More than Money (Found in Chicago Book 1)

by Allison Michaels

  “He opened it to celebrate because I won the lottery!” I blurted, wrapping both of my hands around his cocked fist and using all my weight to push it down. “I’ll buy you a case when I get my payout.”

  Les’s head whipped to the side, his blue eyes blazing with anger. “Not funny, Coco. I’m not in the mood for jokes.”

  “And I’m not feeding you a line to save Neil’s neck. I was on the phone with a state lottery employee when you walked in.” Snatching up the ticket, I held it in front of his face. “The birthdays I used match the numbers from tonight’s drawing. I have to go to an office and get this verified after class tomorrow afternoon. You’re welcome to come with if you can leave work early.”

  His hands dropped to his sides. “Jesus H…you’re sure you won?”

  “Positive.” I took my shot and flinched as the liquor burned while sliding down my throat.

  He dropped onto the chair Neil had pulled out and downed his shot. “Wow. Just…wow. I don’t know what to say. How much money was up for grabs?”

  “A hundred million.”

  “Is that all?” he joked, refilling his and Neil’s glasses. “Fucking-A, Coco. You never do anything half-assed. Why win one million when you can win a hundred?”

  “Overachiever,” Neil teased. “Way to make the rest of us look bad.”

  “No, you do that on your own with those hideous pants.”

  Les nodded in agreement. “Never wear them out of the house. Unless you go to Walmart or 7-Eleven.”

  “Damn,” Neil grumbled. “Now I’ve got a serious Slurpee jones. Thanks a lot.”

  “Yeah, I could totally go for a blue raspberry one right now.” I spun my glass around on the table.

  “Fuck it, let’s go get them.” Les stood and dug his car keys out of his pocket. “Now that you’re rich, you should buy a Slurpee machine so we don’t have to trek to 7-E anymore.”

  I laughed and buttoned my coat. “There’s no room for one of those in here.”

  “Change your pants, man. My street cred will be shot to shit if someone sees me with you in those.” Les used his body to barricade the doorway.

  "What gang are you a member of again? Jugg Thugs or Clit Vipers?” Neil ran out of the room and the snow boot Les winged at him bounced off the doorframe.

  “Shithead.” Les looped my scarf around my neck a second time. “Congrats, sis. This feels so surreal. Maybe it hasn’t sunk in yet?”

  “I feel the exact same way.” I followed him to his old sedan and climbed into the passenger seat. He really wanted a bigger vehicle that could better accommodate his height, like an SUV or a pickup truck, but couldn’t afford one.

  The meager paychecks he collected as a case manager at a halfway house for recovering alcoholics covered the bills and put food on the table, but didn’t leave him a lot of fun money. Same went for what Neil earned as a support technician in the IT department at an advertising firm. Both men refused to let me get a part-time job while I was in school and turned down my offers to buy groceries with my trust stipend. They covered my share of living expenses and denied themselves new clothes, cars, and nights out without a single complaint.

  I did whatever I could to makes their lives easier, from cooking dinner as often as my schedule permitted to keeping the house spotless. But it still felt like there was a huge imbalance in responsibilities. Chopping vegetables and running the vacuum cleaner didn’t compare to the commute and long hours they racked up.

  Payback didn’t always have to come in the form of a vengeful or vindictive action. It could be prompted by the need to show gratitude for someone else’s sacrifices. Or in my case, two someones.

  Which is why my alarm clock went off at five in the morning–instead of six–eight weeks later. I fried bacon and flipped pancakes as both showers ran upstairs. When the men who had started out as strangers but were now the only family I had left kissed me on the cheek and dug into their breakfasts with gusto, I simply smiled and refreshed their coffees.

  And when two shouts echoed through the chilly March air after they opened the front door to walk to the train station six blocks away, I handed each of them the keys to their new cars and told them to drive to work.

  Well, I tried to tell them.

