Seven Books for Seven Lovers
Page 86
Just then his eye caught something glinting on the floor. It was a Swiss Army knife. Turning it over, he saw the insignia: the silver engraved word “Legs.”
“What the—?”
Then his eye caught the picture hanging over the credenza. Just as he was about to put two and two together, his cell rang. It was Susannah. And she was using FaceTime from her iPhone to his. He smiled. This was the chance he had been hoping for. Perhaps she called to apologize. Or explain why she’d ransacked his office. Or scream at him, even. Hell, he’d take a rant or two if it got him closer to being able to see her again, to apologize for what he’d done, to beg her forgiveness. Taking a breath, he answered the phone. . . .
And was shocked to see an enormous Italian man with a pug nose and two chins taking up the frame. “Signore Palmer. I don’t believe we have ever met face-to-face; or even FaceTime-to-FaceTime.” He laughed a big, blustery laugh. “I think I have something you want.” Turning the phone, he showed Susannah, bound and gagged to a chair in a padded room, her eyes wild with terror. “We are in my panic room. It’s my favorite place to take people, because it is soundproofed. So when they panic, no one else is disturbed.”
Chas felt the bile rising in his throat. Somehow Susannah had tracked down the Italian and found him before Chas had. And for doing so, she very well might pay with her life. But where on earth was she? Italy? France? Morocco?
“What do you want, Bruni?”
“Don’t you mean ‘signore’? After all, I am your boss—or was the last time I checked.”
Chas swallowed. “My apologies, signore. I’m just confused, that’s all. Is there something wrong? I can guarantee that Susannah had nothing to do with it.”
“Oh well,” the Italian grunted, “I must have made a mistake. How about an exchange? I will let her go if you will pay me a visit.”
“Of course. Where are you?”
The Italian rattled off an address on the Lower East Side, and Chas was out the door before he even finished, thanking his lucky stars that they were stateside so that he could get to her as quickly as possible. Just before he hung up, the Italian stopped him. “Make sure you come alone, Palmer. One wrong move, and your girlfriend gets it. And she’s so very bella! Maybe she’ll get it in more than one way.” Then he disconnected, leaving Chas both terrified and furious.
Just before Chas hailed a cab, he remembered the lighter Tyka had given him. Pulling it out of his pocket, he ran his tongue over the imprint of the lips and prayed that she was nearby and could call for backup. Then he realized he was being ridiculous. It was a joke. There was a button on the lighter that he could depress; Tyka had simply been facetious with him. Pressing the button, he hoped for her rapid response.
‡‡‡
TYKA WAS FINISHING a job in New Jersey when she heard her lighter vibrate. She had had a GPS put into Chas’s device so that she could track him. She liked trying to find different ways to enable tracking on a device and had hoped to create something that involved a person’s DNA, but she hadn’t quite figured it out. Yet she was full of ideas and was constantly experimenting. Her favorite idea was that of traceable boxers, activated by the cloth rubbing against the user’s crotch. That was labor-intensive, however, and involved the making of a plaster cast of the man’s nether regions. Waiting for the plaster to dry was an exercise in the kind of patience she rarely had.
She dismounted the Asian businessman she’d been screwing and made a hasty exit, leaving him high and dry. She had already gotten the information she needed, so she threw her clothes on, grabbed her bag, and went to her lighter. Syncing it to her phone, she was able to track Chas’s route across lower Manhattan as she rode the elevator down to the lobby of the apartment building, a luxury building that rented furnished suites for business clients. The building was all glass, and as she rode the elevator she had the perfect view of the city, the breathtaking glimpse of the shining lights across the way. Just before she got in a cab, she took off her wig and her fake wedding ring and tossed them in a trash bin. She had a feeling this was the moment she had been waiting for, and she needed to find Chas as quickly as possible. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was his only hope.
‡‡‡
CHAS WAS ALMOST there when his cell rang again, this time from a restricted number. “Yes?” he answered, a slight roughness in his voice.
“Calm down, Chas,” said a smooth, low female voice. “And get the fuck out of the cab.”
