Love On the Run

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “Dad has a cousin, but he died. I got an uncle, too. He’s the one running the business.”

  “Why didn’t your dad send you to him?”

  Sampson gave a shrug. “Dad said he had his hands full enough.”

  Jared thought he heard a ring of truth in Sampson’s words. The boy believed what he’d been told, but Jared doubted it was the whole truth. “How old are you, anyway?” Jared asked.

  “You tell me,” the boy said darkly.

  Jared hazarded a guess. “Eight?”

  “No, older,” Cassi said. “About nine, right?”

  Sampson snorted. “You guys know nothing. I’m not some baby. I’m eleven now.” He shook his head woefully. “And you’re supposed to take care of me? What a joke! You guys know nothing about kids.”

  “You’re right.” Jared glanced at Cassi. “We’d better call Fred at the FBI and let him know what’s going on.”

  “No!” Sampson protested. “I’ll just run away.”

  “Look, we’re not making any decisions right now,” Cassi said. “At least not before we eat. Are you hungry, Sampson?”

  Sampson sniffed appreciatively. “That bacon smells good.”

  Jared took that as his cue to return to the stove. In minutes he had eggs, bacon, and juice on the table. Before sitting with the others, he slapped thick slices of French bread in the pan to toast.

  Sampson lifted his fork to dig into the meal.

  “Mmm,” Cassi said after taking a bite of scrambled eggs. “I don’t know why, but it always tastes better in the mountains.”

  Sampson gave a grunt, but didn’t pause in his hurry to down everything within reach. Typical boy, Jared thought.

  “Jared’s a great cook,” Cassi said as Jared served the toast.

  Sampson shot a deadpan glance at Jared. “My dad never cooks.”

  Jared laughed. “Your dad’s a multibillionaire and an organized crime boss. I bet there are a lot of things he’s never done. Not to mention a lot of things he’s done that many people would never do.”

  Sampson dropped his fork onto his plate, as though unsure whether to take offense or not. Cassi offered him more bacon and the boy scooped up his fork and resumed eating, pausing occasionally to scowl at Jared.

  After breakfast, Cassi took their dishes to the sink. Jared joined her, keeping an eye on their unwanted guest. “Do you want me to light the heater?” Jared referred to an old tankless water heater that connected to a large bottle of natural gas. The device heated water almost instantly as it circled through the heater and out into the sink or tub, an efficient system that provided an endless supply of hot water—as long as the gas held out.

  “Thanks,” Cassi waited until he lit the heater and adjusted the temperature before she turned on the water and added soap.

  “I don’t like this,” Jared said in a low voice over the sound of the water.

  “I know it’s inconvenient, but we’ll take care of it.” She gave him a seductive grin. “You’ve waited thirty-five years for a honeymoon and I’ve waited twenty-nine. What’s a few more days?”

  “It’s not just him coming here now, it’s him coming here at all. It doesn’t make sense that Big Tommy would send him to us when he’s got an uncle.”

  Her hands suspended motion, as though frozen in the warm water. “Unless he can’t trust that uncle.”

  Cassi’s intelligence was one of the reasons he was so attracted to her. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “But that only makes it even more important for us to report this to Fred.”

  “You’re right, of course. We’ll shower and get dressed and go into town. We’d better hurry, though. It’s almost five now in San Diego. Isn’t that quitting time for Fred?”

  “Naw, from what I’ve seen, Fred’s always working. But it’s too bad that our cell phones don’t work here or that this cabin doesn’t have a phone.”

  “Hey, we’re lucky it has hot water. I’d rather have hot water than a phone any day.”

  Jared grinned. “Count your blessings, eh?” He gathered her into his arms.

  “While we’re at it, we can count the car, too. The Perraults are one nice family for lending all this to us.”

  “They are. But this just isn’t the way I’d planned on spending my honeymoon. Three is definitely a crowd.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “Well, me either, but here we are.”

  Jared kissed her, but a disgusted grunt near the front window cut short the fun. “I guess I’ll go get ready,” Jared said. “The sooner we get rid of our chaperone here, the better.”

