Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  She hadn’t heard the term since prison. The term walk away was used to describe a man who took advantage of a woman. Women who fell for walk aways were the stupidest life forms imaginable. During her indoctrination into the Department of Corrections, both the officers and the inmates had referred to her walk away as Drake Maxwell. In other words, he’d set her up, left her to rot, and she’d let it happen.

  “I’ve met Joe Crandall’s type before,” Simon continued. “His career will always come first.

  “It’s too early even to be having this conversation,” Mel said, looking away and aching that so much of what Simon said was true. “You’re worried about nothing.”

  “But that’s just it. I’m very concerned. Carl left you in my care. At first it was my duty. Now...” It was Simon’s turn to look away.

  Like her, he’d lost a spouse. But it had been years. He’d raised his children alone and never remarried.

  “Perhaps I made a mistake in insisting you come here. Perhaps you should return to Cañon City.”

  If she’d been in better spirits, she might’ve laughed. Still, there was nothing humorous about his tone or this heart-wrenching topic. “But I’m known there. That was your whole point in suggesting that Luke and I leave. People could point us out.”

  “Yes, but if you come back, you’d no longer be alone.”

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  Simon reached for her hand. “I thought my feelings were simply because I admired you. They’re not, Melanie, I swear it. I’d planned to wait a respectable time. I swear to God, I did. Luke can play ball in Cañon City. Sure, it’s small, but he’ll get exposure no matter where he plays. And you said it yourself, he’s fond of me.”

  Mel pulled back her hand and pressed a palm to her mouth. This couldn’t be happening.

  “Becoming a warden’s wife has certain advantages.” Simon’s voice became embarrassingly pleading. “You’d never want for anything. Drake Maxwell wouldn’t dare approach you if you were under my protection.”

  Nausea engulfed her. These people had taken care of her most of her adult life. Did he think that because she’d loved Carl Norris’s infant son and married the corrections officer as a young girl, she wanted a repeat performance?

  Under my protection. You’d never want for anything.

  Did he think he could buy her?

  For the first time in her life, she felt free. Even with Joe’s sudden interest and his off-the-chart kiss, she loved having full say over the decisions she made.

  If she’d learned anything in prison, she’d learned survival. She’d be a fool to alienate the warden. She had to preserve their friendship. “I’m sorry, Simon. I’m not in love with you. I’m not in love with anyone.” And although it sickened her to lie, she added, “I’m honored that you’ve asked. You have a long drive ahead of you, and it’s getting late. I’d like to go inside now.”

  “I’ve offended you.”

  She shook her head. “Never. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I’ll take your advice. I’ll try not to be as outgoing.”

  Frowning, he watched her. “Does that apply to Crandall as well?”

  He’s a walk away, Melanie. She lowered her head. Giving Joe up so new in their relationship would be painful. But too much of what Simon had said made sense. “Yes, it applies to Joe as well.”

  “I’ll see you inside.”

  Two nights ago, Joe had said the same thing and she’d welcomed his advances. Tonight, she couldn’t bear a man’s company. “There’s no need. Good night, Simon.” Before he could argue, she opened the car door and walked into the night.

  The warden sat waiting until she reached the porch. A vehicle made its way down Serendipity Lane. Mel turned, expecting her son.

  But it wasn’t Luke. Most likely it was one of the neighbors, a dark Taurus she’d seen coming and going for days.

  Mel inserted the key in the lock, stepped inside and leaned against the door. Closing her eyes, she clenched her fists. How long was she willing to play victim? She was through being taken care of, damn it. No more.

  Her gaze traveled to the stairway and what lay beyond. Illegal or not, the gun hidden away in her closet ensured she’d be able to defend herself. If Drake Maxwell came for her, she’d be the last person he ever came for.

  Chapter Seventeen

  In a noisy, smoke-filled tavern across town, Drake scanned the booths for Denny Ramirez, hoping to remember what the guy looked like. It’d taken the ex-con three days to return Drake’s phone call, and if not for the tip on Melanie, he might have said “fuck this” and left Colorado altogether.

