Last Dance (COBRA Securities Book 14)

by Velvet Vaughn

  “I already know. I want to split it three ways.”

  Mr. Windham called in one of the paralegals to fill in the details. Annabelle marked a third of the estate to a veteran’s association in her father’s name, one third to the scholarship Rob endowed in her mother’s name at her Alma Mater, and one third to cancer research in Rob’s name. After it was printed out, signed and notarized, she tucked a copy in her purse.

  With a key, Mr. Windham unlocked a drawer in his desk and withdrew a fat envelope. “Your father wanted you to have this, too.”

  She accepted the envelope from his hand and was shocked at the weight. Reading her surprise, he said, “It’s thirty thousand cash. Before you go back to your house, I request that you spend the night at a hotel to make sure the new security system is up and running.” He handed her a set of keys and a code for the alarm. “Pack some clothes and then go on an extended vacation. See the world. Don’t come back until the will is final. If you run out of money, contact me and I’ll wire it to you. Your father didn’t trust that stepbrother of yours and I don’t either. Once everything’s in your name, he’s powerless. But please keep in touch so I can let you know what’s happening.”

  So many icy fingers of dread wrapped around her, she felt strangled. “I will. Thank you.”

  “Your father was very proud of you, Annabelle. It was a selfless thing you did to put your life on hold to take care of him. You made his last few days on earth happy.”

  The tears started again but she couldn’t stop them. Mr. Windham handed her a snowy white handkerchief and she dabbed her eyes. Then he pressed the button on his intercom and instructed his secretary to send a Mr. Garvey inside. The door opened to reveal a stocky man just under six feet and almost as wide. The overhead lights reflected on his bald head. His muscles were so large, his arms didn’t reach his sides. She would peg him at mid-forties. He wore long sleeves, but tattoos peeked from the cuffs and collar.

  “Andrew Garvey, this is Ms. Annabelle St. John.”

  “Annabelle,” Andrew rumbled, his voice sounding like he’d swallowed a bucket of gravel.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Garvey. Thank you for doing this.”

  “My pleasure. And it’s Andy.”

  She shook hands with Mr. Windham and promised to keep in touch. Andy opened the door and ushered her outside. She’d taken two steps when Robbie jumped out in front of her.

  “You bitch.”

  Andy slammed a palm on Robbie’s chest, halting his progress.

  Robbie glared at Andy. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone who’s going to make sure you leave Ms. St. John alone.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s my sister and I can talk to her if I want.”

  Andy chuckled but it wasn’t a humorous sound. “No, sir, you can’t.” Andy shoved Robbie aside and guided Annabelle around him.

  “Hey,” Robbie sputtered, as he regained his balance. “Do not walk away from me.”

  Andy propelled her forward and they hurried away.

  “I’m suing your ass! I’ll see you in court.”

  Andy bypassed the elevator and ushered her down the steps. “That guy’s your brother?”

  “Step. In case you couldn’t tell, we’re not close.”

  He made that rumbling chuckle again that sounded like a chain saw starting up. He motioned for her to wait before they exited and headed to her car. “I’ll drive.”

  It wasn’t a request and she didn’t argue, handing over the keys to her gold BMW sport utility vehicle.

  “Nice,” he grunted as he pressed the power button to adjust the seat. It was nice, with all the bells and whistles. She tried telling Rob over and over that she didn’t need a new car every year, but to a life-long auto peddler, that was sacrilege.

  “Did Mr. Windham mention to you about taking a trip?”

  “He did.”

  “You’re okay with leaving for a few weeks? Or months?”

  He glanced over at her and smiled. It altered his face from scary to mildly scary. “Let’s just say they made it worth my while.”

  “Do you have a family?”

  This smile transformed his face. “A daughter. Seven. Calista. I call her Callie.”

  “You’re okay with being away from her for a while?”

  “She lives with her mother most of the time. We can Facetime. Besides, they offered me an outrageous sum of money. Callie’s college will be paid in full, even if she decides to go Ivy League, with enough left over for living expenses.”

