Gambling for Ashleigh - E M Hayes

by Police

  "That's not why you called at five in the morning," Quint says, and even though I can tell he's pissed, I can still hear amusement edging into his voice. "But life is great. What's up?"

  That's why I called Quint. He's one of those guys who knows better than to ask too many questions and pry too deeply into my own life. Because all he'd find is a sad, sad journey. And I'd really rather not have to deal with his pity tonight.

  "I need a favor from you," I say.

  "A favor? At five in the morning?" His voice sounds close to the microphone.

  "It's..." I lick my lips. "It's important."

  There's a long pause on Quint's end of the line, and I can almost sense his thoughts as he considers them. Then, "Okay, what is it?"

  I close my eyes in relief. "I need you to ask the guys to put someone on watch for a woman who may have witnessed a crime and be discreet about it..." I remember Gary’s threat about going to the police, and here I am, doing that very thing. But I trust Quint to be the best at what he does. Not me. Ashleigh deserves better than me. I pinch the bridge of my nose. "She may have witnessed something bad."

  "Something bad?" He sounds skeptical on the phone, and I grimace, knowing how lame it all sounds. "What is it?"

  "That's the thing." Shit, I sound so pitiful right now. "I don't know what it is."

  "And how do you know that something bad could have happened?"

  "I just..." I fight a groan and stare up at the ceiling. "I met a woman at the Windy Wood Casino and—"

  "Hey man, congratulations."

  My heart shatters into a million pieces at the exuberance in his voice, because he genuinely thinks I've found another woman. Someone to replace Samantha in my life. The thing is, no one can replace my dead wife. And I'm not sure that I'm worthy of meeting anyone else who comes close to the radiance that Samantha exuded.

  Except Ashleigh made you smile.

  "Not romantically," I tell Quint flatly. "I think she may be in trouble."

  "You just said that you don't know what happened."

  "I know, but she looked frightened, and—"

  "Have you been drinking again, Cal?"

  And there is that question once again, and I feel hurt at the implied accusation. Sure, I had a rough eighteen months after my wife passed away, and that is the reason why I'm no longer on the force. But that was four years ago. And I haven't gone off the deep end in the same way that distanced all my friends and coworkers and put pity in their eyes.

  Maybe he's right in being worried about me in that way. But I need to get through to him.

  "Gary O'Shea was asking about her afterward," I say softly as I rub at my temples.

  "Gary did?" The concern is gone from Quint's voice at the mention of the loan shark's name. It's not the first time that he's crossed our paths. Even before I had to quit the force and find other means of making ends meet, I knew of Gary O'Shea. Whenever the SAPD felt like we had enough dirt on Gary to put him behind bars for a long, long time, he always lawyered up. Iron-clad alibis and someone else to take the blame for his actions.

  So I'm the biggest idiot in the world to get tangled up with him. I don't want Ashleigh making the same mistake.

  "What did he want with her?" Quint asks sharply.

  "I don't know."

  "Was there any trouble at Windy Wood Casino tonight?" Because we both know that wherever Gary goes, there's something illegal happening.

  "No," I say. "But you know that Gary is getting better about covering up his tracks, Quint." Impeccably so. He has friends on the inside at the casino and in some of the police departments in the smaller towns surrounding San Antonio. There could be a mass murder, and Gary is so organized about covering up his activities that it can pass by undetected.

  Except, I know that something happened. Ashleigh wouldn't have looked so frightened otherwise.

  I hear my old friend let out a slow, labored sigh. "So you're asking me to put myself or some men on a woman who may or may not have something to do with Gary O'Shea. And you don't have evidence of a crime or anything."

  "Maybe if we just ask Ashleigh—"

  "If something did happen, Cal," Quint says gently, "then wouldn't Ashleigh have called the cops?"

  "Maybe she was too frightened to," I reason. "Maybe Gary threatened her, and she's too afraid to do anything." I keep thinking about Gary going to Chuck Rynder about the security footage. It would implicate me in talking to Ashleigh. And she won't be safe unless we don't do something about it.

