Serving Up Trouble

by Jill Shalvis

  “I know.” Angie shoved away her melancholy and turned to smile. “I know. And I’ll be fine.”

  “That man, he cares about you. Very much.”

  “He doesn’t want to.”

  “He’s afraid.” When Angie looked at her in surprise, Josephine nodded. “Just because he’s big and tough doesn’t mean he can’t fear. Matters of the heart terrify him. You need to be patient, that’s all. And don’t ever give up, not on some thing you want this much.”

  She did want him. With all her heart she wanted to believe it could happen, but there seemed to be so much stacked against them. “How do you know so much?”

  “I’m ancient, that’s how. Patience, Angie. You don’t have a lot of that, but you need to try.”

  Angie laughed again, and oddly enough, felt a little better.

  “Yes,” said Josephine, slowly nodding, watching her. “This time around you’re going to be just fine.”

  Sam spent the morning with Luke. No less than a dozen times he pulled out his cell phone and started to dial Angie.

  And about a dozen times he swore colorfully and stuck the thing back in his pocket.

  “You always talk dirty to your cell phone?” Luke asked.

  “It’s a new habit.” This was asinine, this in ability to do anything other than think of her. It had to stop.

  But all he could think was, why hadn’t he tried to tell her how much he cared about her?

  He told himself they’d have plenty of time to talk later, and during that later, in which he planned on having her naked and beneath him, he’d try to tell her then.

  If only he could figure out how to put it into words.

  By break time, Angie decided Josephine was right. It was time to go for it, in all aspects of her life. One thing at a time, of course, and first up…her fears.

  With her tips and check in her purse, she headed to the bank. Once there, she wasted a good five minutes on the sidewalk, staring at the building. She told herself she was sweating from the walk, from the sun. Not from fear.

  I’m not afraid of anything anymore.

  Anything but Sam not wanting her love, that is. But she’d done the best she could there, and looking back on it, how she’d fallen so unexpectedly for him, how she’d been open and honest with her feelings, she knew she couldn’t have done anything differently. Wouldn’t have done anything differently.

  Life was to be lived.

  With that, she lifted her chin and walked straight through the doors of the bank, straight toward the teller smiling at her, the teller who thank fully wasn’t the same woman who couldn’t open her drawer during the holdup.

  Angie deposited her money without mishap and, with a relieved breath, walked back through the bank with a genuine smile on her face.

  “Angie.”

  The sun was coming in the doors in such a way that the light sort of haloed the person in front of her. But she didn’t need light to recognize Tony—tall, dark and handsome as ever in his expensive suit, chic sun glasses and smooth smile.

  “Angie. You look—” he ran his gaze down her uniform and held there “—the same.”

  “Do I?” She grinned, because suddenly it seemed very funny. “I’m not.”

  “I’ve called you.”

  And she hadn’t returned the calls. Petty, maybe, but it was her own little way of keeping the power. “I’ve been busy. I’ve gone back to school.”

  He removed his sun glasses. “I didn’t know. That’s fantastic. You’ll be out of that dead-end waitressing job in no time.” His eyes became warmer. “Why don’t you call me when you’re finished? I’ll hook you up with a job in the district.”

  “I’m not going to be an attorney, Tony.”

  His eyes registered surprise. “You’re…not?”

  She kept smiling and shook her head. “I’m going to be an art history teacher with a serious painting hobby.”

  “A…teacher?” He cocked his head, considering, then nodded. “Well, that’s good, too. I approve.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s nice. But I don’t need your approval.” Gently, because after all, at one time she had cared for this man, she set her fingers to his chin to close his mouth.

  Then she waved and walked around him, out of the bank, and onward to the rest of her life.

  Sam and Luke finally got a break when they located John’s roommate…John Manning. They found him serving burritos to high-school kids on lunch break.

  “Welcome to Burrito Palace,” the short, chunky twenty-year-old said to Sam and Luke. “We have lots of specials going. What can I get for you today?”

