Live in Person

by Lynda Fitzgerald

  He jumped back as the bathroom door crashed open. He swung out with both fists and connected with flesh. He kicked blindly with his good foot and felt bone give. Then, it was over. Len Grainger lay on the floor of the hall, weeping.

  Sidney fell back against the wall, winded. “You stupid bastard,” he said, looking down at the sobbing man. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? Here I am busting my ass to keep you alive, and you’re trying to get me to kill you. Do you have a death wish? Well, do you?” Sidney nudged him with his good foot.

  Len made some kind of sound, but Sidney couldn’t understand him. He reached down to pull out the gag, and the guy kicked him in the balls.

  Sidney reached out blindly, grabbing the first thing his hand connected with, and he smashed the asshole in the head. Coffee and grounds went everywhere.

  “You stupid fucker,” Sidney screamed. “I’m going to kill you for that.” He felt his body snap into full attack mode. He saw nothing, heard nothing, felt nothing. Red mist clouded his vision. He’d kill him. He’d fucking kill him. His left foot connected with the guy’s face while his right hand came down on the back of his neck.

  When he realized his target wasn’t moving, he pulled back. Then, he scrubbed his face with his hands. What the hell had he done? Had he killed him? Jesus, he never intended to hurt the guy.

  He heard a click and looked down into his own gun barrel. That’s when he realized his quarry was totally unrestrained. He took a step back.

  Len reached up and pulled out the gag. “Get back. More,” he said, waving the gun.

  Sidney watched every move. Len’s hand shook with weakness. Hell, he’d only eaten maybe two meals in three days. And he’d been drugged most of that time, so he couldn’t be as alert as he seemed. All Sidney needed was an opportunity, and he knew that would come.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “OK. Don’t get excited. I’m going.”

  Len advanced on him, his step unsteady. “Give me your phone.”

  Sidney reached into his shirt pocket with two fingers, pulling it out for Len to see. “Here,” he said, tossing it in front of Len.

  As Len stretched to catch it, Sidney swung and clipped him on the side of the head. While Len was off balance, he pivoted on his good leg and kicked with the other. The pain almost brought him to his knees. Len’s body shot across the room, and his head hit the sharp wooden windowsill with a satisfying thunk.

  Then, he was still. Sidney half-hoped he was dead. The fucking bastard.

  When he thought his leg could support his weight, he lurched across the room and leaned down to check the carotid pulse, his gun trained on the bastard’s head. One twitch and he was a dead man.

  The twitch didn’t come, and the pulse was there, so Sidney set about restraining him again. Hand-cuffs on his ankles. Last time, he’d left them loose so they wouldn’t cut off circulation. This time, he snapped them tight. Wrists in nylon restraints, tight this time.

  Almost passing out from the pain, he dragged the unconscious man to the bed. Once he got him up on the mattress, he tied one foot to the bottom of the welded-in-place bed and raised the hook higher so there was no way the stupid bastard could get his arms down, short of pulling them out of their sockets. Too bad.

  No good deed goes unpunished. The words trailed through his mind like the banner behind a prop plane. He’d tried to be the nice guy, tried to go easy on the son-of-a-bitch, and what had it earned him? A pair of sore balls, and he almost got his head blown off.

  No way was he cleaning up the mess the bastard made. He’d make him do it tomorrow. Right now, Sidney was so tired; he was falling on his face.

  He went into the kitchen and took another pill out of his stash. One more for the Gipper, he thought a little hysterically. He pried Len’s mouth open and shoved the pill under his tongue. It could do its work while he was out, and if he died, what the hell.

  Back in the living room, Sidney collapsed on the sofa. He was way beyond tired. He couldn’t keep this up much longer. He hurt like he’d been beaten to a bloody pulp. His head was about to split wide open. His leg throbbed and his foot pulsed with pain. He almost wished the dumb bastard in the bedroom had finished him. At least then he could get some rest. He didn’t believe in hell, which was a good thing. He also didn’t believe in reincarnation. No, he knew this life was a one-shot deal. All the more reason to keep going. He only had this one life, and he didn’t want to croak until he’d enjoyed at least some of it.