“Who is this?” he asked.
“I’m known as Fingers to my nearest and dearest, one of whom happens to be Susannah. I was the one who got her into your fancy town house and helped her break into a safe you don’t even know about; now I’m here to help you save her. So I’m only gonna say this one more time: get the fuck out of the cab before you blow it.”
He stopped the cab, paid the driver, and made his way down a random New York street.
“Good boy,” AJ said throatily. “I have to say, your security is top-notch. And ‘BOOBLESS’ on the downstairs alarm really did delight me.”
“Thank you,” Chas said, clearing his throat. “It was the funniest thing I had ever heard when I was twelve. And clearly my security is not top-notch enough. Now what are we going to do? And how the fuck did Susannah get caught up in all this anyway?”
“Whoa whoa whoa, cowboy. Hold your horses. First off, I have to put you on hold while I make an important call. Just stand there and wait. It’ll be two minutes at most.”
“Hold on a sec, dammit!” he said, clearly losing his cool now. “Why should I trust you?”
“Chas darling, I’m gonna try to make this quick because we don’t have too much time to spare. Susannah used your Celtic family tree to unlock the hidden safe. She figured it out because we put two and two together about what your father said and it led us to the painting that hangs in your office. And she was there in the first place because I told her it wasn’t over yet. So this was her way of clearing her name—that was an idiotic move, by the way, blowing her cover, you fucking fuckwad—and showing you what she’s really made of. She loves you, Chas honey. I’ve been watching you for some time. I think you love her too. Am I right?”
There was a long silence. Then he exhaled deeply. “You are right. She’s it for me.”
“So why would we ruin the chance for a perfectly good romance to succeed? It’s not like they happen every day.”
Chas let out a breath. “Well that’s a lovely sentiment. But, er, Fingers, this man who has her—”
“Believe me, Chas, I know. Now wait there. Don’t move. You’ll be on hold for two minutes.” The phone clicked, and he could hear—was that “Cry Me a River”?—this chick had a phone with jazz as the hold music? Good lord, even Susannah’s friends were exceptional. The beginnings of a smile tickled the corner of his lips. But it didn’t do much to change the fact that he was left in the middle of a New York City street, feeling like he might die inside before he could save the woman he loved.
‡‡‡
SUSANNAH WAS IN the panic room at Heavenly Balls trying to escape. She’d been tied to the chair, bound and gagged, and left there to wait. She was relieved to be left there after having been taunted and harassed by the Italian. She knew FTP was tangling with some rough customers, but nowhere in her mind could she have conceived of someone as warped and sadistic as this guy was. He had shown her videos he kept of some of the tortures he had enacted in this room, laughing as he downed a large plate of spaghetti and meatballs. She had nearly thrown up watching the footage, and the Italian’s enjoyment of it, but thoughts of clearing her name had helped her to keep it together.
Now she was alone, and she feared what came next. Surely they’d hurt her in some way, right? That was a logical development. Or would she be okay until Chas showed up? She wasn’t going to wait to find out. When they were tying her hands together, she had held her wrists slightly apart, using techniques she had learned from seminars the Boss had made mandatory. Fisting h
er hands and pumping her muscles gave her a bit more room as she was being restrained, enough to allow herself the potential space to escape. Now she painfully worked the thumb of one hand out first, then the wrist, and threw off the ropes. Next she untied the gag, quietly cleared her throat, and used her teeth and hands to untie the ropes around her ankles. She was grateful that since she was a woman, they had allowed themselves to be a little messy, that their underestimation of her had worked in her favor.
She was also grateful to have thought to wear her TWAW Concealment Tank into which she had tucked a small pistol. Lisa Bee had given it to her as a challenge one year—they loved to give each other inventive “concealment wear” and would force each other to use it, no matter what—but it had turned out to be the perfect thing. Again, the fact that her captors hadn’t bothered to search her made her chuckle. Idiots! She had just pulled the pistol from where it was hidden under her arm when one of the Italian’s bodyguards walked in. He was heavy on the muscle and low on the brain waves. Susannah kicked him in the balls, then used the pistol to coldcock him. Then she closed the door and heightened her awareness, ready and waiting, plotting her next move.