  The words were lost in translation, either stuck behind the thick knot in my throat or spilling over my lower eyelids in the tears streaming down my face. My brothers’ elation and excitement became mine. It was an infectious happiness that seeped into my bones and made me feel warm and light and fulfilled.

  Shortly before noon, I watched as two dusty men entered their foreman’s trailer. The apprehensive expressions on their faces morphed to recognition when they saw me standing next to their boss.

  “I remember you!” Kurt exclaimed. “You’re Henri’s daughter.”

  “Actually, my name is Collette.”

  “Nice name for a nice girl.” Robby tipped his hard hat at me. “Uh, even though it’s great to see you again, we only get an hour for lunch and the clock’s ticking. Why’d we get called in here?”

  “I’ve got your lunch right here.” I held up a large box with a white paper bag on top and pointed at the second set on the desk behind me. “Your boots, too.”

  Both of their mouths fell open.

  “Steel toes, size twelve, and made in the good old U.S. of A. Nothing but the best for my partners-in-crime.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Robby drawled, taking off his hat. “I’ve never hugged a millionaire before, but there’s a first time for everything.” The burly man wrapped his arms around me. “You didn’t have to do this, but I sure am glad you did.”

  “Quit hogging her,” Kurt complained. “And ease up a bit. She’s turning purple.”

  I made a quick exit after they thanked me, claiming I was late for a class. As I rounded the end of the trailer, muffled shouts came through the thin walls.

  In their eagerness to try on their new kicks, Kurt and Robby had found the rolls of hundred dollar bills stuffed inside each boot.

  I dropped a folded Benjamin into the case lying on the sidewalk in front of a guitarist playing his heart out next to a bus stop and hummed along to his version of American Authors’ “Best Day of My Life” for the rest of my walk to school.

  29

  Ryan

  Les double-parked next to a rental truck and turned on his hazards, peering at the lit-up brownstone through the passenger window.

  “I’ve had enough of this standoff between you and Collette. You need to suck it up and apologize.” Neil removed his seat belt. “Ryan and I will go get some beef sandwiches and garlic fries from Lorenzo’s for dinner. That should give you enough time to grovel and get off her shit list.”

  He shook his head. “She won’t take it well if I just walk in out of the blue.”

  “Then don’t.” Neil fastened the snaps over his coat’s zipper to prepare for the frigid walk to the restaurant. “Park in the back and knock on the door. Substitute ‘I’m an idiot’ for hello and make damn sure it sounds sincere.”

  “What if she kicks me out again?”

  “What do I look like, your life coach?” Neil sighed and opened his door. “Even though you don’t deserve it, she’s already forgiven you. The only way you’ll get kicked out again is if you barge in and act like nothing happened. Remember the three A’s and you’ll be fine.” He got out of the Land Rover and waited for me on the sidewalk.

  Les turned in his seat to face me. “I’ve never gone more than one day without speaking to her. Eight feels like an eternity. I really miss her.”

  I stared at him in fascination because big, brash, loud Les was nervous. I’d seen him get emotional over Collette before, but this was different. He was genuinely afraid of being rejected by her.

  “What are the three A’s?”

  “Acknowledgment, amends, and affection. It’s a mnemonic device I made up to help the recovering alcoholics I used to work with repair the rifts in their relationships with the people th
ey hurt when they still drank.”

  Spinning my Bears cap around so the brim faced forward, I pulled up the collar of my jacket. “Did it work well for them?”

  “Yes. It had a high success rate.”

  “Drive around back, lock your pride in the glovebox, knock on the door, and follow the guidelines you created. If it worked for others, it should work for you. Tell Collette that you feel rotten about what happened. Look her straight in the eye and tell her you’re sorry. And give her lots of hugs because I know for a fact that she misses you terribly. Be honest. Be humble. But most of all, be real.” Bracing myself for the shock of switching from warm to cold air, I got out of the car and joined Neil as Les drove to the end of the block and hung a right, and then another right to enter the alley running behind the houses.

  “He’d better not screw up and piss her off again.” Neil gestured at my hat. “After watching that massacre at Soldier Field, it would be nice to see something good before the day is over.”