  Tomorrow. He had to finish this tomorrow. Allie Grainger, the sheriff’s bastard son, and Levine. They were the walking dead. He would have laughed if he’d had the energy. But now, he had to sleep. He had to sleep, or he’d die.

  Twenty-five

  Allie awoke to the sound of hammers and heavy equipment. It took her a minute to realize she was in her bed; another to realize there was a really big man stretched out beside her. Then, she moved her foot, and the rest of yesterday clicked into place. Blood, sand, confusion. How could something as small as a toe hurt so badly?

  She looked over at Rand. His eyes were open, and he was smiling at her. “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Allie could get used to hearing that. “Hi.”

  Rand started to reach over for her and winced. “Oh, yeah. We got shot yesterday, didn’t we?”

  “We did. Do you forgive me for getting you shot?”

  His smile warmed. “It’ll take some convincing by you, but I’m sure I will. Eventually.”

  He rolled over and sat up, and Allie realized he was only wearing his shorts. He must have seen the look on her face.

  “I hope you’ll forgive me for taking the liberty, but I couldn’t sleep in my clothes another night. I’d bring over a pair of pajamas, but I’m hoping I won’t need them here.”

  “You won’t.” Allie feasted her eyes on the whole man. God, what a sight. She’d seen Rand without a shirt before, but not in her bedroom. All her boy-girl nerve endings sprang to life, nerve endings they couldn’t take advantage of in their current condition. Damn Sidney.

  Rand watched her watch him and seemed to enjoy it. “Why don’t you get a shower while I make some coffee?”

  “I don’t know if I should get my toe wet.”

  Rand crossed to the bed and pulled her foot into his lap, removing the bandage. “Look, it’s almost healed.”

  “It hurts.”

  “Baby.” Somehow, when he said it, it was a term of endearment. He leaned down and kissed her wound. “Get your shower, and I’ll rebandage it for you. How’s that?”

  Rand was right. The skin had almost scabbed over, although a bruise spread over half her foot. She’d had worse.

  She heard a knock at her front door as she was coming out of the bedroom drying her hair with a towel. “I’ll get it,” she called to Rand.

  When she saw who was standing on her stoop, her face flamed. “Good morning, Allie,” Cord said. “Do you have just a minute?”

  “I— I—” She felt as guilty as a schoolgirl caught smoking her first cigarette.

  “Morning, Dad,” Rand said at her elbow. If he felt any embarrassment, it certainly didn’t show. “Come on in. Coffee?”

  Cord grinned. “Coffee would be fine.”

  Allie could see him take in her bathrobe, Rand standing there in his underwear. “Go get some pants on,” she hissed.

  He grinned as he leaned down and kissed her. “Yes, ma’am. Dad, help yourself to coffee while Allie and I throw on some clothes.”

  “You could have told him we didn’t do anything,” Allie said as they walked into the bedroom.

  “Why? It’s only a matter of time.” The look he gave her seared her to her core.

  He pulled on his jeans and left her to change. Allie’s face was still flaming, but this time she didn’t think it was embarrassment.

  The men were sipping coffee in companionable silence when she came out. She’d taken time only to pull on shorts and a shirt and run a brush through her hair. She took the cup Rand ha
nded her. When his hand brushed hers, she almost dropped it. Everything about Rand Arbutten screamed out to the woman in her. She wanted this man. Bad.

  “I just came by to give you an update on Sidney,” Cord said to them both. “We don’t know where he’s staying yet, but we know where he’s been getting his funds. This isn’t for public knowledge,” he said with a glance at Allie.

  She was a little insulted that he thought she’d put what he told her in the newspaper, but he was a cop, and she was a reporter. She held up three fingers. “Scouts honor.”

  Cord appeared satisfied. “He went by his folks’ house. Stole his mother’s purse. He had access to all her credit and debit cards.”

  “The little weasel.”

  “We’ve frozen those funds. He won’t get another dime. He made a few purchases that we can trace before we could stop him. Some clothes and camping equipment.”

  “Where were the purchases made?” Rand asked.

