by K. J. Larsen
“I love you too.”
Click.
***
I tossed the phone on the seat and it vibrated before I kicked the car in drive. It was Chance. I killed the engine.
“Hey,” I said, “are you on your way?”
“Sorry, Babe. Something’s come up. I don’t know when I’ll get out of here.”
“What’s happening?”
“We got a tip. We think a fugitive is living on a boat at the marina. A sixty-four-foot Princess yacht; it’s a real beauty. The boat’s name is, get this, the Mr. I Free.”
“I guess he won’t be free for long.”
“This is our second attempt to bring him in. My partner and I had him six years ago. He faked a medical emergency and we took him to the ER.”
I swallowed a smile. “He slipped through the fingers of Special FBI Agent In Charge Chance Savino? How did that happen?”
“You’re cracking up. It’s not funny.”
“Okay, Babe. I’m ready. I’ve got a stone face.”
“My partner and I watched the techs put him in the MRI machine. They were instructed to call us when they were finished and we’d remove him from the tray. I waited outside the door. My partner ran down to the hospital cafeteria for coffee and sandwiches. When it seemed to take too long, we busted in. Our suspect was gone and two techs were unconscious on the floor. One was in his underwear.”
“What about the guy who walked out the MRI door while you ate ham and cheese?”
“It was turkey and provolone. I thought the tech was responding to a CODE BLUE announcement. He had a radio to his face and hustled like he was off to save somebody’s life.”
“His own.” I was in stitches now.
“You’re enjoying the most humiliating moment of my career way too much.”
“It’s not you. Your fugitive is hilarious.”
“He’s a barrel of laughs.”
I was having a good time. I couldn’t help myself. “You said the name of his boat is Mr. I Free. Mr. I as in MRI. Your fugitive is MRI free.”
He winced. “I missed that, too. God, I hate this guy.”
“Payback, Babe. Go get ’em and laugh all the way to the county jail.”
“We’ll go in after dark. This could take a while. I love you.”
“Remind me when you get home. Wake me.”
I heard him smile. “Did I tell you how amazing this plonker’s boat is? I just might have to take it for a spin.”
***
The gang of thieves would be desperate and running out of time. Their plan to snatch Captain Bob’s dog had gone horribly wrong. The man I called Ponytail was dead. Their furry hostage was gone. And their last hope to save Saleen’s dying mama had a forty-thousand-dollar price tag.
I figured they’d almost certainly do something stupid. If there’s one universal truth about families, it’s the utterly astonishing things we do to save the ones we love.
I swung by Connie’s Restaurant on Archer and ordered a chop chop salad and an icy lemonade to go. Then I parked down the street from Pop’s big, yellow house and kicked back the cushy seat. The loaner my mechanic calls Marion had generous leg room and a built in bum-warmer. It was a better surveillance gig than the dodgy Dreamscape Motel.
I eavesdropped on Pop’s kitchen and ate my supper. The bug I planted could hear a pin drop. It came in a basket of super cool spy stuff from two super ex-spies. It was my best birthday present ever.
The kitchen was quiet when I tuned in. A muffled TV game show was playing in another room. I was slurping the last dredges of lemonade when hurried footsteps trotted on the hardwood floor. Water ran in the sink. And then the tinny clang of pans and maybe the chopping of veggies. A woman sang snitches of Pink. Raise your glass if you are wrong in all the right ways…I love that song.
Saleen was cooking dinner.
I rifled through my bag and pulled out last Sunday’s New York Times crossword puzzle. I thought I was a freaking genius with puzzles until I met Rocco’s wife. Maria and I have a weekly crossword competition and girls’ night out. The loser buys a pitcher of margaritas. The wait-staff at Del Toro have learned to bring me the tab.
There were more footsteps on the floor and Pop’s resonant voice. “Something smells good. What’s for dinner?”
“Chicken Divan and rice. Mom’s recipe.”
“I hope she can eat tonight.”
