What Happened To Lori - The Complete Epic (The Konrath Dark Thriller Collective Book 9)
Page 9
Fabler couldn’t abide by that. She had to go.
Fabler went to his bedroom, sat on the bed, and stared at Lori’s cell phone, plugged into the wall.
It blinked a message; 93 Missed Calls.
Fabler picked it up and pressed a few buttons.
Hi, it’s Lori. Can’t come to the phone, but your call is important to me, unless you’re a telemarketer, then it’s not, and you need to remove my number from your list. But if you’re someone I like, such as my adoring husband, leave me a message at the beep.
He spoke without leaving a message. “It’s me. I blew it. I miss you. I so want to see you again. I—”
Then Fabler remembered the obvious.
He hung up the phone, then went to the hallway.
To the secret room, hidden in the wall.
To look at what remained of Lori.
PRESLEY ○ 12:21pm
After dialing, Presley had to fight the shaking in her hand to hold her cell phone steady.
“He fired me.”
“He what?”
“It doesn’t matter. I can’t do this anymore. The asshole was playing around with a gun.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He was trying to teach me some stupid lesson about trust. But it felt more like some sick, co-dependent grooming exercise. The guy is certifiable.”
“Do you need more money?”
Presley snorted. “Money? I can’t do anything with money if this psycho kills me. And it doesn’t even matter. I’m fired.”
She checked her six in Fabler’s rearview mirror, saw a dark sedan a few cars back.
Presley slouched in her seat and slowed down, letting the car catch up so she could see the occupants.
The sedan turned right and disappeared into traffic.
“So, what next?”
Presley pulled into the grocery store parking lot, turning the car around so it faced the street and she could watch for Kadir.
“Presley? You still there?”
“I’m here. I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
She made her decision.
“I’ll do it for double.”
“Double? Jesus, that’s—”
“I’m ten minutes away from the airport. Let me know now, or I’m on a plane and you’ll never hear from me again.”
He didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”
Presley had a thought. “Also, I want to meet you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Fabler gave me a hard lesson about trust. The anonymous phone calls and the blind money drops are going to stop. I want to know what you want.”
“I explained that to you. I want you to keep an eye on Fabler.”
“Why?”
No answer.
“I’m not an idiot. I looked him up. He went to jail for killing his wife. What does that have to do with you?”
“His wife…”
“Yeah?”
“She…”
“Spit it out.”
“She may not be the only one he killed.”
Presley had suspected as much. But hearing her suspicions confirmed made her stomach dip. “How did you find me?”
“VA.”
“You served? Wait, did we serve together? Tell me your name.”
There was a lengthy pause. “Okay, I’ll meet you. And explain everything. But you told me he fired you.”
“He did.”
“So how are you going to get the job back?”
Presley set her jaw. “I know a way.”
GRIM ○ 12:25pm
Grim was pulling into the pet store parking lot when his eyes were drawn to the woman coming out of the grocery.
She carried a canvas bag, a baguette poking out of the top.
Grim’s heartrate kicked up.
He elected to not approach her.
Still, seeing her in person, only a few meters away, felt surreal.
The surreality of the situation vanished as tires squealed and a car pulled up in front of Presley, two men getting out and rushing at her. Both wore suits. One had a taped-up nose and a finger splint.
Presley did a quick spin-kick, hitting one in the head, then the other grabbed her from the side, bear-hugging and pinning her arms.
On instinct, Grim reached for his gun and his badge, remembering he was no longer a cop a millisecond before he slapped for his badge case and found the pocket empty.
But he still had a gun. And he still had his flashers.
Grim hit the switch on his dashboard, the Bronco’s red and blue lights coming on in the rear window, the siren whining once before he killed it.
He stepped out of the cab, crouching behind the open door, raising up his 40 cal Smith & Wesson. “Police! Freeze!”
The two men, and Presley, looked Grim’s way.
“Everyone, hands above your heads!”
They all complied.
He almost called Presley by name, but caught himself. “Ma’am, please move away from them.”
She took a few steps to the side.
But the county, and state, were already pissed at him because of Fabler’s wrongful conviction.
“Are you okay, ma’am?”
Presley nodded.
“Do you know these men?”
“This is my… cousin.”
That was as big a lie as Grim had ever heard, and he’d heard some whoppers.
“Do you always greet your cousin with a kick to the head?”
“We were goofing around.” The guy with the nose bandage had a smile like a moray eel. “No harm meant, officer. Can we lower our hands?”
Normally, Grim would frisk them, checking for weapons and drugs, looking for additional charges.
He kept playing cop anyway. “Do you want to press charges, ma’am?”
Presley shoo
k her head. She appeared shaken. “No.”
“We aren’t pressing charges, neither.” The moray eel guy had a puffy, pock-marked face, which looked like he missed out on winning Mr. Ugly World because they had standards.
He elbowed his partner, a guy so big he could have been two big guys sewn together. The big man nodded. “Yeah. We ain’t pressing no charges.”
“So nobody is pressing charges.” The ugly guy stopped smiling. “Can we put our hands down, officer?”
Grim nodded. “Yes. But keep them where I can see them.”
He noted the man wore a knuckle duster ring. Thick metal, black, a distinctive skull design.
Skull Ring turned out his palms. “Are we free to go, officer?”
Grim had no choice. He holstered his weapon inside his jacket. “Yeah. You can go.”
Skull Ring lowered his arms, made a gun with his thumb and index finger, and pointed it at Presley. “Catch you later, cuz.”