  We’d called an audible and left the football game halfway through the third quarter, unable to justify partial frostbite with the team’s lackluster performance. Yet despite the poorly executed plays, I’d had a good time at my first live NFL game. The energy in the stadium and the roar of the crowd couldn’t be experienced while watching the event on TV. I wanted to go again before the end of the season with Collette.

  My fingers and toes had barely thawed before going back outside, and I was eager to pick up the food and not venture out again until leaving for work tomorrow morning. “Let’s start making our way to Lorenzo’s.”

  A scraping sound followed by a loud thunk came from someplace nearby. “Damn it!” a male voice laden with frustration snapped.

  Stepping around to the back of the dingy white truck, I eyed the guy hefting up the end of a leather sofa. Many students at Collette’s college rented in this area and now that the semester had ended, a good portion of them were moving out. I’d seen people scurrying back and forth to vans and trucks for the past two weeks.

  “Need a hand?” I asked as the man lifted an end of the couch and placed the legs on the lip of the truck bed.

  “Would you mind? A buddy of mine was supposed to help with the big pieces, but he flaked on me at the last minute. I need to get this in and get out of here before a cop comes along and tickets me for being parked in front of a hydrant. I just need you and your friend to get in and slide it back when I pick up this end.”

  Chicago didn’t play around when it came to issuing fines. Getting busted for parking in front of a fire hydrant was expensive, to the tune of a hundred and fifty dollars. Police cruisers rolled up and down the streets of this neighborhood throughout the day, so we had to act fast.

  Neil climbed up and crouched to grab one of the wooden feet. I followed and gripped the armrest. “All right, on three.” The man counted down and lifted his end and pushed with all his might as Neil and I pulled with all of ours.

  “Thanks so much. You have no idea how much I appreciate this.” The guy wiped his brow and hopped up inside the truck. “We just need to position it against those boxes so they don’t fall in transit, and I’ll be good to go.”

  Neil and I braced our hands on the cushions and shoved as the feet bounced over the corrugated metal floor.

  “This okay?” I asked, turning to look at the guy.

  “It’s perfect,” a deep voice behind me replied.

  Something struck the back of my head. Neil cried out as pain shot through my skull, and the last thing I heard before my vision went black was the sound of the truck’s tailgate rolling down.

  ***

  More darkness met me when I came to, courtesy of the blindfold over my eyes. Ignoring the ache in my head, I worked my jaw to try and loosen the piece of duct tape covering my mouth. Coarse fibers of the rope binding my wrists together behind the back of the chair I was seated in bit into my skin as I tested the strength of my restraints. They were pretty secure, leaving minimal wiggle room. Same went for the lengths wound around my chest and ankles.

  I scuffled around, rocking from side to side and front to back, to make as much noise as possible since yelling wasn’t an option. But smacking sounds from the chair legs hitting the floor and frantic mmmms seemed useless, so I gave up and listened for noises that might clue me into my surroundings.

  Loud engines rumbled in the distance. They sounded like the ones in semis or construction equipment. Deferring to the way kidnappings were depicted in movies and television shows, I wondered if I was inside a warehouse in an industrial park.

  Where was Neil? Was he okay? Had I been the sole target or was he in another room? Or was he next to me, still unconscious and slumped over in his own chair?

  I sat perfectly still and strained my ears to listen for any kind of indication of another person’s presence, but heard nothing except an annoying buzzing overhead. Fluorescent lights. The fixture in my office made the same noise. Swinging my bound feet around, my sneakers squeaked over the floor. I narrowed the surface to either wood or linoleum since rubber didn’t react this way to concrete.

  Heaving a deep sigh, I resigned myself to the fact that I was stuck here by myself. Which left me alone with nothing but my thoughts and a pulsating throb where I’d been struck before losing consciousness.

  Question after question trickled through my confused mind.