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  Andy drove to the hotel Mr. Windham had booked for the night. The room was luxurious, with a separate bedroom. She tried to upgrade to a two-bedroom suite so Andy would have a bed, but he declined, insisting this was what he requested. He would sleep on the sofa as a first defense. She didn’t like the sound of that, but deferred to his wishes.

  #

  Annabelle woke early the next morning, excitement warring with an overwhelming sense of dread. Worrying about what Robbie might do kept her up most of the night. Instead of dwelling on possibilities, she tried to decide where to vacation. Courtesy of her stepfather, she now owned three homes, but if she was trying to stay under the radar, the houses in both Maui and Aspen were out. Paris was always nice, but she’d been there before. She’d always wanted to visit Bora Bora. Maybe she could rent one of those huts built out over the water.

  She hated the fear Robbie had instilled in her. She didn’t think he was violent, but then, she didn’t know him at all. She had no idea what he’d done in the years he’d been gone. Though he’d been left with a large sum of money that would thrill most people, Robbie was five million in debt. Bixby the Loan Shark looked like the kind of man who broke legs—or worse.

  Annabelle was happy Rob left Mrs. Porter enough money to retire since she’d probably sell the estate in Los Angeles. She just didn’t need a house that large. She wasn’t sure what her next career move would be, but she needed to work or she’d be bored. Starting her own design company had always been a goal. Now would be the perfect time to take the leap.

  Andy was up and dressed when she came out of the bedroom, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news. The anchor was reporting on the death of a local military veteran found dead in a park off Santa Monica Boulevard.

  “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  They both perused the room service menu and then she called and placed and order for one veggie omelet with wheat toast and fresh fruit for her, and a hearty man’s breakfast for Andy. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot he’d brewed while they waited for the delivery.

  “Do you think it’s safe to stop by the house today?”

  “I got a text from the company doing the installation of the upgraded security. It’s done so we should be good to go.”

  “How does Bora Bora sound?”

  His brows puckered. “Like a particularly nasty virus.”

  She laughed, maybe for the first time in weeks. “I mean the island. That’s where I’m thinking of heading for vacation.”

  He took out his phone and googled it. With a nod, he gave his approval. She’d need her computer to search for accommodations. They’d pay in cash for both the plane tickets and hotel, so they didn’t leave a paper trail.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Room service.”

  Andy stood. “Go back to the bedroom until I tell you it’s safe to come out.”

  She followed his orders, closing the door and leaving only a crack to peek through. Andy checked the peephole and then disengaged the locks.

  Pop.

  Andy grunted and blood sprayed. Annabelle couldn’t process what she was seeing.

  “Annabelle, lock the door and call the police,” he yelled as the intruder fought his way inside. Just before she slammed the door shut and locked it, she heard another muffled pop. Her hands were shaking so bad, she dropped the phone. When she picked it up, she could barely punch in
the numbers.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “My bodyguard’s been shot. Someone’s trying to break into our room.” She gave the operator the hotel name and room number. The woman informed her that help was on the way, and to stay on the line. Annabelle ignored the last part and slid her phone in her pocket. She moved to the door and listened for any sounds, but there were none. Calling herself all kinds of stupid, she chanced a look. Two men were lying motionless on the ground. Andy was one of them. She ran outside just as the real room service deliveryman arrived. The intruder’s body was lying halfway inside the room, propping the door open. His head was twisted at an unnatural angle.

  “Oh my God,” the young man pushing a cart full of food cried. He couldn’t be much over eighteen and he looked like he was going to be sick.

  Andy’s chest was covered with blood and it was bubbling out of his mouth. She dropped down beside him, trying to stop the flow. His eyes blinked open.

  “Tell Callie…love her.” Then his lids fluttered closed and his head lolled to the side.

  “No. No, no, no,” she chanted. “Please don’t die, Andy.” But she knew it was too late.

  A wave of sadness swamped her. Callie would grow up without her father who adored her. She would make sure Callie was set for life. A wave of fear followed. What if there was another attacker waiting outside for her?