  This is all sorts of fucked up.

  "Dammit, Quint, you have to do something," I say through gritted teeth. "Otherwise, Gary is going to find her, and—"

  "Listen," Quint says calmly, "until there's something more concrete, I can't ask the guys to put someone on this girl's six. Unless she reaches out to the police or there's a crime, I can't do anything about it."

  I swallow thickly. "But you have to—"

  "I'm really sorry, Cal," Quint says. There's another awkward pause. "You take care of yourself, okay?"

  "Right," I mutter, feeling deflated from the conversation. I end the call without further preamble because I feel so let down at the moment. Maybe Ashleigh will come to her senses and call the cops. Except, I keep thinking about the bright-eyed enthusiasm and complete naivete she had when she sat down next to me at the blackjack table. She has no idea how much trouble she's in.

  I grit my teeth, coming to a decision.

  There's another rule in professional gambling. You should never leave things to chance. I have Ashleigh's first and last name. And I have her place of work. Nothing more than that. But that's all I need to get ahead of Gary's plans. It's early Sunday morning. Tomorrow is Monday. I know that she works at a place called AppSure. Even though I usually forget most details from people I just met, I can remember that bit of information.

  I go to my ancient laptop and type "AppSure" into the search engine to learn what I can about the company. I click around, getting the address for the swanky startup in downtown San Antonio, right off Houston Street. It doesn’t tell me much about what the company does, only that they work in tech, but I get a good look at the building, write down the address, and tuck it away.

  Then I type in "Ashleigh Chapman AppSure," wondering if there will be anything that pops up about her.

  And there she is. A picture of her beaming at me. She looks carefree and happy. Like the woman who first approached me. Ashleigh seems as though she's never had a care in the world. I sit back and study her for a long moment, wondering what it is that scared her so.

  "What did Gary do to you?" I mutter, and of course, my mind fills in with the worst-case scenarios. Except, I know that each of those can be all-too-real. And it twists my stomach to think about it.

  I open up her professional social media profile. In a short amount of time, she's done very well for herself. An odd sense of pride fills me as I see that she went to the University of Texas in Austin, played on the softball team there, and graduated with a degree in computer science before starting off her career in Dallas for the past several years. "Good on you," I murmur as I click into a more personal feed, feeling every bit like a stalker as I check to see if there's anything public about what could have scared her tonight.

  Nothing. Just some pictures from what looks like a friend's wedding, and that's it.

  Good. At least she has the sense to keep that secret.

  I close my laptop, feeling sick as I do so. The beginnings of a plan are forming in my head. But there's one thing I know. If the police aren't going to save Ashleigh, then I am.

  Ashleigh

  I'm absolutely wrecked. All through Sunday, I was terrified that there would be a knock on my door and that Gary would be there waiting for me with the same gun he used to kill the other man. I just want to bury my head in the sand and pretend like nothing happened. Like everything is lovely, and I can continue on with my life.

  Except I laid in bed last night, staring up at the ceiling. Surely there's
no way for Gary to find out where I am, right?

  So I didn't sleep Sunday night, and now I'm exhausted as I head into work. It's a great way to start a work week. There's an odd sort of buzzing in my mind, like every nerve in my exhausted body is on high alert, and it is being on high alert that's making me so tired. I park my car in the parking garage next to my work, and as I head to my usual Starbucks to pick up my usual morning elixir—today with triple the espresso to help me get through the day—I can't help but feel like I'm being watched.

  "Wow," Silvia, the barista says as I go up to the counter to order my drink. "Didn't sleep last night?"

  I nod slowly as I hand her my travel cup. "Nope. Slept for shit." The bags under my eyes probably signal for everyone to stay away from me.

  She looks at me in bewilderment but takes my order without further question. I pay and wait for her to call my name.

