by Alana Terry
Dad’s suspicions could have been founded. What if Anatoly had killed Jim because he was connected with that bank heist case? And what if...Katie gasped, forgetting she was on camera.
“Sis, what’s going on? You’re white as a sheet.”
She described the note to him, and he jumped to the same conclusion she had.
“So this Anatoly might have killed Jim, then taken out our own dad. For a bank stash that’s gone missing.” His green-gold eyes darkened. “Sis, I feel like I need to be there with you. Where’s Molly? Is she safe?”
“She doesn’t seem to be a target right now for some reason. Seems like they’ve honed in on me.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t make sense. But if I were there, I could divert attention...then meet those punks with a rocket launcher or something.”
She laughed. “Brandon, this isn’t one of your shooter video games. This is real life. And I have a bodyguard.”
He leaned in, winking. “Now him Molly told me about. Tall, dark, and handsome—that about cover it?”
Sighing, she decided to play along. “Yup. Undeniably handsome and nice.”
Brandon crinkled his nose, something he did when he was unsure of the situation. “You be careful. Maybe you can’t even trust him.”
“I can. He’s already protected me from danger a couple of times. Why would he do that if he was some kind of mobster?”
“I don’t know. But I watch a lot of murder mysteries. It’s always the last one you suspect.”
“No one’s been murdered. Well, at least no one we’re sure of.”
“Let’s keep it that way,” he said.
AS THE MORNING LIGHT trickled in through the white wooden blinds, Ace groaned. His boss was showing up at three this afternoon. Ace had arranged to meet him at the overgrown, ramshackle warehouse he’d noticed on the way to the storage facility.
Before then, he had to wheedle out of Katie any remaining hiding places and search them. Then he could say with confidence the money was nowhere to be found in the McClure household. Surely his boss would take his word for it and leave them alone.
Wouldn’t he?
There were no guarantees. This whole business was dicey, from start to finish.
He took extra care as he got dressed—placing one gun in a hip holster, one in an ankle holster, and a small Ruger .380 in a belly band, just in case. He slid a throwing knife into a leg sheath, then slipped on his neck chain that concealed another knife. He would be ready if his boss had any funny business in mind.
He put on a looser-fitting oxford shirt and pants, hoping to project a relaxed vibe while covering his mini arsenal. Striding out into the pale morning light, he followed the path to the McClures’ front porch and knocked. Smells of fresh coffee, cinnamon, and nutmeg assailed him as the door swung open.
Molly, dressed in a fitted skirt that accentuated her curves, stood inside the door. Her red platform heels boosted her to his chin height. She draped her arms around him in a loose hug. He automatically stepped back so she wouldn’t bump into the weapons on his chest. Could the woman scream available any louder?
“Aren’t you looking dapper this morning?” She grinned, taking stock of him from head to toe. “And what are you two up to today?”
Katie emerged from the kitchen, hair tossed into a loose, off-kilter knot. She wore what looked like a boy’s Pac-Man T-shirt and acid-washed jeans. Could the sisters be more different?
Katie sipped at her steaming mug. “I thought of one last place we could check. Come on in and have some breakfast. Mom picked up some real maple syrup this time around.” She winked.
He nodded, thankful for her lighter demeanor. Molly’s heated stare was making him uncomfortable. Since when did a beautiful woman’s attention bother him in a bad way? Since Katie, that’s when.
As they joined Mrs. McClure at the table, Molly lathered butter on her French toast and jabbed her fork in the air. “Well, you two be careful, whatever you’re doing. It’s ridiculous that some freak is trying to kill my sister. I swear to you, if I knew how to use guns, I would be dangerous!”
“Probably why Dad never taught you,” Katie murmured.
He nearly choked on his coffee. He’d never met a librarian with such a wicked sense of humor.
AFTER MOLLY SWIRLED out of the kitchen with her usual flair, Mom stood, excusing herself. “I’m going to a Bible study with Jeannie this morning. It’s been too long since I’ve made time for one.”