  Sam flashed him his badge. The punk paled and crossed himself.

  “God isn’t going to help you today, John,” Luke said easily. “I’ll take three tacos though, and—” He caught Sam’s hard stare and sighed. “Never mind. Tell your boss you’re taking a break. A long one.”

  They took him to the station, offered him a deal. They’d be lenient on him if he helped them. Turned out, the kid really was just a disgruntled friend, and not involved in the credit-theft ring. His father provided his college funds, plus he realized a life of crime wouldn’t help his hopeful law career.

  But he did recognize the picture of their suspect, who was apparently also a very ex-friend, and the son of the ringleaders. Tommy some thing or another. John gave them an address, and Luke and Sam got into Luke’s car.

  Following the directions John had given them for Tommy, Sam knew a deepening dread he couldn’t explain. And it wouldn’t go away.

  “This feels very wrong,” Luke said, suddenly and ominously echoing his worries.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish I knew why.”

  “Me too.” Despite his best intentions to the contrary, Sam kept thinking of Angie. It was strange. He’d come to the conclusion he needed to try to tell her how he felt, so why couldn’t he get over the feeling he’d be too late?

  She loved him. She hadn’t let her fears rule her. She’d just come right out and told him.

  So why hadn’t he told her?

  Because he’d let his past color it. He’d told himself, over and over, no woman could or would ever love him as he was, and he’d come to believe it.

  But he’d been wrong, and was still trying to get used to that.

  They came to the end of John’s directions. Both of them looked out the window at the typical Southern California suburbia in front of them. Ranch-style house, in a row of other similar ranch-style homes, all built in the 1970s. Nice yards, most with bikes in the driveway, or other various kid toys. SUVs and flowered yards abounded.

  “Middle-town, U.S.A.,” Luke said, watching a man mow the lawn. “Only things missing are the two-point-four kids playing in the yard.”

  “Yeah.” Sam reached for his radio. “But hell if I can figure out what’s bugging me.” He radioed dispatch to run the place and then they got out of the car.

  No one was home.

  The man mowing the lawn turned out to be the landlord, who, after looking over their badges let them in.

  The kitchen was small, cozy and very clean. On the wall was a portrait of a smiling kid…their suspect.

  “Tommy?” Luke asked.

  “Apparently.” Sam moved on down the hallway, past a few bedrooms that looked orderly and tidy, to a closed door.

  “What are you looking for, some thing obvious like…?” Luke broke off with a long whistle. “Like that, I suppose.”

  The room was a gold mine, lined with shelves filled with bins of mail. All stolen mail, if myriad ad dresses and names on the obvious bills and statements meant anything.

  Another dead giveaway was the state-of-the-art computer equipment along one wall, including special laminating tools of the trade for ID theft.

  “Definitely hit the lottery,” Luke agreed. “Now let’s get out of here and get our search warrant and come back all legal-like, shall we?”

  They were halfway back
to the station when Luke looked at him casually and said, “You have lipstick on the corner of your mouth. Looks like a very pretty shade of berry.”

  Sam licked his lip and tasted Angie. “You might have told me that two hours ago.”

  Luke just grinned. “And ruin your illusion that I have no idea what’s going on between you two?”

  “You don’t have any idea what’s going on.”

  “No, you don’t. Me, now I have a pretty good idea.”

  Before Sam could respond to that, his cell phone rang.

  “Uh…Mr. O’Brien?” said a hesitant voice. “This is John Manning.” The sounds of Burrito Palace came over the line. “Like, I remembered Tommy’s last name. It’s Wilson. Tommy Wilson.”

  At the same moment, dispatch radioed them with the information on the house they’d just been in.

  The renters? Ellie and George Wilson.

  Tommy’s parents. But that was the least of their problems. Sam’s head snapped up as it all clicked into place. “Ellie and George Wilson… God. They’re the couple that runs the book store next to the café where Angie works.”