‡‡‡
AJ PUT CHAS on hold and turned to the computer screen in her apartment’s makeshift version of mission control. She had a version of mission control in every apartment she lived in, and a portable one she always traveled with. She realized with annoyance that she could be infinitely more helpful this way, though every part of her soul burned to race down to the Lower East Side. She dialed the Boss’s private cell and waited for him to lift his head off the table. Though she’d never met him, she had all his info. She had access to the Hudson Hotel mainframe and was currently watching them all on one of her surveillance screens, and could see the pathetic scene spread out before her from three different angles. The Boss, Lisa Bee, and Jackson had spent the night in the living room of their suite, and they all looked the worse for wear. Especially the Boss, who needed the entirety of his theme from Gone With the Wind cell phone ring to open his eyes, peel his head up, wince, and answer.
“Who is this?”
“Hello, John. This is Susannah’s hacker contact, and your secret weapon. You can call me Fingers. I’m sorry we’ve never met, but them’s the breaks, kid! As it happens, I’ve hacked into your hotel’s mainframe and am currently looking at you via the surveillance cam over the microwave.”
“Wonderful,” the Boss grumbled under his breath. “I didn’t even know there was surveillance over the microwave.”
“Now, now,” said AJ. “You really thought those awful flowers were décor? Interesting. But let’s move on. Here’s the dish: the guy who was gonna fully blow Susannah’s cover has been killed, so she’s in the clear. Well, kinda. You’ve seen the tabloids, right? My favorite is the one where they call her Plane Jane. Anyhoo, that’s the good part. Then there’s this: Susannah cracked this case wide open with a little help from yours truly while you were getting drunk, and now she’s being held hostage by a really volatile Italian on the Lower East Side. She’s being used as bait to trap Chas Palmer, who may actually be the good guy here, and he’s waiting on a street corner near her location, where I’ve got him on hold. I’ve got full surveillance of the area, and am currently hacking my way into the basement, where she’s bound and gagged. Now how ’bout you grab a cup of coffee and some hair of the dog and do what you do best?”
“On it. I feel like I’ve been in the dark till now, but I appreciate you shedding some light,” the Boss said, standing up and rousing the others. “Come on, you guys. Up. We’ve been given another chance. Let’s not fuck it up this time.”
AJ could see Lisa Bee and Jackson snap to the ready, inquisitive looks on their faces.
“Good,” she said, “now it’s time for a plan. And John? Tell Jackson I said nice work.”
12
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, as a result of Jackson flashing a $100 bill and Lisa Bee flashing a bit of cleavage to the cabbie, the three remaining members of FTP made it down to the Lower East Side in record time, where they met Chas Palmer on Stanton Street. He looked panicked, Lisa Bee noted, rubbing his hands together and pacing up and down the sidewalk. And more human. Now that they were all meeting, he suddenly seemed like a real person, and not just a cog in a criminal wheel. And he was even better-looking close up, she mused. How on earth was that possible?
The Boss took point, striding ahead to introduce himself to Chas. “Palmer. John Collins Boss. People call me Bossman, or the Boss. This is Lisa Bee, who runs our office and keeps us in line, and Jackson is a jack of all trades, pun intended. The lady on the earpiece”—and here he paused to give Chas an in-ear listening device that they were all wearing—“is the hacker who goes by the name of Fingers and has known Susannah all her life. Sexy voice. Probably a troll.”
“Thanks, Bossman,” AJ said huskily over the earpieces. “Excuse me while I eat a few people who are coming over my bridges.”
“No prob,” he replied. “By the way, Chas, we’ve had you under surveillance since you met Susannah. So we know everything there is to know and we’ve hacked into your computer and iPhone and we’ve heard you having copious sex with our friend. Sorry about that. Occupational hazard. Now Jackson’s going to detail the plan. Jackson?”