  “Merritt Island. We have officers checking for descriptions. He made another purchase. A cruise line ticket to the Bahamas.”

  “Did he think he could just jump on a cruise ship and not get caught?” Rand asked, incredulous. “How stupid is this guy?”

  “Not stupid at all,” Cord said, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know we know about the cards. He probably thinks he’s home free.”

  “When did he think he was leaving?” Allie asked.

  “The cruise departs Monday at four p.m.”

  Allie felt her heart hitch. “Monday? But that’s tomorrow? But what about Len? What’s he going to do with Len?”

  The two men looked at each other, but neither spoke.

  ■ ■ ■

  The clock was ticking. He only had thirty-six hours to steal another car, dump the jerk he had stashed in his trailer, and get the hell out of Dodge.

  He was the perky redhead today. The fake boobs were driving him crazy. He felt silly driving the Harley dressed like a girl, but he knew women were less threatening. The hog was parked in a pay lot down the street. What the hell did he care? It wasn’t his money.

  Money. He needed more if he was going to vanish off the face of the Earth. He intended to hit the ATM and then start making withdrawals from every credit card he could. He knew he could get a bundle out of the money market account. Then, he’d hit the checking. Her Chase card should be good for a grand or two.

  The bank hadn’t been open that long, and it wasn’t crowded. Still, there was a short line at the ATM. Sidney shifted from foot to foot as he waited. The pain was still bad, but soon he’d be stretched out on a towel sunning on some crowded beach, anonymous among the thousand or so tourists.

  The gook at the front of the line was having trouble figuring out the screen instructions that any dummy could follow. Sidney almost left, but he was next in line. Finally, he reached around the guy and hit “Take Card.”

  The man looked at him in confusion, but something in Sidney’s face must have alerted him that he was about to be in big trouble. He took his card and moved off.

  Sidney slipped his mother’s card in the slot and punched in her PIN. “Incorrect PIN,” the screen read. Sidney tried again with the same result. Shit. The machine must be broken. That must be why the gook was having trouble. He tried one more time. No dice. Hell, now he’d have to hit another bank. He didn’t have time for this shit, but he had no choice.

  He punched the “Take Card” button, but nothing happened. The screen went back to the “Welcome to Bank…” He punched it repeatedly. Nothing.

  The people behind him were getting restless. “Hey, lady,” the guy directly behind him said. “You need some help?”

  Sidney barely restrained himself from spinning around and taking the asshole down. Shit. It had his card. Did it eat the card after three incorrect tries? But he’d put in the right code. He knew he had. It wasn’t like he could waltz over to the counter and ask for the card back. His disguise was good, but he couldn’t talk like a broad. Goddamn fucking machine. He needed that card.

  “Come on, lady,” the guy behind him said. “I have to get to work.”

  Sidney turned. Keeping his head low, he muttered, “Fuck you,” as he headed out of the bank. He knew the guy was staring after him. He didn’t give a shit. He needed that card. It was his golden goose. His folks kept a shitload of money in that account. What the hell was he going to do now?

  He took several deep breaths as he climbed on the Harley. OK, so the machine was broken and it ate the card. No big deal. He could only have withdrawn so much in a twenty-four-hour period. He had other cards. He could get money from the other cards.

  Chase was his next stop. When the machine ate that card, he knew he was fucked. Someone had changed the passwords. He knew his mother wouldn’t have done it. It had to be his dad. The bastard. Sidney wished he’d killed him when he hit him. The man had always hated Sidney. Jealousy, that’s what it was, because his mother liked him better. Well, maybe when he got settled, he’d send for his mother. He knew she’d drop everything and come. He could swear her to secrecy. She could be his cover. That would serve his dad right.

  Man, he was in a world of hurt. Without additional funds, it was going to be tight, but he’d find a way to make it. At least for a while. Then, he’d contact his mom and get her to send him a new card and the current password. That would work. That’s what he’d do. OK, he had a plan.

  Feeling a little better, he cranked the Harley to life. He wanted to buzz by little Allie Grainger’s house. Just a brief visit. Who knew what opportunity might present itself? He might not have time to finish her and the bitch Levine off before his cruise, but he could always come back. Grand Bahama Island wasn’t that far away. Just a short hop across the water. He patted the Glock in his pocket. But if the opportunity presented itself, he was ready.

