Donnell Ann Bell

by Donnell Ann Bell

  “Tell her you’ll be with me,” Joe had said, tempted to yank the phone out of the kid’s hand and explain the whole horrible debacle she’d overheard outside his office.

  But what was there to explain?

  Melanie had understood precisely what had been discussed just minutes before her arrival.

  Joe was bitterly disappointed that their lunch had been disrupted, and at the thought of others enjoying her company, and not him, damn envious. Her demeanor outside his office had made it clear they were back to where they’d started.

  He headed upstairs. Maybe he’d shake off the doldrums in the shower. Hell of a choice to make when you got right down to it. Should he fight for the woman he was falling in love with, or the badge he’d worn for twenty-two years?

  “Okay, girlfriend,” Karlee said. “Let’s get you buckled in, what do you say?”

  Light-headed, tipsy and in no condition to argue, Mel acquiesced as Karlee fastened her into the backseat of Karlee’s car.

  “She’s really out of it,” Chloe Johnson, another Pinnacle employee, said.

  “I heard that,” Mel replied, pressing a palm to her forehead.

  “Open your eyes,” Karlee ordered. “If you keep them closed while we’re moving, everything will start spinning.”

  Mel opened one eye. Her tongue felt thick, like it needed to go on a diet. “I know that. What’d that bartender put in those drinks anyhow?”

  “Alcohol.” Chloe giggled and climbed into the passenger side of Karlee’s 4-Runner. “So what? You had a good time.”

  Karlee started the car. “I’ll say. This is the best going away party Craig and I’ve ever been to. Who knew Mel could loosen up like that?”

  She grimaced. “Uh, exactly how loose did I get?”

  “Not bad. You danced and did a mean karaoke.”

  Oh, yeah. She’d had fun dancing and loved the karaoke. It was Eighties’ Night, and she’d pretended to be one of the Bangles as she belted out Walk Like an Egyptian. “That was fun.”

  As Karlee drove, Mel did her best to keep her eyes open, even if it was one at a time.

  Chloe twisted and peered over the passenger seat. “I think your trouble began when you mixed drinks. You started out with wine, then that guy bought you a rum and coke.”

  “Three rum and cokes,” Karlee qualified.

  “You’re right, that was dumb.” Pressing fingertips to her temples, Mel leaned forward. Where the hell was the floor? “I was only trying to be polite. The man’s serving our country.”

  “Oh, you were polite.” Karlee rounded a curve, causing Mel’s stomach to lurch. “His name is Roger, by the way, and I think he’s ready to propose.”

  “Oh, no.” She groaned. “I didn’t―”

  “No. You danced with him, that’s all. But he was relentless about asking for your number.”

  “Did I give it to him?” Mel squeezed her eyes closed, and as Karlee predicted, the vehicle spun. Instantly, she reopened them.

  Somewhere in her alcohol-induced haze, she reflected on Simon’s warning to keep a low profile. Some low profile. The way she’d imbibed tonight and lost her inhibitions, she’d risen from nobody to celebrity status.

  “I don’t know. But he is a nice guy. He’s Craig’s best friend. He’s a captain stationed at Peterson,” Karlee said.

  “Great. An officer.” An image of Joe snapped in her brain and she frowned. “Make a note of it, ladies, I’m through with officers.”

  Karlee took another turn.

  Once again, Mel’s stomach rolled, but soon the 4-Runner came to a stop in a place that looked vaguely familiar. Mel gazed out the window and urged the world into focus. Then she smiled. “My house. Where did it come from?”

  Joe descended the stairs to do one last check before bed and to set the alarm. Matt and Luke were in the living room stretched out on their stomachs, watching some horror flick.

  From the entryway, Matt called, “Dad, know what? Luke’s never been skiing.”

  Sensing what was coming next, Joe paused in the doorway. “Maybe we’ll take him some time.”

  With Luke pretending his focus was on the movie, and not on every word, Matt said, “Why can’t we take him on Wednesday? We’ll be back by Christmas Eve.”

  Joe hadn’t mentioned he wasn’t planning on spending the nights. He’d ski during the day, come home in the evenings. He and Karen might not have been suited emotionally, but there’d never been anything wrong with their physical relationship.