“Is she sleeping?”
“Not yet. I was reading to her.”
“Is Aunt Becky coming?”
“After work. She’ll be here around ten.”
“When do we go in?”
My ears burned. Where?
“Eleven or so. I went over your pics. He has four cameras inside. Two on the street. And there’s an ATM across the street.”
“It’s a smash and grab. We’ll be in and out in sixty seconds.”
“Not you. You’re in the car. We agreed.”
“I’m still driving. But we lost Marco. I’m going in with you. Besides, I gotta replace my necklace. That bitch ripped it off my neck.”
A sense of dread squeezed my chest. They were going to hit Baumgarten Jewelry tonight. It was a stupid idea.
“Pops, if there’s trouble we’ll both get out. That bastard owes us. They killed Uncle Clive. No way he wasn’t involved.”
“I know, Saleen.”
“You knew but you didn’t go after them.”
He gave a low chuckle. “Your mother laid it out for me. I couldn’t have it both ways. It was her or the guys who whacked Clive and pinched our rocks.”
“You chose her.”
“And you. There ain’t that many diamonds in the world.”
“But you’re breaking your promise now. What will you tell Mom?”
He blew a sigh. “If we’re lucky she’ll never know.”
“And if she does?”
“We pray to God the treatment works. She’ll have a long time to get over it.”
I tossed the crossword puzzle on the passenger seat and killed the audio. My mind was spinning. Could the third man in the bogus 1999 robbery be Clive, the mother’s brother? Saleen said he had been murdered and their diamonds stolen.
Was he talking about the diamonds the armored car delivered the morning of the delivery? Our assumption had been that the robbery was a staged, an insurance fraud. Were the bandits paid in diamonds and had Rob planned to steal them back? Was the brother’s death part of Rob’s original plan or an unintended accident? It was clear the family blamed Clive’s death on Rob Baumgarten. But then maybe these guys were delusional. They were blackmailing Captain Bob and Papa for stealing a gold medallion they’d never seen.
I drove to Palmisamo Park and slipped my feet into running shoes. In the heart of Bridgeport, Palmisamo is a story of urban sustainability. Once a quarry and a landfill for clean construction waste, it’s been transformed to nature trails, terracing wetlands, a fishing pond, and twenty-seven acres of sweet escape from the city.
I ran along the crushed stone path and mulled the events of the last few days over in my mind. I ran the hills until the stench of death left my nostrils and the air smelled like spring prairie flowers. When I knew what I had to do, I drove home and poured myself a glass of red wine.
Then I called the smartest man I know.
Chapter Twenty-three
The GPS locator I’d slapped under Saleen’s car began moving on the screen of my iPad at eleven-twenty.
“Showtime,” I said. “They’re coming.”
“I’m ready for them,” Roger said.
He popped the last bite of sfogliatella in his mouth. His large frame swallowed much of the front seat. The only thing bigger than Roger’s belly is his heart.
I gave him a quick hug. “Thanks for doing this.” I could see him blush in the glow of his
laptop.
Roger’s screen was split in sixths, each frame with a live feed of Baumgarten Jewelry. My computer geek hero hacked into the two street cameras and we set up the other four. A camera faced each street entrance to the alley and there was a view of the back and the front door.
A MINI Cooper turned into the alley and the headlights dimmed. The driver killed the engine at Baumgarten’s steel door and two masked bandits hit the ground running. One clutched loot bags in purple latex hands. The other brandished a flat-head ax and Halligan. Pops swung the ax over his head and Roger tapped a key on his computer. A deafening scream pierced the night. The security alarm exploded. Shop lights flashed. A police siren wailed and the would-be thieves bolted. The little Cooper peeled away before its doors were closed.
A chuckle spawned deep in Roger’s throat and spiraled. He threw his head back and had a good belly laugh. He’s contagious. I laughed until my stomach hurt.
“Enough,” I said. “You’re killing me.”
