Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (79 page)

Her handgun was in the bedroom. She debated if she could make a run and lock herself in, fetch it from the lock box, and load it—all before this person broke down the door. He’d stopped just beyond her fireplace tool’s extended reach, and she finally traveled her eyes up his shirtfront, beyond the tattooed flames on his neck, to his face.

Ketchum.

“Get the fuck outta my house!” Until now, her throat had throbbed, or maybe it had been afraid to scream. But with those words, she yelled loud enough to be heard through the walls and into the apartment below, she hoped. “Get out, asshole!” Carefully, she straightened to her full height, keeping the shovel extended and the poker ready to swing.

“You may as well put that down. I’m not here to hurt you. I just want my money.”

“Get out!” Why wasn’t her bodyguard up here by now guarding?

Why didn’t she have a panic button straight to his phone like on tour?

“Scarlette. Just calm―”

“Don’t ever,
ever
say my name!” The shovel flew from her hand, and he ducked to miss it.

Her phone beeped with an incoming text, and she scanned the floor, but was afraid to take her eyes from Ketchum long enough to spot the device among the debris their struggle had scattered.

“Look. I’m prepared to negotiate―”

The phone began to ring, and it was then she remembered the text to Gage. Would he come back if she didn’t answer? Was calling to say he was on his way back? The rings stopped and began again.

This seemed unnerving to Ketchum, and he located the phone. It had skidded, its resting place several feet from the door. When he bent to pick it up, some force propelled her forward. She lifted, swinging, and brought the poker down. It struck him on the neck, and he yowled with pain. For good measure, she hit him again and didn’t wait to see where the blow landed.

Still carrying the rod, she wrenched open the door, managed to leap instead of fall over her suitcase, which was just outside, and flew downstairs. As she pounded on the door to the downstairs apartment, her peripheral vision picked up the movement upstairs—Ketchum. The stairs jarred as he lumbered down them, and she screamed, hitting at the door again.

Swiveling, she eyed the locks on the outside door, debating if she had time to unlatch and escape or if she should make a run for the backdoor and be faced with the same problem.

The door to the bodyguard’s apartment swung open, and she eyed the man in relief as she worked the locks on the front door. “He was in my apartment!”

Ketchum had made it to the last few stairs, and he jumped, scaling them completely.

One lock undone.

She looked back and froze. Instead of intercepting Ketchum, the new muscle from the first floor apartment focused on her. She knew from the expression on his face.

He was no bodyguard to her.

He was a threat.

A cohort of Ketchum’s.

The brass weapon in her hand was no match for the both of them, but she wielded it all the same as she fumbled with the next lock.

There’s a time when defeat is inevitable. When all hope for escape is gone. When destiny feels like certain death. A moment of unclouded clarity. Overcome, she swung the fireplace tool at the glass sidelight next to the door.

The glass shattered with a melodious tinkle, and she broke the oval glass in the door as well. Her swing toward Ketchum and her fake bodyguard was intercepted. Fake bodyguard threw the fireplace poker aside and dragged her with a meaty hand clamped to her upper arm.

The downstairs apartment was smaller than her own, but what surprised her was the wall of surveillance monitors over a large desk.

Cams of the stairway, the porch, the street, the inside of the garage, views from every corner of the property.

Fake Bodyguard shoved her onto a chair, and after closing the door, Ketchum moved toward her. Blood dripped from a gash below one of his ears onto the shoulder of his shirt.

“I thought you said this was going to be easy money.” Fake bodyguard plucked at the edge of a duct tape roll.

“It is.” Ketchum assured and looked up from an electronic tablet to instruct, “Make sure her hands are in front.

“’One person,’ you said. ‘One stupid girl’ is what you said.” Fake Bodyguard looped the tape tightly around her wrists.

“Forget it, we’re almost done.” Ketchum turned to her. “As I was saying before you so rudely and abruptly ran out, I’m willing to negotiate here. A one-time payment and you’ll never see or hear from me again. Your
mother
will never see me again.”