  “He’s just a kid. I’ll bet he’s had a hard life.”

  “With Big Tommy as a father, it’s no wonder.”

  Cassi’s dark eyes grew thoughtful. “Quentin loves his son, but I don’t know what kind of father he’s been. I suspect Sampson’s been lonely since his mother died. Quentin told me she died from a tumor three years ago.”

  For a moment, Jared had forgotten that Big Tommy, a.k.a. Quentin Thomas Holbrooke, had any other name. “I’m wondering if old Big Tommy’s motive for sending his son isn’t twofold. I suspect he had a bit of a thing for you.”

  Cassi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. After meeting me only twice. That must be why he almost killed both of us.”

  She had a point, but Jared was too irritated to admit it. He loved Cassi more than he had ever loved anyone, and these two weeks had been their time to be alone. He looked across the kitchen at Sampson. “Don’t worry, I’ll be nice. I like children, remember?”

  “I know you do. And you’re good with them. But this little boy doesn’t seem to like you too much.”

  Jared left her at the sink and went to stand with Sampson in front of the window. “It’s pretty in the daylight.”

  Sampson gave a noncommittal grunt.

  “Have you ever been in France?”

  “Tons of times.”

  “Ever been fishing?”

  Bored eyes focused on Jared. “Yeah, all over. My dad has more yachts than he has cars.”

  “Impressive.” Jared had seen the huge garage on the Holbrooke estate. It could have easily held twenty automobiles.

  “Well, have you been hiking?”

  “In just about every country in the world. I like the Amazon jungle the best.”

  Maybe it was time to try a different approach. “Ever been to church?”

  “Sure. I go to Mass sometimes.”

  Jared laughed. “Why am I not surprised? Look, I’m going to grab some clothes. We need to go into town.”

  The boy’s eyes followed Jared as he entered the small bathroom. “Eleven going on forty,” Jared muttered. “What’s this world coming to?”

  * * *

  SUPERVISORY SPECIAL AGENT FRED SCHULTE hadn’t expected the press would care much about Big Tommy’s capture and pending sentencing. He was right. There had been a few flashy articles in the paper when the initial information was released, and then nothing more as either Big Tommy’s employees bribed the media into silence or other more pressing issues hit the headlines. Either way, it was all the same to Fred.

  In light of the evidence against him, Big Tommy had agreed to discuss a plea bargain to kindly save taxpayers the expense of a lengthy trial. Hah! Fred knew that more than likely Big Tommy was simply trying to save himself from extra time in prison. An honest jury would have sent the mobster away for life. Now, if they were lucky, he might serve ten years. At least for the time being, he was out of Fred’s hair.

  For this reason, Fred wondered why Brooke Erickson of the San Diego Union-Tribune wanted to meet with him to discuss Big Tommy’s case. She arrived promptly at five o’clock on Tuesday afternoon, the time Fred would have left for his apartment if he had ever gone home on time. He didn’t know what he’d imagined from her crisp, no-nonsense voice on the phone, but she wasn’t what he expected. Brooke Erickson was beautiful. She had short-cropped golden blond hair, striking pale blue eyes, and a figure that made men
look twice. Or even stare. But like her voice on the phone, her manner was all business.

  “How long do you think he’ll be sentenced for?” she asked after hearing his brief, over-rehearsed statement on the events leading up to Big Tommy’s capture.

  Fred sighed, thinking of the stack of unsolved cases in his files that he could be working on. “It’s hard to say. He deserves three or four life sentences with all the dirt we have on him—forgery, fraud, murder, and kidnapping, to name a few. But he’s got money and expensive lawyers who don’t care who they hurt as long as they get paid. I hear they’re working out a plea bargain. Just what it is we’ll find out at the sentencing—whenever that finally rolls around.”

  “That’s partly why I’m here. I’m amazed they didn’t stall the idea of a plea longer. I mean, I’ve seen these types of characters living months in freedom while their lawyers cause all sorts of delays.”

  “Well, part of that was because Big Tommy was denied bail. Our guys proved that he’d skip town. He could work his brand of sordid magic just as well from some European country.”