  Looking over his shoulder was becoming a habit. He flinched when he heard sirens, he watched for squad cars, but the cops never burst in. What’s more, no one seemed to pay him any mind, which made him rest easier.

  Last night in another dumpy hotel room, he’d watched a Denver television station. Not one mention of Ropes’ death had made it to Colorado’s largest metropolitan area. Guess the state’s capital had enough crimes of its own to report. So far, anyway. He’d never take his freedom for granted again.

  Shit. He had to find a place to lay low.

  In the back booth next to the john, Drake saw a Hispanic man drinking beer. Drake made eye contact and the dude nodded. His hair was shorter than Drake remembered and Ramirez had grown a goatee.

  He stood and gripped Drake’s hand in the familiar fashion they’d used in the pen. “Max, thanks for comin’.”

  Drake slid into the opposite booth. A waitress came and gave him an eyeful of her cleavage. He took a leisurely look down her blouse, but ignored further invitation. Pointing to Ramirez’s drink, Drake said, “I’ll have what he’s having.”

  Both men studied the sway of her hips as she sauntered away. Turning to Drake, Ramirez said, “You look fit, amigo.”

  Yeah, boredom and prison could do that to you. On the inside he’d bench pressed two-twenty. Now, he missed his regular workouts. When he finally got settled, he’d join a gym. “Your cousin mentioned a venture. I want in.”

  “Let’s eat, then we’ll talk.” Apparently, Ramirez was in no hurry. But Drake’s nerves felt like a skittering metal ball in a pin-ball machine. He wanted in on the plan. It wouldn’t be long before he was out of options, and as much as things cost these days, out of money.

  The steak dinner helped, but not much. The waiting was making him want to smash something. He felt the same pressure building as he had with Ropes. “Garcia said you wanted to see me. Well, I’m here. Quit wasting my time.”

  “Fair enough.” Ramirez shoved his plate aside and lowered his voice. “I got a team of six players. All cons, none on parole, and all able to move around at my say so. If you got an old lady you’re attached to, don’t waste my time.”

  Drake’s mind meandered to the hooker he’d picked up on Colfax. She’d hinted about coming with him when he left town. He’d retrieved the money he paid her, then left her asleep in a Denver hotel room. “I ain’t attached to nobody.”

  Ramirez lifted a brow. “You gay, man?”

  Drake shook his head. Guess if he was going to be living around a bunch of men, Ramirez wanted it out in the open.

  “The way you was ogling that waitress I didn’t think so. But I’m glad to hear it. The heat’s on in the Springs, so we’re givin’ it a rest. The way I see it, we’re good for one more job here. After that, we leave the state.”

  Drake thought of the Pueblo phone directory he’d left in his Jeep. He’d made it half-way down the list so far. Once he found Melanie and eliminated her, Ramirez’s venture would be perfect.

  “Another thing, I need you to stay out of trouble. If you’re into anything else, don’t lay it on my doorstep.” The con’s dark eyes narrowed. “No crimes other than our hits. Got any secrets, Max?”

 
Picturing Ropes’ lifeless body, Drake said, “I just got out of the joint. Who’s had time?”

  “To work for me, you better keep it that way. I need men I can trust, or at least those quiet enough to get rich.

  “I got some ground rules, so hear me out. One, I’m in charge. I give the orders. No one crosses me. You never bring a woman or drugs to the house. You park your vehicle in an apartment complex down the street, then walk. We meet at my sister’s place. She lives in a nice neighborhood, man. We don’t want no one ratting us out to the cops. My sister ain’t home much, but when she is, she’s off limits, understand?”

  Drake nodded.

  “No drinking or drugs during a job. I need people with clear heads. And if I let you in on this, forget about having my boot up your ass, you talk to anyone, you’re dead.”

  Adrenaline shot through Drake’s veins. Denny Ramirez’s reputation with a switchblade was legendary. Drake had no doubt the former con meant what he said. “I can live with your terms.”