  ■ ■ ■

  A chorus of catcalls went up from the construction site next door when Allie stepped out of her house, but they went silent when Rand stepped out behind her. Allie waved to the guys just as Rand pulled her into his arms. His mouth came down on hers in a kiss that ended up as long as it was passionate.

  When it ended, Allie blinked up at him. Rand grinned. “I thought I’d give them something to cheer about. I’ll be back in an hour or so. Call me if anything happens.”

  He waved at the construction workers as he headed across the yard and received a resounding round of applause. He was almost to his car when Allie heard Bobby yell, “Hey, Allie, I think I see that motorcycle. Looks like it’s headed for the Bee Line.”

  Allie and Rand exchanged looks before Allie launched herself in his direction. Rand had the engine started before she reached the car. She clicked her seat belt as he spun around the first corner. “Put on your seat belt,” she yelled.

  “In a minute,” Rand yelled back.

  He squealed out on A1A and headed north toward Port Canaveral and the 528 Causeway, weaving in and out of traffic like a lunatic. They’d be lucky if they didn’t get stopped—or killed.

  Allie didn’t see the motorcycle, and she cursed herself for not having Bobby’s cell phone number. From his perch, he could probably still see it. Here at ground level, they were blind.

  Cruise traffic. Bumper-to-bumper cruise traffic clogged the entrance to the causeway. Still, Allie wasn’t willing to give up. That man had her brother, and she was going to get him, whatever the cost.

  “Go around them,” she urged. “Drive on the grass.”

  Rand’s head spun around. “That’s not grass. It’s sand. We’ll get stuck.”

  “Try it, anyway. Do it! What do we have to lose?”

  Rand veered off the highway and onto the sandy shoulder. His car fishtailed for a minute before it sank in the soft sand. He and Allie rocked back and forth trying to get it unstuck.

  Finally, she yanked off her seat belt and jumped out of the car. “I’ll push,” she said. “You keep trying.”

  “Allie—”

  “Just do it!”

&nb
sp; She ran around the car to the back and threw all her weight into the trunck. A minute later, arms closed around her waist and pulled her away. She whirled around, furious.

  “We lost him. It’s no use. He’s long gone by now.” Rand pulled her close. “We tried. Look.” He pointed to the first bridge. It was wall-to-wall cars. “Even if we made it to the bridge, it wouldn’t help. The bridge doesn’t have a shoulder. And a motorcycle can weave in and out between cars. We can’t.”

  Allie rested her head on his shoulder. She knew he was right, but they’d been so close.

  “It might not even be him.”

  “Oh, it was him,” Allie said. “I can tell because my skin feels dirty.”

  Allie suddenly realized they were the speculation of a lot of curiosity. Countless pairs of eyes were trained on them from the cars lining the road. Humiliating, but there was no help for it.

  They turned back and looked at the car, mired inches deep in soft, white sand. “Next time, we’ll take my Jeep. I have four-wheel drive.”

  “And I,” Rand said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket, “have Triple A.”

  ■ ■ ■

  When they arrived back at the house, Bobby was on the ground before they were out of the car. “Hey, bad luck about the sand.”

  “How did you—” Then, she noticed the binoculars hanging around his neck. “When did you start wearing those? Are they standard construction equipment?”

  Bobby scuffed the grass. “No, and a lot of the guys are razzing me, but I have a job to do. I’m going to do it right.”

  Allie smiled. “I’m grateful, but are you getting any building done at all?”

  “Some, I guess,” Bobby said, his voice sheepish, “but Dad’s cutting me some slack. He’s really pis—mad at that guy too. I know about when he tried to run you off the bridge. I wish I’d been there.”

  Rand stepped forward. “Why don’t we all exchange cell numbers? Then, next time, we’ll have an ally in the air.”

  Bobby grinned. “Cool.”

  They spent a minute programming numbers into their respective phones before Bobby waved goodbye and climbed back up the scaffolding.