“Maybe I’ll go with you sometime...after things calm down,” Katie said. She really did need some accountability.
Mom nodded, giving them a winsome smile. “Stay safe today.”
The moment they were alone, Katie lowered her voice. “I stayed up last night thinking about hiding places. Dad sometimes went to the attic, I remember. It’s just a crawlspace, really, but there might be something up there.”
He nodded. “Good idea. We’ll check it out. By the way, I have to head over to town later to pick up that glass panel for your door. Shouldn’t take me long. I’ve lined up for a police patrol unit to sit outside your house starting at two-thirty. They’ll stay until I get back.”
Leaving her alone? He was just casually taking off? She drilled her gaze into his. It didn’t take him long to get the message.
“Katie, I wouldn’t leave you alone unless I was sure you’d be okay. You have the Sig. You’ll have a patrol car outside.”
“What if they come through the woods, into the back door?”
“Sit in the living room, where you can get out fast. Lock all the doors. Your mom should be back by then, right? So you won’t be completely alone.”
She may as well be. Mom was barely better than Molly in an emergency. She had a habit of passing out when her kids bled. The time Brandon sliced his finger with a razor, Katie had been the one who drove him to the E.R.—on her learner’s permit. And forget about guns. Mom had no interest in handling one, though she was admittedly handy with her Emeril kitchen knives.
“It’s okay,” she said, mentally talking herself down. She was not going to be paralyzed with fear. After all, someday Ace would have to leave them—maybe someday soon. If only those cops would track down Anatoly’s thugs, maybe the McClures could start to get back to normal.
He gave her a concerned look, but she ignored it.
“We’d better check the attic while Mom’s gone.” She clomped down the hall, not caring if she looked as unwieldy as a lame elephant. Grabbing a stepstool from Dad’s office, she placed it under the attic door and tried to grab at the dangling rope pull. It was just a little too high.
“Allow me.” Catching up to her, he offered a slight flourish and a bow.
She shrugged, stepping aside.
He climbed on the stool, pulling the rope and easing the built-in ladder down to the floor. “Are you able to climb up?”
Heat rose in her cheeks. “I’m not handicapped. Just lame. Of course I can get up there.” In reality, she had never gone upstairs before and had no idea if her bum foot would hold her weight.
Noting his apprehensive look, she continued. “In fact, I’ll head up first.” Clinging to one step at a time, she slowly made her way to the top. Once inside the rectangular opening, she screwed in the light bulb to illuminate the tight space. Moving to the side floorboards, she motioned to him, trying not to ponder how she’d ever get back down.
After placing a couple guns on the floor, he climbed up. She tried not to notice as he contorted to squeeze his wide upper body through the narrow opening. Once he was settled on the opposite side, his clean, cedar scent drifted her way. His dress shirt looked rumpled and his hair did, too.
He smiled, his face only half-lit by the dim bulb. “Let’s get to work,” he said.
But his lingering smile said something else.
THEY HAD GONE THROUGH three bins stuffed with Christmas paraphernalia Mom had probably forgotten she owned. There was only one left.
Ace dug into it, retrieving a worn leather ba
seball mitt and baseball. “What’s this?”
She leaned in for a closer look. “This was probably the baseball stuff Dad gave Brandon. But Brandon never used it—he was born to play soccer, he said. Tough head and all that.”
He laughed, fingering the laces. “This is really old-school. Wouldn’t my dad love to see this!”
A brainstorm hit her. “I can ask Brandon, but I know my brother, and he could care less about those things. I think you’d be welcome to take it all.”
Resting the mitt and ball in his lap, he plunged an arm into the tissue-paper packed bin, retrieving a plastic bag containing a pile of baseball cards. “These too, you think?”
“Oh sure. Hang on—let me text Brandon.”
She did, and just as she suspected, received a quick reply:
Brandon: No problem, give them to the bodyguard. Just symbolic of how little Dad cared about my preferences. Now someone else can enjoy that junk.
