans with tinted windows. No suspicious glints of light on jewelry or guns. The only vehicle that was consistent was a motorcycle whose driver was much more intent on the view than on her. Where the hell was Sidney?

  When she turned into her neighborhood, the motorcycle kept going. Darn. He was her last chance.

  Rand was sitting in his car with the door open when she drove up. When he stepped out, she felt a little thrill go through her. He was in his weekend clothes, which in winter consisted of jeans that fit perfectly and a turtleneck, this one navy. The man was a vision.

  Frank intercepted them before they were halfway across the yard. Allie had never given Frank a second look, but now, she realized how he must seem to Rand, tall and stocky, with the weathered face and hardened muscles of a long-time construction worker. He was an impressive sight striding across her yard.

  “This guy OK?” Frank asked, motioning toward Rand.

  Allie put her arm around Rand’s waist. “This guy is very OK. Rand Arbutten, this is Frank Gray. He’s supervising the building next door. Frank, this is Rand Arbutten, the sheriff’s son.”

  “And her boyfriend,” Rand added, sticking out his hand and ignoring the look Allie gave him.

  Frank took it automatically. “Nice to meet ‘cha. Me and the boys kinda keep an eye on Allie.”

  “And I’m eternally grateful,” Allie said, looking from man to man.

  Frank’s scowl remained in place. “Only other guy who’s been by more than once was a skinny little guy on a motorcycle.”

  Allie blinked. “A motorcycle? When was that?”

  “Early this morning. Then again about ten. Why? You know him?”

  It had to be a coincidence, didn’t it? “I don’t think so. Will you let me know if you see him again?”

  “Sure thing, Allie. You just keep safe.”

  “I’m trying to, Frank. Believe me.”
/>   With one final nod at Rand, Frank strode back to the construction site.

  Spook held his ground when they walked inside. Was he really this much gutsier, or was he getting used to Rand? Whatever. It pleased her that he didn’t bark at Rand because she hoped they’d be spending a whole lot more time together.

  “Want to go up on the deck?” Rand asked.

  “And have Frank and the boys watch every move we make? I don’t think so. I feel like I’m living in a fishbowl now, and it’s only going to get worse.”

  Rand nodded, but said nothing. Allie knew he wasn’t the type to try to influence her one way or the other. It was one quality she loved about him. One among many.

  She sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her, and then laughed when Spook jumped up.

  “Want to go for a walk on the beach?” Rand asked.

  “Are you asking me or Spook?”

  “I thought the two of you were a package deal.”

  “You got that right, bud.”

  ■ ■ ■

  They walked slowly, taking in all the day had to offer, the sun warm on their skin, the soft breeze off the water blowing their hair. Allie watched the pelicans circling overhead in precise formation. The sand was hot under their feet, the water icy when they strayed too close. Allie felt the tension melt off her like a wax coating. It was so much like their first walk on the beach. What? Not quite a week ago? Had all this happened in less than a week? It boggled the mind, but she refused to give it the attention it deserved. Not now, not when everything was so perfect.

  A sharp crack pulled her attention to the dunes. When she turned to say something to Rand, he was lying on the beach at her feet. Allie saw the spatter of blood on the pristine white sand and almost blacked out. It was Joe all over again. The gunshot. Joe stretched out on the asphalt with blood pooling around his head. All this passed through her head in the time it took her to kneel beside Rand.

  He was staring up at her looking as shocked as she felt. “I think someone just shot me.”

  “Oh, my God!” Allie started tearing frantically at his clothes.

  “Allie. Allie!” He reached up and pulled her down beside him. “It just grazed my arm. I’m OK. Hurts like a bitch, but I’m fine. But whoever shot me is still out there. Stay down.”

  He had pulled Spook into his belly. Now, he handed him to Allie while he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. Allie heard him tell the 9-1-1 operator where they were. “Gunshots are being fired, and we’re on the beach without cover.”

  Two more shots were fired. One grazed Allie’s toe, and she screamed. Almost simultaneously, she heard sirens in the distance. A motorcycle roared to life and squealed away.

  Allie jumped to her feet and went down on one knee. “Hurts,” she told Rand, who was still sprawled out on the sand.

  “Tell me about it.” He sat up, and Allie saw blood dripping down his arm.

  “I thought you said it only grazed you.”

  “Grazed. Gouged. It’s pretty much the same,” he said with a loopy grin.

  Then, the police were there, and the paramedics. They determined that both Allie and Rand would live and, when they both declined a trip to the hospital, bandaged them on the scene, Allie with a lot of gauze and Rand with a couple of butterfly sutures and more gauze. Sheryl was about the third officer to arrive. While Rand told the police the sequence of events, Allie pulled Sheryl aside. “It was Sidney. I heard the motorcycle.”

  “What motorcycle?”

  Allie filled her in on what Frank had told her. “I saw him following me across the causeway. I didn’t give it another thought because he kept going when I turned off into the neighborhood. Why not? He knew where I was headed.”

  “You’re sure?”

  How to convince her? “Do you remember when we were kids, how we always knew when Sidney was sneaking around us? We got that creepy feeling. Well, had it earlier when Frank told me about the motorcycle, and I’ve got it now.”