I poured two coffees and we finished the last two donuts in companionable silence.
“You can’t always save people from themselves,” Roger said.
I hooked his arm in mine. “But we did tonight.”
He smiled. Do you think they’re coming back?
“No way. Go home. I’ll hang around a few minutes to be sure.”
Roger settled his bum into his seat and the car rocked under his weight. “I’m not leaving until you do.” He yawned.
Roger’s ability to nap anywhere is legendary.
“What about Ginny?”
“She’s in bed with an arm around Thor. She won’t know I’m gone.”
“Yes. It makes perfect sense that she would confuse you with a ten-pound Pomeranian.”
“It’s my hairy back.”
Roger rubbed his eyes and yawned again. I yawned too.
“Stop,” I said.
Roger grinned. “This is my first stakeout. I’m glad you called me.”
“You’re good company.”
“Why me? You could’ve called a tough guy like Max. Or Savino. I’m more of a…”
“Adorkable teddy bear? I suppose. But to be honest, I’d rather spend a long, tedious stakeout with a guy who makes me laugh.”
“Thanks, Cat.”
“Besides. I knew you’d bring donuts.”
I didn’t remember closing my eyes, but I was roused by fingers tapping my window. I jolted to consciousness and a sharp pain stabbed my neck. I was crushed against the door with Roger’s incredibly, heavy head asleep on my shoulder.
A genius has a lot of gray matter.
Tap. Tap.Tap.
The car windows were a blur of fog. I swiped a circle of condensation away with my sleeve and peered through the circle. Narrow tight hips, hard abs, tight, muscular thighs. I’d know that, delicious hunka man-flesh anywhere.
I wriggled a bit. “Roger, wake up.”
“Huh?”
I pushed him off me and opened my door. Savino popped his head in and growled. “If I didn’t know you got it bad for Ginny, I’d think you were moving in on my woman.”
“Cat?” Roger laughed nervously. “That’s ridiculous.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded.
Roger stammered and Savino laughed. “It’s two a.m. on a South Chicago Street. Apart from the drool on her shoulder, I’d say you’re keeping her safe. Thanks, man.”
“Any time.”
“But I’m going to have to fix you up with a gun.”
Roger paled. “Guns kill people.”
“That’s the point,” Chance said.
Roger gathered his computer and scrambled onto the sidewalk.
“Thanks, Roger,” I said. “You did good tonight.”
Roger’s face flushed with pleasure. He piled into his Mercedes and we watched him drive away.
Savino took my hands, lifted me from the car, and kissed me. A tingling sensation warmed my lips and traveled south.
“Hmmm. Did you get your Mr. I Free?”
“Locked away and screaming for medical assistance.”
“Did he say how he escaped the MRI machine?”
“He said he’s a goddamn Houdini.”
“Not tonight.” I smiled. “How did you know I was here?”
“Your car wasn’t in the driveway so I tracked your phone.”
“Seriously?”
He laughed. “I’m starved. I brought Chinese. Kung pao chicken, dim sum, and egg foo yong. Whatya say I take you home, run a hot bath with lots of bubbles, and massage your sore neck?”
I managed a smile but my mouth felt flat on my face. “It could be a while before I’m ready for a bath.”
He finger-smacked his head. “Marcus Russell. I’m sorry, Babe. That was stupid of me.”
I wrapped my arms around him and pulled him to me. “How ’bout we go home, I get you out of that shirt, and take you to bed?”
“And just like that, I’m not hungry anymore.”
A car engine fired up somewhere behind us. A moment later, a sage-colored BMW hammered by. The windows were dark and I couldn’t make out the driver. But a chill shot down my spine.
Savino’s head turned sharply. “Who was that? Was that car following you?”
“I don’t know. I could be mistaken. For a minute I thought it was the cop who investigated the jewelry theft.”
He gave me a light kiss. I could taste the relief on his lips. “Cops are the good guys, Babe.”