  “His mom might want him around,” Joe argued. “Besides, I know beyond a doubt your mom wants to spend time with you.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the disgruntled boy said. He returned his attention to the movie, dismissing Joe by turning up the volume.

  Joe left the room as a character in the film emitted a blood-curdling scream.

  The slam of car doors stopped him from keying in the alarm code. The small rectangular window next to the entry provided a poor vantage point, so he opened the front door. Much as he’d tried not to, he’d checked periodically to see if additional lights were on in Mel’s house.

  His gaze honed in on two women pulling a third from a dark-colored SUV, and when he realized whom they were hauling, he stepped onto the porch, quickly recognizing a non-threatening situation. Amid giggles and shushes, three soused women stumbled their way up the walk. He considered leaving them to their fun, until the smaller female lost her balance. Mel landed on her ass and every dog in the neighborhood started barking. A light across the street switched on. Knowing Mrs. Kearney, it wouldn’t be long before she called him, or worse, 911.

  Joe shook his head. He’d wanted Mel to have a good time. It appeared she’d had too good a time. Grateful someone had sense enough to take her keys, he made his way next door.

  “Help me get her up, Chloe. And be quiet,” the tallest of the trio said. “On three...”

  “Yes, be quiet,” Mel slurred in an overloud voice.

  Unsuccessfully, her friends tried to bring her to her feet. Flat on her back, she gazed up at them. “You guys are good friends, but you’re not very strong.”

  Fifteen years ago, seeing her in such a state wouldn’t have surprised him. Watching the reformed version of Melanie Daniels Norris was almost comical. Still, it was late and noise was a factor. He stepped forward, crossed his arms over his chest and said, “Can I be of assistance?”

  Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, the two standing women whirled on him.

  The one drunk on her butt brought herself up on her elbows. Shaking her head, she placed a finger to her lips. “Shhh. Don’t tell him anything. He’s a cop. If he thinks we’ve been drinking, he’ll arrest us.”

  He gave her a cursory glance. “You have been drinking.” Then acknowledging the woman who appeared the most sober of the group, he said, “You must be Karlee.”

  She smiled. “You must be Joe.”

  He nodded. “Have fun tonight?”

  “We had a blast.”

  “Sorry to see you go.”

  “Yeah, well, when you’re military it’s SOP.”

  Mel glared between the two. “Excuse me! Remember me? Are you guys gonna leave me down here all night or what?”

  Joe lifted his eyes to the sky. “Want me to take her off your hands?”

  “I don’t know, Joe. She’s pretty mad at you.”

  His offer brought Mel up as far as her knees. “That’s right. And for your information, Lt. Crandall, we’re doing just fine.” She tried to stand upright, but failed.

  “I can see that.” Ignoring her protests, he scooped her into his arms, catching her subtle perfume and the evident whiff of booze. “Anybody got her purse?”

  The petite blonde stepped forward. “Right here, along with her coat.”

  “Dig through
her stuff, will you? See if you can find her keys.”

  Karlee still wasn’t certain. “If I let you take her, she’s not going to be very happy with me come morning.”

  “Can you get her upstairs?”

  Her friend looked hesitantly at Mel, then toward the house. “Not very likely. In her present condition, she’s dead weight.”

  “Traitor,” Mel mumbled, then dropped her head on Joe’s shoulder. “Put me down,” she added weakly. “How can you take sides with him?”

  “Be quiet, or I will arrest you,” Joe said. But Mel was no longer paying attention. She’d already drifted off and started to snore.

  Joe shook his head. “Let’s hope tomorrow morning, she doesn’t remember a thing. “Give me a hand?”

  Chloe carried Mel’s purse while Karlee unlocked the front door. Glad Melanie had found such protective friends, Joe nodded his thanks. As the front door swung open, he said, “Thanks, ladies, I can take it from here.

  As her friends headed toward their car, he overheard Chloe say, “He can take it from here with me any day.”