  Luke shook his head. “Does Angie know them?”

  “She says they’re friends—” He swore again, more viciously now. “Drive, Luke. Drive.”

  Luke had already hit the gas pedal. “Driving.”

  “Faster.” He shoved his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe it. Ellie and George are running the identity-theft ring.”

  “With Tommy.”

  “John’s friend.”

  “Ex-friend,” Luke added.

  “Whom Angie kept seeing going in and out of the alley behind the book store.”

  “Yeah. I bet there’s also an interesting room filled with interesting evidence at the book store.”

  “I’m also betting that Angie identifying John probably pissed his mommy and daddy off but good,” Luke noted grimly. “Enough to make them start terrorizing her.” He dialed Angie’s cell phone.

  “Think they’re all talk?”

  “With how much money they have at stake?” Sam shook his head. “No way.” He swore again and leaned forward, as if that could get them there faster. Pick up, pick up, he silently urged Angie as her phone rang in his ear.

  When she finally answered, he sagged in relief, flooded with so many emotions he could barely get his tongue wrapped around the words he needed. “Angie. Thank God.”

  “Sam?” Her voice changed, became a bit un certain, and Sam cursed himself for that. She didn’t know where they stood, and that was his fault.

  They had plenty to talk about. Mostly he had plenty to talk about, but that would have to wait now. “The case,” he managed, more unnerved than he could ever remember being. “We ID’d the kid.”

  “The suspect?”

  “Yeah.” They caught both a red light and traffic. Damn it. “Angie, I don’t have time to tell you every thing right now—”

  “It’s okay.” Her voice was even enough, but he heard the hurt. “Goodbye, Sam.”

  “No, wait! You need to stay at work. Okay? Wait right there for me.”

  “I never wanted to be your responsibility.”

  “I know, but that’s not what I meant. I’m almost there—”

  “Look, Sam…” She lowered her voice to the soft whisper that always made his heart leap. “I didn’t tell you I love you to hurt you, or make you feel obligated in any way.”

  “I know that, I—”

  “I just wanted to share it, to tell you how I feel. That’s all.”

  “Angie.” He spoke through his teeth. “I’m on my way to get to you. Just stay right where you are. Don’t leave the café.”

  “But I already did.”

  He went very still. “What?”

  “I went to the bank. I had to, really, but guess what? I made it without panicking. I even ran into Tony, which was nice because it was sort of a closure thing, and—”

  “Angie.” He closed his eyes, gripped the dash. “I want to hear all this. I swear, I do. Just later. Where are you now?”

  “I’m on my break.”

  He tried to remain calm. “Where exactly are you on your break?”

  “Just right next door…at the book store.”

  Chapter 12

  Angie shifted her cell phone to her shoulder, cranked her neck to hold it in place, and at tempted to balance the books she had spread in her lap so that she could hear Sam better.

  She sat in the self-help section, trying to decide which part of her life needed the most help. She had The Guide To A Complete Make-Over, How To Deal With Alpha Men and Using The Star Alignment To Your Favor pulled out so far, and figured at best one of them applied to her.

  Maybe all of them.

  Then she’d heard Sam’s voice and her stomach had dropped. He sounded so serious, so tense, and suddenly, in that one horrifying moment, she understood.

  He was trying to tell her he couldn’t see her again.

  “Angie?”

  “It’s okay,” she said, gripping the phone and trying to make it true. “I know what this is about.”

  “You do?”

  “Yes, and listen…I understand.” Well, not really, but she could try. “I’m fine.”

  “She’s in the book store,” she heard him say to Luke, who swore as colorfully as Sam had. “Baby, listen,” he said to her now. “Get out of the store.”

  Baby. He’d called her baby. A man who was about to dump her, a man who sounded very intent, very focused…would he call her baby? “I’m studying.”

  “Drop everything and get out.”