“So Rocco keeps telling me.”
“And they don’t drive BMWs.”
I didn’t remind him Uncle Joey drives a Ferrari.
“If we’re done here,” Chance said. “I’ll follow you home.”
I climbed in behind the steering wheel. “Hey, how was the Mr. I Free?” I said. “Did you take her for a spin around the lake?”
The smiling cobalt blues crinkled around the edges. “Babe. You know that’s against the rules.”
Chapter Twenty-four
I missed Inga and I wanted her to come home. That’s a good thing. Her time with her grandparents is best kept short and sweet. Inga is a food whore. And Mama is an orgy enabler. Papa hand-feeds my beagle from his plate. After two days with the grandparents, Inga waddles to the car.
I arrived at my parents’ house as Mama hurried Inga out the door. Her trunk and backseat were packed tight with Italian cream cakes and sfogliatella for the school for tonight’s auction.
Mama’s face lit up when she saw me. Inga ran circles around my legs and Mama touched my cheek.
“Caterina! My angel.”
“Uh, oh.”
“Chance’s mama called last night.”
“I can show you how to block her calls.”
Mama laughed. She has exciting news. “The Savinos are having a, uh, event next week. Family is flying in from all over the country.”
My face twitched. “What event?”
“A cruise on the lake. Dancing. Fireworks. Catered dinner. The whole shebang. The family wants to meet the love of Chance’s life.”
“I’m going to be sick.”
“I think someone has an anniversary coming up,” she said slyly. “What could be more romantic than a moonlit cruise with the people who love you most?”
“An F-4 tornado cruising Bridgeport?”
Mama giggled. “Father Timothy will be on board.”
Instant F-4 migraine. I massaged my temples.
“Kill me now,” I said.
“Father Timothy is prepared to give Chance a priestly nudge about you know what.”
“Don’t say it.”
“Making you an honest, Christian woman.”
I covered my ears. “You said it.”
“That young man of yours should know you won�
��t wait around forever. He’s not the only starfish in the sea. My divorced dentist wants to meet you.”
“Please. Tell me he’s not coming.”
She laughed and I groaned.
Mama reached into the backseat and pulled out a cream cake. She thrust it in my arms.
“Take this to Peggy and Captain Bob. Maybe she’ll forgive you for making her come home when her sister needs her.”
“But Mama…”
She made that clicking sound with her mouth. “And go to confession. The poor woman’s lady parts were falling out.”
Mama crossed herself. I felt my teeth grind.
She kissed her grand-dog and before I could count to ten, she was gone.
I drove to Captain Bob’s house and carried the cream cake to the door. As my finger was poised to ring the doorbell, I caught a glimpse of Peggy Maxfield through window. I moved in and pressed my face to the pane. She sat on the flowered couch and she held Sam I Am on her lap. Her head was buried in his soft hair and her small shoulders shook with sobs.
I left Mama’s cream cake on the porch.
***
I hurried back to Jack’s Toyota Corolla and hopped inside. Inga stood in the passenger seat and her breath smelled like bacon. Her tail wagged wildly and her eyes darted from the backseat to my face and back again. My partner was trying to tell me something.
This couldn’t be good.
“Okay,” I said, “whoever you are. Come out of the backseat before I shoot.”
“Bitch.”
I twisted my neck to check the floor behind me. A green scarf and mass of honey wheat hair.
“Seriously, Saleen?”
She caught her breath.
“How do you know my name?”
I turned to Inga. “Bite her!”
She joyfully wagged her tail.
“You’re fired,” I said. “When someone breaks into the car, you’re supposed to bark. If she offers you bacon, attack.”
Saleen crawled onto the backseat and jabbed something in the small of my back. “Keep your hands where I can see them or I’ll shoot. I’ve got a gun.”
“Ha! No you don’t.”
She dropped her hand.
“But I do!” I smiled.
“A 9mm Glock. It’s in your panty drawer at home.”