  Joe allowed himself a half smile. But only for a moment. He tightened his hold, and from the glow of her porch light studied Mel’s drunken, angelic face. God, he wanted her. Too bad he saw no way of that happening.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Drake never got Ramirez alone the night of their celebration. But true to his word, the next afternoon, the gang leader invited Drake to tag along to the Colorado Springs Airport. On their way to pick up Maria, he pled his case. Seated in the passenger side of Ramirez’s low rider, Drake explained why the gang leader should rethink the Liberty National Bank heist, and more importantly, the timing.

  Staring straight ahead as he drove, Ramirez remained unreadable. “We’ll take this up with the others. We work as a team.”

  A team?

  While he and Ramirez took on the federally insured financial institution, the gang would be hitting smaller targets to disrupt the cops. When the 911 calls went down, who the hell did Ramirez think the cops would go after?

  The woman who’d screwed his brains out two weeks ago barely gave him a nod when she slid into the car, which did little to improve his mood. But when her brother wasn’t looking, she winked. Drake grew hard right then and there. Perhaps later that night, he’d find a way to be alone with her.

  Ramirez pulled into the drive and cut the engine. “The others will be here in less than an hour. You’ll explain your position then.”

  Drake remained silent, but later, as he sat with a bunch of loser ex-cons, and Ramirez talked to them like he was a fucking CEO and they were shareholders, Drake knew it was time to blow this place.

  “About Christmas Eve,” Ramirez began. “Max has some concerns.” Eyeing Drake, he said, “Tell them, amigo.”

  Emotionlessly, Drake laid out his observations about why he wanted to scout a new site and extend their deadline.

  Most of the men in the room kept their thoughts to themselves. One man, though, a scrawny dude named Sanchez, stared at Drake from across the table. His already unsmiling face drew into a scowl. “Is that right? So a plan we’ve hatched for weeks just doesn’t feel right? Fuck you. I’m going broke sitting around.”

  Drake returned the man’s glare. Over the past few weeks, he’d formed the impression Sanchez believed himself Ramirez’s second in command. That role had changed, however, as soon as Drake came on the scene. Ramirez no longer solicited Sanchez’s opinion; what’s more, Ramirez and Drake often had private meetings, as in today’s trip to the airport.

  Evidently, Sanchez had noticed.

  “It’s not a feeling. The cops have the place marked.” Drake nodded to the man next to him. “Mercer came with me when I cased the bank yesterday.”

  Ramirez acknowledged the burly black man. “Merce?”

  “Could be,” he admitted. “The guy Max fingered filled out a deposit slip, but I never saw him approach a teller.”

  “So he’s got you spooked, too, ese?” Sanchez’s stare included the rest of the men at the table. “Before Maxwell showed up, we did just fine. Now he wants to change things. I say we stick to the plan. I also say he’s a gringo coward who’s afraid of going back to the slammer.”

  Knocking back his chair, Drake grabbed Sanchez by the collar. He jerked him over the tabletop. Men scrambled, while plates, cups and silverware flew everywhere.

  Shoving the bastard against the wall, Drake wrapped his hands around the slimy prick’s throat. “Damn straight I’m afraid of going back to prison. And it ain’t gonna happen because I walked into a trap. Fifteen fucking years, Sanchez.” Like always, the convenience store robbery flashed in his brain, and he relived Melanie’s betrayal. “What’d you do in the joint, you piece of shit, eight months?” Much like he’d done with Ropes, Drake wanted to kill this guy, end his association with these losers.

  Something sharp pressed against his ribcage. “Let him go, Max.”

  This was it. His life was over. But fear for his existence couldn’t match his intense anger. Pivoting, he threw Sanchez against the gang leader and made a break for the door. Sanchez screamed, leaving Drake to suspect Ramirez’s knife had found the wrong mark.

  Now that he’d crossed Ramirez, Drake was a dead man.

  Without looking back, he raced for the Jeep, and didn’t ease his foot from the gas until he was halfway to Denver.

  With each passing mile, however, he regained control. He’d done it again. Out and out lost his mind. If he’d kept his cool, he might’ve talked Ramirez’s gang into waiting to pull the bank job. But now? Drake was on his own, with limited money and no connections.