  Who had done this? I’d never seen Couch Guy before and could not figure out why he had a beef with me. I scolded myself for getting in the truck and walking right into the trap he and his accomplice had set. How careless was I for not noticing another man? He had to have been there the entire time, hiding as the other guy lured us with his bullshit excuse of needing help. What could they possibly want with me?

  How much time had passed since these people had snatched me? Was it still Sunday? I didn’t have plausible guesses, much less answers. And it frustrated the crap out of me. Had it been long enough for Collette and Les to realize I was missing?

  Collette. The very thought of her beautiful face pinched with worry and streaked with tears triggered a new squirming fit as I struggled against my bonds. Once again, the attempt was futile. She was strong and level-headed enough to tamp down her panic and call the police. I just had to be patient and roll with the punches until the cavalry got me out of here.

  But for now, I had to remain positive. I had to swallow the fear trying to work its way up my throat and stay calm.

  One thing always gave me a sense of peace.

  Or rather, one person. Which is why I chose to bide my time by recapping my relationship with Collette, starting with the moment I laid eyes on her for the first time as she ran toward the yacht at Navy Pier.

  Home movies played in my head, and memories took my mind to a pleasant place while my body remained in this hellhole. The clarity was so vivid, I could see individual strands of Collette’s hair caught in her long eyelashes as she spoke to the crewmen. Traces of coffee and chocolate flooded my dry mouth, the flavors I had tasted while kissing her during our first date. A faint lemony scent reminiscent of her bedtime body lotion overrode the dank, musty smell I’d been inhaling since waking up. The incessant drone of the humming lights over my head was drowned out by rollicking laughter when I tickled her on the kitchen floor the night of her mugging. My fingertips made contact with the underside of my seat, but instead of cold, hard metal, I felt warm, soft skin as we made love in the hotel room on Halloween after eating a late dinner.

  Just as I relived the snowy slow dance on Thanksgiving night, door hinges creaked, and heavy footsteps approached. Something thudded to the ground right next to me.

  “You ever hear of a Swiffer? This floor feels nasty.” A crack rang out, and Neil sputtered wetly. “Blame the maid, not me.”

  The tape over my mouth was ripped away, as well as several layers of skin on my lips. Holy shit, it hurt like a mother. “Talk,” the same deep voice from the truck ordered.

  Cool plastic rested against my ri
ght ear. A phone. “What do you want me to say?” I asked hoarsely, moistening my lips with the tip of my tongue.

  “Ryan?” Collette’s disembodied voice floated into my ear. “Oh thank God, you are alive. Sit tight while I get the money together, okay? The police and FBI are here, and we’re going to bring you guys home. I’m so sorry that it took me–”

  “Now you have your proof. He and your brother are fine, but they won’t be if you don’t deliver what we want. I’ll call back in twelve hours with details on where to leave the money. Tick-tock, bitch.”

  The fear of captivity gave way to red-hot anger at this man’s audacity. No one called my girl a bitch. No one. Using all the strength I could muster, I brought my feet up and swung them to the side where the bastard’s voice had emanated, aiming low to try and nail him in the balls. He yelped as I clocked him somewhere below the waist.

  Retaliation came swiftly. My head snapped back as a blunt object crashed into my face, the bones in my nose crunching from the force of impact. Sticky liquid flowed over my mouth and down my chin. It would be a miracle if my nose weren’t broken. I snorted to clear some blood out of my nostrils and smirked when my attacker let out a pansy-assed Ugggh.

  “Get the tape while I go change,” he said to someone.

  Light footsteps grew louder as a new person entered the room. “What the hell have you done? I said it was okay to rough them up, but didn’t give you the green light to rearrange their faces,” a woman snapped.

  I froze in the middle of wiping my chin across the top of my coat. A wave of dread engulfed me because her voice was unmistakably familiar.

  “Hello,” I raised my head, “Diana.”

  30

  Ryan

  The blindfold fell away.

  I squinted and blinked rapidly, the stark lighting a harsh assault on my eyes after only experiencing darkness for hours. Slowly, my vision cleared.