  Her hands still shaking, she pulled out her phone to call Mr. Windham when it rang. His number popped on the screen. “Mr. Windham, Andy—”

  “Trusted…wrong…person.” Mr. Windham’s voice was weak, hoarse. “Police…bad…can’t trust…” A choked wheezing sound came across the line and then there was nothing.

  “Mr. Windham? Are you there?”

  No answer. Darting her eyes around the room, she grabbed her purse. The room service deliveryman was busy puking up his guts in the decorative trash can, paying her no attention. With a silent prayer and apology to Andy for leaving him, she leaped across the bodies and bolted down the hall. Mr. Windham had said not to trust the police. What was she supposed to do now?

  Her SUV was in the same spot Andy left it last night. Her eyes scanned the area, not seeing anyone hiding in the shadows. She jumped inside and locked the door, praying it didn’t explode when she twisted the key. It didn’t.

  She drove erratically through the streets. It was a wonder she didn’t mow down a pedestrian or cause an accident. When she reached Los Angeles International Airport, she followed the signs to long-term parking. If her brother found her car, he’d think she’d taken a trip. She should just get on the first plane out of LA, but she needed to go back to the house. She needed her laptop. Pictures of her parents. Mementos she refused to leave behind. Her passport.

  She caught the shuttle to the terminal and then one to a nearby chain motel. She stopped in the giftshop and purchased a change of clothes, as well as a hat and sunglasses, paying with cash. She felt uneasy walking around with thirty thousand dollars, but she didn’t have much of a choice.

  She collapsed on the bed as soon as she entered the room, exhaustion weighing her down. She had no one to call. Rob was dead. Mr. Windham was dead. She’d lost contact with her friends in Seattle once she moved back home.

  Pushing to her feet, she yanked open a dresser drawer, found the phonebook and flipped through the pages.

  Chapter 28

  After a rousing group number featuring all the pros on the show, Cassidy hurried to change for her first dance of the night with Trey. The past six weeks had flown by in the blink of an eye. Nothing had happened since the police found Barry Nelson’s body and suicide note. No more powder-laced envelopes, no more car bombs, no more random shots fired. She’d slowly been able to relax and truly enjoy the season.

  Stan Cornwell had recovered from the injuries he suffered after the car bomb exploded and was back on the set, overseeing the lighting operations. Despite her worry about Mason leaving, he’d stayed by her side for which she was thankful. Along with Harlow, Sawyer and Kellan, they’d become a tight-knit group and she was sad that their time together was coming to an end. They ate dinners together, went to the movies and the beach. They even attended several concerts of Trey’s band, Slam. It was a toss-up whether he was a better singer or dancer. He excelled at both.

  After Irina and Bryan and their partners were cut the second week of the show, the third week of competition saw Rowan Magnus and his partner Charity Williams, a classical pianist eliminated first, followed by Ken Popovich and his partner, Mindy Price, a soap opera actress. The fourth week, Crystal Brady and her partner, celebrity chef Keto Garcia were the first to go, followed by Jamie Dunne and Andy Martin, a journalist and sometimes television commentator. The fifth week saw Laura Kipling and Vincie Dunbar, an NFL wide receiver depart, along with Stanislov Mayorsky and Amy Collins, a pro tennis player.

  The cast had been whittled down to four couples with only two shows remaining. Cassidy and Trey hadn’t been in the bottom three again and Harlow and Glen had never been in jeopardy. Between them, they’d traded high scores each week. Emma Eto and her partner, Jonny Adams, an Olympic downhill skier, and Danny Marconi and Sheree White, a former Miss America were the last four standing.

  Tonight, they would perform a dance they hadn’t attempted yet this season, followed by a repeat performance of their lowest-scoring dance, hoping to show the judges how much they’d improved over the season. The Argentine tango had been Trey’s worst dance, but that was only because he tripped during one footwork sequence. She had no doubt he’d nail it tonight.

  On tomorrow’s final episode, one couple would be eliminated to start the show. The other three would dance a freestyle where anything goes. She didn’t want to brag, but the routine she and Trey would perform would absolutely dazzle the crowd—if they made the final cut. Along with dancing, there’d be flips and jumps and even a mini trampoline as a prop. It wasn’t surprising that Trey was outstanding at gymnastics, too.