  “Still, I’m surprised his lawyers didn’t come up with something to get him freed.”

  Fred tensed, experiencing an ache from the week-old bullet wound in his upper right arm, suffered at the last showdown with Laranda Garrettson and Big Tommy. Or was the ache coming from his heart? “Big Tommy was recently responsible for the death of a very good friend of mine.”

  “An agent?”

  “No. A guy who worked with us sometimes: Linden Johansen. But Big Tommy has killed several of our agents over the past few years, and we all pushed to get the ball rolling on him. And go figure, this time it worked. Or started to, until this plea bargain stuff came up. I doubt Big Tommy will get half of what he deserves.”

  “I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  “Well, you’ll still see a lot of stalling, I’ll bet,” Fred continued. “Big Tommy’s an expert at deals. No, this thing is far from over. We got him, and he’ll have to serve some time, but before long he’ll be my problem again.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve had a lot of success working with people who aren’t FBI agents. That’s amazing. I guess what really fascinates me is hearing about the two people who were primarily responsible for putting Big Tommy in prison.”

  “Oh, and why does that interest you?” But he knew before she answered. “You’re not going to find any dirt on them. They’re good people.” What these newspaper reporters will do for a story, he thought. It rankled him that she would try to inflict damage on the reputation of those he considered his friends, albeit not very close friends.

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. “That’s not it at all. I—well, if it happened to them, it could happen to anyone, I guess. It’s kind of exciting.” Brooke blushed, and for the first time her voice wasn’t crisp and precise.

  Fred felt himself warming to her. He was suddenly glad that last month he had quit smoking after a fifteen-year addiction. It was a dirty, smelly habit anyway, one that wouldn’t impress this fine lady. “So how can I help you?” he asked.

  “I want to know a little about Jared Landine and Cassi Mason.”

  “Both Landine now. They’re married.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realize that.” Brooke glanced at the tape recorder on the desk to be sure it was recording. “Interesting. Did they know each other before their run-in with Big Tommy?”

  “They met at an art auction when they were both bidding for a forged Buddha containing smuggled diamonds. Both Laranda Garrettson, who was Jared’s boss then, and Big Tommy were after the Buddha, but Jared and Cassi had no idea of its importance.”

  “Wow, what a story.”

  She asked a few more questions Fred was able to answer, but when the questions became more personal, he shook his head. “I’d feel more comfortable if you got your answers from them. They’re on their honeymoon right now, but when they get back, I’ll give them your card. Maybe they’ll agree to let you do a story.”

  “Okay, thank you.” But she didn’t leave. “Do you think Big Tommy’s in danger?”

  “I hope so. That would keep him out of my hair. Do you really care?”

  She laughed. “Well, without Big Tommy there wouldn’t really be a story.”

  “I guess not.” Fred certainly admired her persistence. “Well, the real answer is that of course he’s in danger. He’s a mobster. There’s no telling how many people he’s responsible for killing over the years, or how many fortunes he’s stolen. Then there’s the question of the plea bargaining—who’s he planning to give up? It has to be somebody big. Yep, in all, I’d say there has to be a ton of people out there who’d be happy to see Big Tommy dead.”

  “So you think he’ll be killed.”

  “No, I didn’t say that.” He leaned back in his chair and studied her, enjoying the puzzlement on her face. It wasn’t often that he was alone with such an attractive woman.

  “Then what are you saying?”

  Was she married? Involuntarily, Fred’s gaze dropped to her left hand, where a simple gold band circled the ring finger. He felt a keen sense of disappointment. To cover the unexpected feeling, he pretended to smooth his short moustache in deep thought. “I’m saying, Ms. Erickson, that someone might try to kill him but probably wouldn’t succeed. There will be just as many people trying to earn money by protecting him. Then there are the guards, of course, who try to watch both sides and keep order.”

  “So it’s like a game.”

  “Right.” He rubbed gently at his sore arm. “A deadly game. And anyone could win.”

  “Or lose.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed, liking her even more. “Or lose.”