  Sheryl gave a brief nod and headed toward the cluster of officers. She was back in a minute. “Did Frank know what kind of motorcycle?”

  Allie thought. “I don’t know if Frank does, but I’ll bet his son Bobby does. He notices everything.”

  ■ ■ ■

  Bobby squinted. “It looked like a 2010 Softail. Harley.” He squinted harder. “Black or dark blue. Black, I think, with red flames. He was wearing a full-face helmet, so I couldn’t make out his face or hair. He wasn’t big, though. He looked like a kid sitting on that hog.”

  “Isn’t he amazing?” Allie asked.

  Sheryl ignored her, her attention on Bobby. “Did you get any of the plate?”

  Bobby closed his eyes. “I remember the first letter was L. There was a Z, and either a 3 or an 8. I was up on the fifth level, so it was hard to tell.”

  Sheryl grinned. “Yeah.” She cuffed Bobby on the shoulder. “He’s pretty amazing. Thanks, Bobby. You’ve been a great help.” She crossed to the curb and climbed in her cruiser. A minute later, she had the radio at her mouth.

  “You’re going to be an amazing—officer.” Allie knew Sheryl didn’t mind being called a cop, and Joe had considered it a title of honor, but a pre-rookie might take offense.

  Frank’s grin was almost wider than his face. “Didn’t I tell you, Son? You’re a natural.”

  Rand’s good arm had been around Allie and hers around him since they left the beach, even in the squad car that brought them home, and they remained locked in that stance as they walked back into her house. They could pretend they were supporting each other, but Allie knew the truth. Both knew how close they’d come to losing the other.

  He left her on the couch and vanished into the kitchen. She heard the refrigerator open and close, the squeak of a cork being pulled from a bottle, the tinkle of glasses, and she smiled. Her last bottle of wine.

  “Now, we won’t have any wine when we finally have our big date,” she said as he rounded the kitchen door.

  “When we have our big date,” he said, filling each glass halfway, “we won’t need any wine.”

  Allie felt her nerve endings tingle. It was a promise she intended to hold him to. If—no, when they had their big date.

  They settled back against the sofa like an old married couple sipping their wine. Four bare feet on the coffee table, one with a huge gauze bandage.

  “You’re pretty cool under fire,” she said, taking a sip from her glass.

  “I went to a military school. We shot at each other at recess.”

  “Not with real bullets.”

  “No, not with real bullets.” After a minute, he added, “But war games were a real part of our curriculum. Strategy, tactics, offensive and defensive moves. They were training most of us for careers in the military. We were taught to be cool under that kind of pressure.”

  “How do you teach something like that?”

  “I don’t know exactly how they did it. We spent a lot of time at war games. If you went to pieces, you hurt the team, and the team lost the game. I guess a lot of it was peer pressure, although I didn’t think about it at the time.” He grinned “I just wanted my team to win.”

  “Did you like it?”

  He considered. “It was a real boy thing, you know? Very macho. It was pretty cool. I wouldn’t want to do it for a living. From what I understand, the real thing’s a whole lot uglier than skirmishes on a make-believe battlefield.”

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  “I like you, Rand.”

  He looked at her. “What brought that on?”

  “I don’t know exactly, but I like that you’re cool under fire. I like that you’re not a steamroller or a pushover. I like that you don’t try to protect me—”

  “Like you’d let me.”

  Allie smiled. “I like pretty much everything about you.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am, a little. I usually find something to dislike about every man I’ve met.”

&nb
sp; Rand chuckled. “Give it time. We’re in the honeymoon period.”

  Allie raised her eyebrows.

  “So to speak.”

  She smiled. “So to speak.”

  “Once you get to know me, I’m sure you’ll find plenty of things to dislike.”

  Allie swallowed. “I hope I don’t.”

  Rand reached over and put a finger under her chin, turning her face to him. “I hope you don’t, either.”

  The kiss started out gentle, but it intensified. Allie reached out to put her arm around his neck and hit his bandage, spilling her wine. Rand flinched.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry. Your bandage is all wet.”

  “It’s OK,” Rand said through gritted teeth. “The alcohol is probably good for it. Kills germs and everything.”

  Seconds later, they were both doubled over in helpless laughter.

  ■ ■ ■

  Sidney kicked the motorcycle. Damn, he almost had them, both that bitch Allie and Cord’s pansy son. Both of them. Fuck, when you didn’t practice, your skills deteriorated in a hurry. He used to be able to shoot the cork out of a bottle at fifty feet.

  He’d winged them both, though. That should count for something. But it didn’t. Now, they knew he was gunning for them. It removed that element of surprise he’d counted on. No way could they know where he was shooting from, though, or what he was driving, so he still had that advantage.

  When he reached the door to the trailer, he knew something was wrong. It was in the air, like the scent from a cat box, in undertones—not in your face, but perceivable.

  He pulled his weapon out of his pocket and stepped into the trailer, his eyes darting from right to left. Nothing was out of order, which made it worse—because he knew.

  He toed off his shoes just inside the door and crept toward the back of the trailer, toward the bathroom and bedroom. As he neared the bathroom, he paused. No movement. Still the same smell of old urine. No, there was a difference. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but—