Not exactly eloquent, but honest. “They’re all yours,” she said.
Nodding, Ace began to pull the tissue paper out. “Looks like this is it...whatever this is at the bottom...” He extracted an oversized purple stuffed panda bear.
“Poopsie!” she exclaimed.
“Excuse me?”
“I mean, that’s Poopsie. My purple panda Poopsie. I wondered where he went!” She grabbed the stuffed animal, dust sifting into the air around them. “Dad won him for me at the fair one year. Molly was so jealous that she didn’t get one. She made Brandon win her a real goldfish instead, then it wound up dying a week later.”
He laughed. A timer on his watch beeped and he anxiously glanced at it. “Sorry, but I need to get moving. The police unit will be showing up any minute now. And I want to help you get down the stairs, even though I know you can probably do it yourself. Am I right in thinking you want Poopsie to accompany you?”
She grinned. “Sure thing.”
By the time Mom came in asking about the police car, the attic was closed up and Ace was heading out the door. He waved, promising to return as soon as he could.
It was only then she let it sink in: there was no bank heist money in the house. Maybe there never was any money. What kind of daughter was she to suspect her father stole it in the first place?
Chapter 8
THE CRUMBLING ROOF on the faded stucco building looked ready to collapse. Ace was glad he was the first to show up, so he could better examine the layout. Kicking open the splintered wooden door, he saw he wasn’t the first to use this place for nefarious purposes. Beer cans, cigarette butts, and a moldy mattress decorated the interior.
After checking the large room, he situated himself toward the back, near a window with no glass. He could bail out that way if he had to, even though it would be quite a drop into the creek below. He had just finished checking his guns when the door burst open.
His boss was alone, or so it seemed. Peering out the front, Ace could only see one black car. Probably had a driver inside, maybe one or two extra gunmen at the most.
“Ace Calhoun. My favorite ex-inmate. How ya doin’?”
He hated the false charm this man always showed. From his too-toothy grin to his all-American good looks, he was a total fake.
Fake enough to fool the FBI, in fact. And his partner, Sean McClure.
“Jim.” He nodded.
“You been enjoying time with that McClure redhead? Always a bit of a spitfire, that one. Kind of nosy about my visits to her dad’s boat. Good ol’ Sean, wouldn’t he roll in his grave if he saw me alive? He was so sure someone had whacked me.”
Ace’s stomach turned at the casual way Jim Chrisman spoke of his deceased FBI partner. He was becoming more and more convinced that Sean hadn’t been in on the theft.
Jim continued. “You searched that boat, didn’t you? I told you where I put it. You check there?”
Ace uncrossed his arms and dropped them to his sides, ready to draw and fire if he had to. “Sure did. One of the first places I looked. It wasn’t in the built-in bench.”
He braced himself for Jim’s wrath, but it didn’t come. Instead, an ominous silence fell. The calm before the storm?
Jim smiled even wider. “No problem. I take it you’ve searched the house?”
“In its entirety.”
He stood watchful, waiting for Jim to give some kind of signal. It would be easy enough for his boss to cut his losses and have him killed right here.
Jim stalked closer and Ace recoiled. The man laughed. “Cool your jets. Didn’t I spring you from jail? I’m your savior. Now you are gonna pay me back. Out of the goodness of my heart, I’ve decided to give you a couple more days. I’m staying over at The Greenbrier, keeping a close eye on that piece of work, Molly. That one grew up real nice.”
Ace wanted to punch his lights out.
Jim smirked. “That hurt your feelings, Calhoun? Well, try this on for size. You don’t hand me the money in two days, and I’m gonna get cozy with the grieving widow McClure. Esther Sue always did have a soft spot for me, and I’m sure she’d be glad if I came out of—” here he offered air quotes—’government hiding.’ I remember all those nights we sat around the family bonfire, unburdening our hearts to one another.” He grunted. “Ours could be a marriage made in heaven. By the way, she will marry me, whether she wants to or not. Now, I can’t actually say what might happen to those sisters if they get in my way. And the brother...well, he never liked his dad much. Maybe he needs a new one?”