  Ramirez stood and picked up the bill.

  Outside the tavern, music and laughter filled the night as people, obviously regulars, came and went. Veering away from passersby, Ramirez slapped Drake on the back and returned to his affable self. “This thing is working, Max. The way I see it, we’re kind of like a union.”

  “A union.” Drake scoffed. “What? I get a pension and benefits?”

  “Better. You get someone watching your back. This city’s shitting, Max. They never see us coming. Get this, we even made the nightly news. They’re calling us the Chaos Bandits.”

  Drake shook his head. Sounded like a damned video game. “When do I meet the others?”

  “How about now?”

  Nearing their cars, Drake shoved his hands in his coat pockets as the gang leader paused again. “You don’t like people, Max, and that’s cool. For what I have in mind, you’ll work alone. But to distract the cops, I need every man on my team, so play nice. My boys have already proved themselves. You haven’t. If any one of them says you’re out, you’re out.”

  Drake slid into the Jeep. He followed the gang leader’s car out of the tavern’s parking lot. Play nice. Drake drew his mouth into a sneer. He’d do what he could to fit in. As for playing nice? He’d given that up a long time ago.

  Chapter Eighteen

  In the Op Center’s largest conference room, Joe sat as a representative of the CSPD among people from two other agencies, the El Paso County Sheriff’s Office and the Colorado State Patrol. The three law enforcement bureaus had joined forces to stop the orchestrated robberies and the individuals responsible. So far only one store owner had been injured, but it was only a matter of time.

  Now some media wise-guy had given these criminals a nickname, and it’d stuck. Just what law enforcement needed―for these lowlifes to think of themselves as celebrities. The sensationalism had also fueled the ire of the mayor, city council and county commissioners, which meant if the outbreaks weren’t stopped, and soon, they’d be howling for badges.

  The meeting today was to strategize how the unencumbered agencies could provide backup and resources to their activated law-enforcement counterparts when the 911 calls went down.

  With the city and county growing at inordinate rates, statistics had shown the criminal element encompassed only ten percent of the population. Unfortunately, they tended to find each other, then band together like lint on a sweater.

  At first Joe clung to every syllable, but as the sheriff’s commander rehashed locations on a PowerPoint presentation of the MOs, getaway routes and times that Joe had seared into his brain, his thoughts turned to Ropes’ murder, Drake Maxwell, and naturally, to Mel.

  How had he come to care for her in such a short time? More importantly, sharing a past like they had, why should he want her at all?

  Since dinner Saturday night, he’d done his best to give her space, because she needed it, and because he could use the time to sort out his feelings as well.

  He hadn’t dated much since the divorce, but with the few women he had spent time with, he’d never made even a hint of a suggestive remark. Maybe because he was half-afraid they’d take him up on his offer. Mel had been fun to tease, and seemed as reticent as he about their relationship. Until Thursday night, that was. If she made love the way she kissed. . . Joe rubbed his forehead. Is that what he wanted?

  “Lt. Crandall, do you agree with Lt. Fowler that the lull in the Chaos Bandits’ activities indicates they’ve left town?”

  Good thing the commander repeated the question, because Joe sure as hell hadn’t been paying attention. Left town. He hoped not. If the instigators of the crimes had vanished, it left Joe with a major black mark on an otherwise impeccable record.

  “There’s always that possibility,” he admitted. “However, I suspect they’re lying low, maybe waiting for a greater opportunity. The Springs appears to be the first place they’ve hit. The fact they’ve stayed also indicates something else.”

  “They’re locals?” the commander asked.

  “Maybe,” Joe acknowledged.

  “What’s the something else then?” Sgt. McMurtry from the State Patrol leaned forward, placing his massive arms on the conference table.

  “The fact that they’ve hit Colorado Springs so many times leads me to believe they have a vendetta. Possibly with police.”

  “They’ve done time,” the commander said.

  “Unquestionably. Or someone in their family suffered at the hands of law enforcement.”