  Yet, even waiting like this is pure torture, as I keep looking around to see if anyone is acting suspiciously. Other than the homeless guy that just came in, everyone seems to be doing their regular daily routines.

  Except...

  "Ashleigh?"

  With wide eyes, I look up into a familiar face. "Callum?" I manage.

  I can't quite process what's happening or why he's here. He was just supposed to be a part of that night. Everything that I'm trying to forget. But I can't look away from his steel-blue eyes or his strong jaw.

  How the hell is Cal here in my usual Starbucks?

  He stands in front of me, his gaze intense. His hands are up like he wants to put them on my shoulders, but he stops just short of that. As if it takes a lot of effort, he brings them down and sighs. "You're okay," he murmurs under his breath. He rakes a hand through his hair and takes a step back.

  I stare at him, still dumbstruck by this turn of events.

  "What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. And then my warning flags go up in my mind. He was there at the casino. And now he's here. Maybe he knows Gary. And I practically told him everything about me that night.

  I swallow thickly, feeling as though I'm about to hyperventilate, and take a step back. "Cal? What?"

  He glances back at me. "Listen, Ashleigh. You're in danger."

  I shiver. "Danger? How? Why?" Except I can guess.

  "I was hoping you could tell me that," he says, closing that distance between us again. I manage to stand my ground and look up into his eyes. "What happened?" he asks. "What does Gary want from you?"

  And that confirms my worst fears. "You know Gary?" I ask, barely keeping the shriek from my voice. I put a hand up to my collarbone. I feel as though I'm about to retch all over the place, but I keep it in.

  "I only know him because he's a bad man," Cal says, looking at me. "You should stay far, far away from him."

  Too late for that.

  I shut my eyes. "What are you doing here, Cal?" I repeat.

  "I'm here to protect you," he says earnestly, which makes me open my eyes in surprise. He looks dead serious, even though I let out a surprised laugh. “If Gary hasn't found you yet, it's only a matter of time. And if you get ahead of this, we can keep you safe, Ashleigh. But you have to trust me."

  Do I trust him? A man I met at a blackjack table who claims to be a professional gambler and knows a killer and somehow followed me all the way here? Do I really think those are all trustworthy traits?

  I shake my head, and I see the earnestness deflate within him.

  "Fair enough," he says with a shaky breath. "But what happened, Ashleigh? What’s making you so frightened?"

  He reaches up, and I take a step back. My body is in survival mode, even if the rest of me wants to convince myself to trust this man in front of me.

  "Ashleigh!" Silvia calls out, and that breaks the spell that he has over me.

  I turn to the counter and pick up my drink, and the heat of it grounds me in the moment. "Nothing frightened me," I tell him. "And you shouldn't be following me. You're lucky I don't call the cops on you."

  I remember then that he had been on the San Antonio police force, so that may very well be an idle threat from me. He lets out an exasperated sigh. "Yes," he says, "please call the cops. But not about me. Just...tell them what happened. Please, Ashleigh."

  "Stop following me," I tell him. I try to push my way past him, but he has such a big, muscular body that I bump into his arm. I notice how big and how muscular he is, and I hate the way my body responds to that. After all, he stalked me from the casino all the way to a block away from my work.

  I should run. Far, far away.

  I give him one last look before I duck out the door and onto Houston Street. I gasp, taking in a lungful of air. He doesn't follow me out the door, and I hope that's the end of it.

  How is it that I manage to find all the crazy men?

  I spend the entire day inside the office. I even opt to have lunch delivered via an app, just so I don't have to go outside. I doubt that Cal is out there waiting for me, but it gives me a sense that I'm taking care of this and I don't have to worry about him following me home. I even work late, hoping that twelve hours can wipe the memory from my mind. Except, I can't stop thinking about how concerned he looked at Starbucks. How he seemed genuinely interested in my well-being.

  It's around eight o'clock at night when I finally emerge from the office with my purse and laptop case, and the autumn sun casts the sky in deep magenta and purple. One thing about sunsets in central Texas—they seem to be a lot wilder than they are up in Dallas. I say good-bye to the security guard, hold my keys out in my hands, and head to the parking garage.