  She found Trey and they stood backstage until it was their turn. Their first dance of the night was a paso doble, sure to fire up the crowd. The paso emulated the movements of a bullfight with the man acting as the bull and the woman the cape. The dance was intense, the music dramatic and the audience adored it, as did the judges, who awarded them three tens. A perfect score.

  She was hurrying to change for the next number when she almost slammed into a couple wandering around backstage. She did a double-take. The woman looked familiar. “Are you Tilda?”

  The perky blond who’d replaced her as Colin’s partner smiled widely. “Yes, and you’re Cassidy Swain.” She grabbed her hand and shook. “I’m such a huge fan of yours. You’re a beautiful dancer.”

  “Thank you.” Cassidy glanced at the man next to her. He looked slightly familiar.

  “Oh, this is my partner, Davey Marconi.”

  Cassidy shook his hand. “Marconi. You wouldn’t happen to be Danny’s younger brother? The one he brags about all the time?”

  Davey’s cheeks reddened. “Uh, yeah, that’s me.”

  “Nice to meet—wait, you said partner?”

  Tilda bobbed her head, her blond curls bouncing. “Yes. We’ve been together a few weeks now.”

  “Dance partner?”

  More bobbing curls. “Uh-huh.”

  “Just until Colin returns.”

  Now the curls swung from side to side. “No, Davey’s my new partner.”

  Cassidy was outraged on Colin’s behalf. How horrible to ditch him when he’d been injured. “He’ll rehabilitate his knee and then he’ll be as good as new.”

  “Okay?” Tilda looked confused.

  “You don’t think his knee will heal?”

  Tilda’s sky blue eyes widened. “What happened to his knee?”

  She knew Tilda was a little naïve, but this was above and beyond. “The injury that sidelined him.”

  Tilda’s brows raised. “Oh, no, Colin didn’t hurt his knee. It’s his back. The doctor said he had so
me kind of degenerative disk issue that could paralyze him if he continued to dance. He had to quit for good.” She smiled at Davey. “So now we’re dancing together.”

  Shock washed over Cassidy. Colin had been forced to retire from dancing? Why did he tell her it was his knee? Was he in denial?

  “We better get to our seats,” Tilda trilled. “Good luck tonight.”

  “Nice to meet you both.” She watched as they walked away, trying to process what Colin’s injury meant.

  “I really wish Tilda had kept her big mouth shut.”

  Cassidy gasped and spun around. “Colin?” Her eyes jumped from his face to the shiny black revolver in his hand. “What are you doing?”

  “We’re going to take a walk and you aren’t going to make a scene or I’ll shoot you and everyone here.”

  Cassidy glanced around, hoping to spot Mason’s beautiful face. But she knew he was sitting in the first row, waiting for her next performance. Trey was waiting for her backstage. She gasped when Colin clutched her arm in a punishing grip.

  “Now,” he ordered, towing her along.

  “Stop, you’re hurting me.”

  He chuckled evilly. “This ain’t nothing compared to what I have in store for you, Cassie, darling.”

  Tears pricked her eyes, both from the pain in her arm and the one in her heart. Colin. Her oldest friend. “Why are you doing this?”

  He ignored her and tugged her outside, yanking her close to hide the gun when Sheree White approached them. Cassidy tried to make eye contact but the other woman was too busy adjusting her silver fringe top. Colin’s grip became crushing. He was warning her not to say anything. Sheree glanced up and smiled. “Good luck tonight, Cassidy.”

  “Thanks, you, too,” she said through clenched teeth. Colin guided her to a remote part of the lot and after glancing around, he opened a car door and forced her inside. Before she realized it, he’d zip-tied her hands together. She tried to kick him but he backhanded her so hard, stars exploded in her eyes. He used the distraction to slap a thick strip of tape across her mouth and secure her feet. The windows were so dark, they were almost black, so there was no way someone would spot her. She couldn’t yell because of the tape. She was well and truly screwed.