  Sweat trickled down his face as he considered his next move. Hiding from the cops would be child’s play compared to hiding from Ramirez and his gang. At least the cops had procedures. Ramirez had his own brand of justice, and Drake had violated a cardinal rule by turning on the leader and walking out. His prepaid cell phone rang, startling him and very nearly causing him to swerve into oncoming traffic. He checked the number and recognized Ramirez’s number.

  Shit! Should he answer? Hear the gang leader confirm that he’d put out a hit, and very soon Drake would be no more than an unidentified body on a slab in the morgue?

  The call went to voice mail, but just as quickly rang again.

  He pictured Ramirez’s taunting face. Sanchez was right to call you a gringo coward, Max. It would do no good to show fear. On the contrary, if he answered, it might persuade Ramirez to back away and cut his losses. Belligerently, Drake answered, “What?”

  “Where you at, Max?”

  Watching the northbound road, he scoffed. “Lost, man, no telling.”

  “Scared?”

  Drake swallowed hard. He was friggin’ terrified. “What do you want?”

  “We got us a job to do, man, and you walked out on me.”

  Drake squinted against the lights of oncoming traffic.

  “The way I see it, you can come back and make things right, or I can send out the word and have you chopped up into little pieces.”

  Drake sped up to pass a semi. “And how do I know I won’t be puréed the moment I return? No thanks, I’ll take my chances on the street.”

  “You’re one crazy son of a bitch, Max, but you’re a smart S.O.B. We had a good plan till you went off half-cocked. The way I look at it, I just need to rein in that crazy streak of yours to make our partnership work.”

  Partnership. That was a first. Up until now, Ramirez had made it clear his word was law. “You got my attention.”

  “These other guys, Max, we need them because they’re decoys. After we take the bank, they’re on their own. I didn’t tell you cuz I thought you knew. How many dudes I let sleep in my sister’s basement?”

  Slowing the Jeep to the speed limit, Drake couldn’t dispute th
e fact.

  “You and me, Max, we’re the brains of this operation. Find me another bank and we move on your say so. But we’ve come too far to let this go now. What do you say?”

  Drake pulled into a rest stop near Larkspur. He opened the glove box and examined the easy-to-conceal Derringer the arms’ dealer had sold him. He leaned back his head as his thoughts swirled into a frenzied panic. Was this a trap? Would Ramirez slit his throat the moment Drake walked in?

  “How do I know I can trust you?”

  “I could’ve killed you tonight,” Ramirez said. “I stopped Sanchez from following you. The men, they’re behind you, Max. We’re ready to do this.”

  “Even Sanchez?” Drake asked.

  There was a slight pause in the conversation. “Well, maybe not Sanchez.”

  “If I come back, I’ll end up killing the motherfucker.”

  “I don’t think so. That’s another reason you gotta come back,” Ramirez said. “I saved you the trouble. Sanchez wouldn’t compromise. I need you to help me get rid of the body.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Inside one of two cars gracing Coronado’s dark, abandoned parking lot, Mel sat waiting for Luke to finish his workout.

  Not one other player had shown up for open gym.

  Who could blame them? Two days before Christmas, most likely they were with family and friends. Not so for Luke or Coach Hood. Luke wanted to make up for his lapse in judgment. The coach obviously planned to let him.

  She glanced at her watch. By now, Karen Crandall’s plane had touched down. Had Joe taken one look at his ex-wife and daughter and wondered how he’d ever let them go? Had he and Karen looked longingly into each other’s eyes and felt the rekindling of a love gone bad?

  Weighed down by depression, Mel sighed. She had to stop this negative thinking. She had no claim on Joe, and after the humiliating scene outside his office, as well as her drunken abandonment of common sense last night, she doubted he would speak to her even in passing.

  She remembered Karlee and Chloe bringing her home last night, and vaguely remembered Joe discovering them in her front yard. What she couldn’t remember were the events that followed afterward, or why she’d awoken in her bedroom. With her head threatening to split wide open, she’d sat up carefully to find herself minus her clothes, with her jeans and sweater folded neatly on her cedar chest. On the nightstand beside her, two aspirins and a glass of water were waiting, along with Joe’s note, “Feel better.”