Then the suited men got into the sedan and pulled away.
Presley speed-walked into the parking lot, away from Grim.
Grim made a quick decision, jogging after her.
“Ma’am, can you hold up a second?” She ignored him, and Grim ran up alongside her. “Why don’t I believe that was your cousin?”
“Are you detaining me, officer…?”
“Pilgrim.”
She stopped and narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you detaining me, Officer Pilgrim?”
“Just Pilgrim. And everyone calls me Grim.”
“So, are you detaining me, Officer Grim?”
“No. But I can’t walk away from a fatality like this.”
“Fatality?”
Grim pointed. “French bread down.”
Presley’s baguette had fallen out of her bag. It lay on the pavement, broken in half.
“What should I do? Bring him in for vagrancy?”
Presley raised an eyebrow, appearing confused.
“Because he’s loafing around.”
Presley cracked the tersest of smiles. “Wow. That was lame.”
“Well, my bread jokes are a little crusty.”
“You’re making it worse.”
Her posture was still defensive, but her face softened.
“Look, this probably sounds weird, but I’m off duty, and the bread here; frankly, it sucks. There’s a bakery right up the street that’s much better.”
For a moment, Presley considered it. But then her face darkened. “I… I have to go.”
She brushed past.
“Okay. But be careful. Your cousin parked across the street.”
Presley stopped. After three seconds, she turned. “How far away is the bakery?”
“Less than a mile. You can follow me in your car. Bear claws as big as your head, and the best Napoleons in Kansas. Plus, they serve a decent cup of coffee.”
Presley raised an eyebrow. “Are you hitting on me, Officer Grim?”
“Just assisting a citizen trying to legally acquire some fresh baked goods.”
“That’s all this is?”
“When you kicked that guy, what was it? Karate?”
“It’s a slap kick. Krav Maga.”
“I… thought…
Grim’s ears glowed hot, and he almost excused himself to slink back into the car and eat his own gun in shame. But Presley spared him.
“Okay. Do you mind driving us to the bakery?”
“Sure. No problem.”
But, at that moment, Grim didn’t care.
He’d watched Presley drink over a dozen cups of coffee since she began living with Fabler.
PRESLEY ○ 12.45pm
Presley knew, from her research, that Grim was the brother-in-law who framed Fabler and sent him to prison for three years.
Presley had zoned out in the grocery store, thinking so intensely about what she’d have to do to get rehired by Fabler that she’d let her situational awareness lapse. Somehow both Kadir, and Grim, had snuck up on her, coming out of nowhere.
Somehow, he must have been able to track her Xanax prescription, and had been watching the store.
That was troublesome. It showed how resourceful he was. And how determined he was.
Grim’s knight-in-shining-armor routine, coming to her rescue, had a goofy charm to it, but he presented a whole new problem.
Presley had to find out. So she played not-too-hard-to-get and climbed into his truck.
They were quiet during the two minute drive. Presley assumed Grim didn’t enjoy small talk, so she focused on the rearview mirror, checking for Kadir.
Then they were parked, and walking to the bakery. Presley couldn’t spot Kadir’s car.
And Fabler had her going out a lot. Besides the grocery shopping there was yoga, manipedis, spa days, getting gas, and doing various errands around town.
Presley found a tiny table for two while Grim ordered. She appraised him, found him easy on the eyes. Fit, proportioned, muscular, but not chiseled like Fabler. His red hair had a natural curl to it, and the scruff on his chin gave him a lumberjack vibe.
There were eight customers in the place, none looked out of place. She noted the fire exit, and sat so she could face the storefront window.
Grim set down two black coffees—cream and sugar on the table—and two Napoleons. Presley hadn’t been hungry, but she picked up her fork and took a bite.
Thick icing, creamy custard, and the filo dough melted on her tongue.
She checked the window, then glanced at Grim. He seemed conflicted.
Presley leaned forward, elbows on the table, chin tilted up: her go-to table posture while flirting with married guys, usually because she wore something low cut and it invited them to peek down her cleavage.
Presley leaned back, adjusting herself on the chair so her foot brushed Grim’s leg. Another go-to move.
Grim cleared his throat. “So, what can I call you?”
“Presley.”
“Like Elvis?”
“Sorry. I bet you get that a lot.”
“Probably as often as you get asked if your family was on the Mayflower.”
He looked confused, then his face brightened. “Right. Pilgrim. Thanksgiving. Kids used to tease me about that.”
“What’s your first name?”
“Colin. But no one calls me that. Even my parents, they called me by our last name. Which, thinking about it, is kind of weird. My sister… she nicknamed me Grim.”
“So, big family?”
“They’re all gone.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
Silence. Not uncomfortable. Presley purposely looked away.
“Where’d you learn to kick like that?”
“I spent some time in the Army.”
“Yeah? Me, too. Where’d you do your BCT and AIT?”
Grim was a former cop and former military, so he had multiple avenues to do a background check. Presley opted for the truth.
“Basic Combat Training and Advanced Individual Training at Oklahoma. Fort Sill. You?”
“Benning.”
“Never been to Georgia. Nice?”
“Is there a nice place to do push-ups?”
Presley shrugged. “Lawton was nice. Quiet. Good people.”
“What was your specialty?”
“25 Bravo.”
Grim sipped his coffee. “Computer geek?”
“Mostly. I did some hacking in my misspent youth.”
“So you’re smart.”
“Do smart women intimidate you, Grim?”
“Of course they do. So do good looking women. So I’m sort of double intimidated right now.”