“Right,” Jackson said, brandishing a notebook. “So first of all, Chas, we’re all really impressed with the sexual stamina. Takes one to know one, buddy. And you’ve got it.” Chas looked wildly uncomfortable, but nodded a vague gesture of thanks and reluctantly took Jackson up on his fist bump. “Cool,” Jackson went on. “Now we gotta get you in there, Chas, ASAP. Our girl’s life depends on it. And we know you’re supposed to go alone. No biggie. You’re gonna go, and go soon. Just wanted to let you know we’re there for backup, we’re all on headset, and the Lady Fingers in our ear has hacked every joint from here to Kalamazoo. Meaning she’s got eyes and ears in places you don’t wanna know about.”
“Great,” Chas said, “can I go now?”
“Not yet,” Jackson replied. “Two minutes. Do you need another gun?”
“No,” Chas said, “you know he’ll have me drop it at the door anyway.”
“How ’bout a gun that looks like something you’d wear?”
“What on earth do you mean?” Chas asked.
Lisa Bee jumped in. “We have a gadget lover down in Baltimore who hooks us up.” Opening a manila envelope, she said, “This is his ‘Ready to Wear’ line: pen, watch, tie clip, money clip, shoelace, and toupee. He doesn’t recommend the toupee or the shoelace if you’re short on time. Whaddaya think?”
Chas looked taken aback, then smiled. “Awesome. Give me the watch. That way if I accidentally shoot myself, it’s only in the wrist.”
“Great,” she said, “basically just touch the knob and shoot through the 6. Also he says here that there’s a timer on it, so be careful. Also the bullets, which are 2.34 mm and made specially by a Swiss manufacturer are in fact lethal. He says this is one situation where size doesn’t matter. Ha ha. Bossman? What else do we need here?”
“Jackson?” the Boss asked. “Checklist?”
“Right,” Jackson said. “We got the rope, the surveillance cams, handcuffs, ammunition bag, earpieces and extras, face masks, disguise bag, extra cell phones, police badges, and several manilas from Doc Scrubs. Anything else we need?”
“God!” Lisa Bee exclaimed. “Why do I suddenly feel like we’re in The Great Muppet Caper?”
“Because those Muppets were smart,” Jackson snapped. “And they knew their shit.”
“Right,” Chas said, “Sorry to interrupt. I’ve got it. As long as I don’t put it on twelve noon, I should be fine. I’m on my way in. Thanks for everything, and I’ll see you on the inside.”
With that, he was off, and there was silence for a moment. Then the earpieces crackled. “Is it just me,” AJ asked, “or is that man so hot he’s steamy?”
“It ain’t just you,” Lisa Bee murmured as they
each grabbed a bag and ran into the McDonald’s on Delancey to put on their disguises.
‡‡‡
THE DOOR TO THE panic room burst open, and this time Susannah was ready. She had bound the hired muscle (still unconscious) to the chair using the restraints she’d busted out of and was just waiting for her chance. The minute the door opened she trained the gun on the Italian and saw Chas directly behind him. She felt conflicted about seeing Chas again, both excited and angry at the same time. Thankfully this wasn’t about Chas, so she could put her focus elsewhere. “Hold it, Bruni,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “It seems you’ve underestimated me.”
The Italian looked a bit startled for a moment, looking at his man tied to the chair, then smiled. “Oh, no, bella. It is you who have underestimated me. First of all, I like a challenge. Secondly, I thought Antonio needed to be knocked on his ass. Thank you for that. Lastly, there’s more where that came from. Bruno? Salvatore? Please show Ms. Carter a bit of what you can do.” And with that, Chas was roughly thrown into the room, and subsequently kicked in the ribs, hard, by one of the two large bodyguards who followed. Then they both pointed guns at him.
Chas gritted his teeth and said, “Well, I guess I had that coming.” Susannah nearly rushed to his side, but kept her gun on the Italian. She was glad to see Chas again, but seeing him now made her furious on several counts. Not the least of which was that she felt he was compromising her ability to take care of the situation at hand.