  After a long day of work, I think I'm going to open up a bottle of wine and just curl up in the bathtub with a bath bomb. I need to block out the day's events and work out the stress that has found its way between my shoulder blades.

  "Ashleigh."

  I freeze at the voice behind me and glance over my shoulder. And there he is. I stare at him, and that familiar terror from the night at the casino creeps its way back in. Because he's waited here—all day—for me. In the hopes that he would catch me leaving.

  Aren't most serial killers charming? Have I been duped by the San Antonio Professional Gambler, serial killer name still pending?

  "St-stay away from me," I stammer as I turn back and start walking faster to the parking garage. As I storm away from him, I begin to dig in my purse. "I have mace, and I'm not afraid to use it."

  I hear an amused chuckle behind me before his footsteps start to follow mine. "I'm here to protect you," he calls after me. "You need to tell me what you saw that night. I can't help you if you don't tell me."

  He probably wants it for Gary. To wipe out proof that something happened that night, which means wiping me out. "I didn't see anything!" I yell at him. I'm jogging now in my high heels, trying to get to my car before he does. Rather than fish out my can of mace, I take out my keys, and I round the corner to see my car, the only one left in the garage at this time of night.

  I click the button to unlock it.

  And then the whole world turns into an inferno of orange and yellow. I've never been so close to an explosion before, but the shockwave from it lifts my feet off the ground, and I feel the thud deep in my chest. There's not enough time to turn away and protect me from the blast. I can only watch in horror as my trusty old Toyota Camry turns into a twisted heap of burning metal and gasoline. Shrapnel and other bits from the car are flying at me, and then...

  A solid, heavy mass blocks my view and forces me down to the ground. The heat comes after the shockwave, and there's something that sounds like screaming.

  It's me.

  As if in a daze, I look up to see Callum facing me as he crouches over me, his arms sheltering me in a protective hug that blocks all of my vital body parts from the blast. His teeth are set in a grimace, and his skin glistens from the fire.

  Then I see the blood on his shoulder. On his arms. The nick on his cheek that flows freely now.

  He j
ust used his body to protect me from my car exploding.

  We stare at each other for a moment before my ears start working again. As if in a daze, I realize that if he hadn't distracted me or if I didn't want to leave in such a hurry, I would have been much closer to the car when I unlocked it and it exploded.

  He just saved my life.

  "Now you see why...I...need...to protect you," he tells me gruffly. I can't take my eyes off him, because I'm aware of his proximity, how close his lips are to mine.

  It takes every ounce of willpower that I have to gulp back the lump in my throat and push myself away from him.

  "What the fuck happened?" I mutter, running a hand through my hair.

  Now that the moment has passed, he looks over his shoulder at the blazing mess that used to be my car. "Gary found your car on the security cameras." He grimaces as he shifts to the side and sits next to me.

  A shudder ricochets its way through my body. "What?"

  "Gary has his hands in everything at the casino," Cal replies. He peers at me. "Whatever you did, he wants you dead."

  I shake my head. "But I didn't do anything!" That comes out more forcefully than I wanted.

  A muscle twitches in his cheek. "Something happened." He gestures to the inferno. "And now he wants you dead."

  Dead. Like the man he shot behind the casino.

  Suddenly, I can't get enough air. It feels as though the walls of the parking garage are closing in on me, and I'm getting a weird, flighty feeling.

  "Hey." I find myself staring up into his eyes again. "You aren't going to die, Ashleigh. Not if I have anything to do with it."

  I frown. "How are you going to do that? I mean, he's blowing up cars, and—"

  I almost see the decision being made in his mind, as his eyebrows pinch together, and he gives himself a little nod. "We're both in danger," he says. "And I'm going to have to take you where Gary can't find you."

  "Where's that?"

  He sighs. "A safe place. Do you have a dog? A cat?"