Before he could stop himself, Ace slammed both fists into Jim’s chest, sending the shorter man reeling. “You’re going to stay out of their lives,” he breathed.
Immediately, two armed men entered the room, blocking the door. Jim coughed.
“Don’t get fresh with me. I will not get out of their lives, or out of yours, until I have that stash. I know it’s around because I hid it myself. No way Sean could’ve spent all that, and it’s not in his accounts. You are going to get to it before Anatoly does, or you’ll die trying.”
There was no choice. Either he would be the bad guy or Jim would, and he couldn’t stomach Jim getting anywhere near the McClures.
“Two days,” he agreed.
Jim rubbed at his chest, obviously sore. “I’ll see you back here at the same time. And, hey—at our next get-together? My men won’t be so shy.” He waved his goons out the door, stalking out behind them.
Ace stayed frozen in place, barely breathing until the car pulled away. Then he strode out, slamming the rotting door and unlocking his Lexus.
The Lexus his boss was paying for.
He had to retrench and find that money. As he saw it, he had one last-ditch option, and it was a bold one.
The light was about to shine into the darkness and blind them all.
MOM HAD BUSIED HERSELF with laundry, doubtless convincing herself that there was nothing dangerous afoot. Katie sat on the couch, Sig at the ready, observing the police car out the front window. She really needed a glass of sweet tea and a sandwich, but she wasn’t about to leave her watchful post.
The welcome sight of Ace’s sleek grey Lexus nearly brought tears to her eyes. “He’s here!” she shouted to no one in particular. After struggling to get up and get her foot moving, she made her way to the front door to meet him.
But he didn’t knock. She moved to the window and caught a glimpse of his back and arm as he pulled the apartment door closed behind him. What was he doing? Maybe he was going to install the glass in the door, or maybe he was hungry.
She texted him:
Katie: We have plenty of food over here if you want some lunch.
She continued to stand by the window as the police unit slowly pulled away. Leaning on her good leg, she watched the apartment door for a solid ten minutes before giving up. No text. No sign of Ace.
What had happened?
AFTER UNLOADING AND storing most of his weapons, Ace stripped to his T-shirt and threw himself onto the couch, letting his endorphin high slowly ebb away. He pictured
waves on a Caribbean beach, a pastel-painted cottage he could rent with his payout from this job. Or a relaxing weekend in Connecticut in the fall, taking in the sights.
Only thing was, Katie’s flaming hair and smiling face intruded into each vision.
He had to get real. There was only one way for him to get out of here alive, and that was to find the money.
Reading over Katie’s text, he made a decision. Uncomfortable as it was, embarrassing as it was, he had go through with it.
It was time to come clean to Esther Sue McClure.
HE MADE MINIMAL EYE contact as he ate his late lunch of a grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. Katie seemed to want to talk, but what could he say? That he’d just returned from a meeting with her dad’s fake-dead partner? That a crooked FBI agent had gotten him out of prison early so he’d be in his debt?
Anxiety seemed to emanate from Katie, from her nervous finger-tapping to her frequent glances out the window. Of course she was worried—she hadn’t found the money for Anatoly’s men. Just like he hadn’t found it for Jim.
Esther Sue finished her sandwich and stood. “I need to switch my laundry over. Excuse me.”
Ace stood as well, trying to ignore Katie’s startled look. “Mrs. McClure, would you mind if we talked some about my payment and things?” It was partly true.
Esther Sue ran a hand through her light hair. “Of course, dear. Let’s talk in the office, shall we?”
He felt bad about leaving Katie in the dust, but she didn’t need to know the truth. Yet.
Mrs. McClure shut the office door tightly, then sat in her husband’s leather chair. She crossed her hands, fixing him with an inquisitive stare. “Now, how about you tell me what’s really going on?”