  “But—”

  “Where are you exactly?”

  Angie looked at the aisle header that read Self-Improvement and decided that was just too pathetic. “Uh…in the nonfiction section.”

  “Alone?”

  She looked around, puzzled. “Completely.”

  “Get the hell out. Don’t hang up, I want to talk to you while you do it. Are you moving yet?”

  Trusting him implicitly, even if he was going to break her heart, she set the books out of her lap. “Working on it.”

  “Okay, good. Keep moving, faster now. I’ll be there in person in about seven minutes. Are you at the exit?”

  Oh yes, he was intense. And very, very serious. But now she could hear the rest, could hear what else was in his voice, stopping her heart.

  Pure fear.

  She gripped the phone as she started out of the aisle. “Sam, what’s the matter?”

  “Just tell me you’re out of the store, in the street in broad daylight with a throng of people around you.”

  “Not yet.” His fear was conftagious, and though she had no idea what he was dealing with, she kept moving. “Hold on a sec, I’m going to put you in my pocket so I can balance my stuff better.” She slid the phone into the front pocket on her denim skirt, making it easier to balance her purse and the school books she’d intended to study before she’d been side tracked by the self-help section.

  Now all she had to do was get down the front stairs and outside. Then he’d feel better, and she could find out what was going on.

  She came around the end of the aisle and plowed right into… “Ellie,” she said in surprise. “I’m just—”

  “Coming with me,” the older woman said, and grabbed her wrist. “I have some thing to show you.”

  “You do?” Angie wondered which book had come in to make Ellie so eager. Her eyes were glowing and her cheeks flushed. She looked more excited than Angie had ever seen her.

  But Sam had been adamant. She was to get out of the store. “Ellie, I have to go, I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t think you understand. This way, please.”

  Because Angie was surprised at her adamance, Ellie managed to get her halfway down the next aisle and near the back office before she dug in her feet. “You’re hurting my wrist.”

  “Well, that would make us closer to even then, my dear, because you’re hurting me, too. In fact,
you’re killing me.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “And I thought you were such an innocent.”

  The suddenly vicious tone from Ellie’s mouth surprised Angie, so much so that she hesitated, which gave Ellie the advantage.

  The older woman dug her nails into Angie’s arm and jerked. When Angie opened her mouth, maybe to scream—she really had no idea—Ellie did something even more un expected.

  She pulled out a gun.

  Angie stared at it, then lifted her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “You will.” Ellie moved behind her and shoved. Angie nearly fell forward but caught herself and started to turn around.

  That’s when Ellie shoved the gun into her spine. “Don’t move,” she said quite conversationally, “or I’ll be forced to kill you. A shame that would be—I’ve just had these carpets done.”

  Angie swallowed hard against her rising fear. The barrel of the gun felt as if it were jabbing right through her flesh, but she knew it was nothing compared to what an actual bullet would do.

  As it had in the bank holdup, Angie’s sense of absurdity seemed to take over. She was wearing new panties today, thank God, though that was more in Sam’s honor than anything else, as she’d had high plans for the evening ahead.

  She’d watered her plants just that morning. And, oh yes, she’d gone to the bank. No checks would bounce.

  Good, that was good.

  But God, oh dear God, she wanted to live. She wanted to finish school. Paint. Teach.

  Love Sam.

  He was in her pocket, on the cell phone. Had he disconnected? No, he wouldn’t, not when he’d so clearly wanted to hold on while she left the store—

  He’d known. He’d known and had tried to get her out of here. What was it he’d said? He was only seven minutes away. That had been at least three minutes ago, hadn’t it?

  Ellie cocked the gun.

  He’d be listening, horrified, helpless. A man like Sam would really hate to feel helpless. He’d blame himself.

  Well, she just couldn’t let anything happen, that was all. She’d find a way to keep Ellie talking until she could run free or somehow get control of the gun.

  I love you, Sam. No matter what happens, I love you.