  The room grew quiet as Joe’s theory ruminated.

  Lt. Fowler pushed up her wire-rimmed glasses. “Anyone care to speculate where they’ll strike next?” She focused on Joe.

  He shrugged. “My personal theory is since they’ve struck so many times during the night, they’ll aim for day.”

  “I don’t think so,” McMurtry argued. “They don’t like witnesses,”

  “You could be right,” Joe said. He glanced up to see the department secretary standing in the doorway. She waved a message; he shook his head. He’d told her no interruptions. Yet, as she stood unmoving, he surmised the situation was urgent.

  Joe rose from the table. “Not only do I think they’ll strike during the day, I think they’ll lie low until Christmas, where instead of the nighttime, the crowds will be their accomplice. What’s more, because of so many citizens at risk, I think we have an obligation to beef up patrols and undercover operations during this period.”

  At the manpower shortage and overtime costs Joe’s suggestion created, loud grumbles and arguments broke out throughout the entire room.

  His secretary never budged. “Looks like I have to take this, ladies and gentlemen. Don’t wait for me. I’ll catch up.”

  He left the meeting heavy in debate with as little disruption as possible.

  In the hallway, Louise handed him the note. Warden Simon Rivers holding on line three. “He insisted I interrupt, Lieutenant.”

  Pulse quickening, Joe hurried through the maze of cubicles to his office and shut the door. “Warden? Joe Crandall.”

  “You asked me to follow up on Correction Officer Jesse Ropes and any connection to Drake Maxwell.”

  “And?”

  “Prior to Maxwell’s release, Ropes worked on Maxwell’s block.”

  Releasing the breath he’d been holding, Joe said, “Still think my theory’s unlikely?” The remark wasn’t meant to be smug.

  “I’m not ready to panic,” Simon replied. “But I’m leaving nothing to chance. Against my better judgment, I made a phone call to Maxwell’s brother in Riverside.”

  Quite a risk, Joe thought. “Did he tell you anything?”

  “Maxwell did indeed show up in Riverside, but he left.”

  “Left?” Pressure pounded the space between Joe’s eyes.

  “T
hat’s correct.”

  “Did his brother say where he went?”

  “Adam Maxwell said he didn’t know, nor did he care.”

  “You don’t think he’s in California,” Joe said.

  “No. And neither do you.”

  “You didn’t happen to ask―”

  “No, Lieutenant, I asked precisely the questions I told you I did, and then I hung up.”

  “Understood,” Joe said. The risk factor again. Drake Maxwell hadn’t gotten out of prison on parole. He’d been released as an ex-convict. There was a huge difference, and for a warden to check up on him, violated Maxwell’s civil rights, and risked Simon’s job. Hell. The criminal element had more rights than their victims any day of the week. “My next move is a repeat call to the Cañon City Police to see what they’ve learned.”

  “I’d like to be kept informed.” Simon hesitated. “After Luke’s game on Saturday I asked Melanie to marry me.”

  The comment was so out of context with the last, it took a moment to register. When it did, Joe clutched the phone so hard his knuckles turned white.

  “She turned me down.”

  Loosening his grip, Joe exhaled.

  “She says she’s not in love with me, Lieutenant. She says she’s not in love with anyone.”

  A dull ache settled in his throat. Of course, he couldn’t expect her to be in love with him. Not yet. But he’d thought she felt something. Joe stared at the wood patterns in the door.

  “Personally, I don’t believe her,” Simon continued. “I advised her to keep her distance, and made some fairly disparaging remarks about your character to persuade her.”

  “I don’t have time for this discussion,” Joe said heatedly.

  “Make time. I don’t approve of your methods, Lieutenant, and personally, I think I’m the better man for her. But if Maxwell’s on to her, my feelings are irrelevant. My only reason for telling you is, thanks to my remarks, you may have a formidable wall to breach.”

  “Noted.”

  The warden grew quiet, then said, “Should we tell her about Maxwell?”