  “What about the rumor of a billion dollars in paintings and other art objects that Laranda Garrettson supposedly has stashed in another location—apart from those found in Portugal?”

  “I’ve heard the rumors, but I haven’t been able to substantiate them. Big Tommy, of course, would be the one to verify any of this, but if they do exist, he’ll probably go after them himself once he’s out of prison. After all, any money that was used in acquiring the paintings had to have come from him originally.”

  “None of them could be stolen?”

  “Well, yes. But he still would have paid someone to steal them. Garrettson had a lot of resources, but not that many.”

  Brooke’s next question was lost in the buzzing of Fred’s intercom. “Excuse me,” he said. “It must be important. I asked the secretary not to be disturbed.” He pressed the black button. “What is it, Cherral? Jared Landine? You’ve got to be kidding. No, put him through immediately. Thank you.”

  Brooke’s eyes grew more interested, but Fred scarcely paid attention. Why would Jared be calling him? Certainly he had better things to be doing on a honeymoon than calling an FBI Supervisory Special Agent. It could mean only one thing: trouble.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IN MINUTES CASSI AND JARED were in their borrowed car, an older but well-kept Ford, and headed for the nearest town of Griesheim, a small town of fifteen hundred people. They passed deep forests and tall peaks of pink sandstone, barely discernible in the light of the moon and stars. They drove by vineyards and quaint farms that had been beautiful the day before, but now seemed to court danger by their very isolation.

  The community of Griesheim was small by any standards, but filled with the fairy-tale image of old Europe. Cassi loved the half-timbered houses, the bunches of colorful flowers, the gabled roofs and chimneys, and the precisely set cobblestones. Yesterday, when they had come in for food and supplies, she had found the people friendly and helpful. She spoke little French, and Jared spoke even less, but they had learned quickly that smiles and cash spoke a universal language.

  Everything was shut and quiet when they arrived, giving her an eerie sense of the place that she hadn’t noticed by day. They parked near a pay phone on one of the deserted streets. Jared placed the call to the San Diego FBI office while Cassi hovered near
by with Sampson. The boy looked edgy, as though he wanted to flee. He seemed to have an unhealthy dislike of the FBI—a legacy from his father, no doubt. Cassi placed a hand on his shoulder. She was glad for the seclusion the night offered from the curious gazes of people in this small French village.

  “Yes, I need to talk to Special Agent Fred Schulte, please. It’s urgent. I need to talk to him now if he hasn’t left for the day. I don’t care if he’s in a meeting. Tell him it’s Jared Landine. He’ll talk to me.”

  As they waited, Cassi scanned the dark street for signs of trouble. To her it was no longer the sleepy Parisian town that she would remember with tenderness, but a place where danger could be lurking around every corner. Jared met her eyes and smiled faintly. His eyes flicked to Sampson. She could tell by the movement that he was also worried the boy might flee.

  A white sedan drove by, all too noticeable in the stillness. Under her hand she felt Sampson’s muscles tense. Before she could say anything, he ducked away from her touch and bolted. Jared shoved the phone into her hand and flew down the street after Sampson, his longer strides closing the gap.

  “Hello, Jared,” a voice said on the phone. “I’m in a meeting right now, but the secretary said it was urgent.”

  Cassi put the phone to her ear. “Fred, thank heaven!”

  “Cassi? What’s happened?”

  By the dim rays of the single streetlight, Cassi saw Sampson turn down a side street. Jared was only an arm’s length away. She knew he would catch the boy soon; there wasn’t any place to hide in this small town, even in the dark.

  “Big Tommy is what happened,” she told Fred. “We woke up in the middle of the night and found his son, Sampson, on our porch—with suitcases. Apparently, dear old Dad wants us to baby-sit while he’s in prison. Sampson says that’s because he’s in some kind of danger. Needless to say, Jared and I are more than a little worried. So we called you.”

  “Where is Jared?”

  “Chasing Sampson. He ran off a minute ago. Jared’s probably caught him by now.”

  “Not exactly the honeymoon you envisioned.”