One person, you said. One stupid girl.

“Where’s my mother?”
Where was the real bodyguard?

“She’s fine. Soon as you make this bank transfer. Two-hundred-fifty thousand. Then the two of you can have a family reunion.”

“Where is she?”

The tablet was shoved into her restrained hands. “Just make the transfer.”

“I can’t do that much.”

“You can and you will.”

“No. It’s too much. It won’t go through.” Fresh panic set in. Not over the money. Because at this moment, if it would make him go away, if it would ensure her mother was safe, she’d make the transfer without blinking an eye. But during the meeting with Gage’s father and her new financial team, she remembered some of the highpoints. The cap on transfers to non-linked personal bank accounts was much lower than he was demanding.

“Shut up and just do it.”

“Fine.” If she had to prove it, she would. It would buy time at the least. “But not on this.” She waved the tablet. “On my own laptop.”

“Goddammit, girl. Just fucking log in and do it!”

“No! You could be logging my info. I want my own computer!”

“Get her laptop.” Ketchum nodded to Fake Bodyguard. “Get her phone too, in case the bank calls to verify.”

They itched among themselves and then questioned her as to where it was. While he was gone to get it, she scanned the room for anything to use as a weapon or any means of escape the second this turned bad. There was no predicting what they would do when the money didn’t go through—or even if it did—and she wanted to be ready.

“Where’s my mom?”

“Couldn’t find the phone.” F.B. was back with her computer.

Ketchum ignored her repeated question, instead snatching the laptop from his accomplice’s hand and slamming it into her lap. She flipped the top up and hit the power button.

“Just tell me where she is. I want to call her.”

A muffled sound from another room of the apartment caused their heads to swivel in that direction.

“Is that her?”

The screen was loading with desktop icons, but her attention was on Fake Bodyguard who was sprinting to the other room.

Tossing the laptop aside, she stood, intent on checking on her mother, but Ketchum shoved her back into the chair so hard, her teeth jarred.

“Your mother is wherever she always is. But if you don’t get that transfer done, I make one phone call and she isn’t. Comprehend?”

Her gaze fell on Fake Bodyguard when he returned and insisted, “Make her hurry, will you? He’s coming to.” And she understood. At least she thought she did. Real Bodyguard was restrained somehow in the other room.

Snatching the laptop up, Ketchum barked out orders as he typed onto the keyboard and handed it back to her. “Here. Type your password and PIN, and I’ll do the rest. We’ll be gone. Poof. Out of your life.”

The homepage on the screen was familiar, but there was just one hitch. A hitch that she was sure would mean he wouldn’t be gone. Wouldn’t poof.

The last time I’d seen that bank logo, I’d been checking my account balance in the bar in Belize.

The last time she’d seen that bank logo, she’d been checking my account balance in the bar in Belize.

“That’s not my bank.” And as he stared, his face a mask of furious incredulity, she expanded. “The money was moved.”

“No games, girl. I’m warning you.”

“The funds were moved right after they rolled to me.” Again, she weighed her options of escape, or at least a fight. “Because of suspicious transfers over the years.” She added with as much satisfaction as fear.

“I don’t believe you.”

Another sound from the other room had Fake Bodyguard edgy. “We need to go.”

Ketchum exploded, ripping one of the chairs from its place at the table and tossing it as if it were a dollhouse toy. “Fine. Sign into your bank and give it here. I’ll figure out the max amount.”

“Someone’s here.” F.B. informed over his shoulder and stepped just to the side of the large window overlooking the street.

Gage?
Desperately, she craned her neck for a plane of view. Faintly from the heavens above, she heard her cell ring.

“Sign in now!”

Her fingers tapped the keys while Ketchum moved closer to the window. F.B. stationed himself in front of the monitors.

Could she make it to the door before one of the two caught her? As if picking up that thought wave, Ketchum turned. “Signed in yet?”

“Almost.” She picked up her shaking, bound hands for emphasis and dropped her fingers to the keys again.

Her phone continued to ring. She heard it in the interims of silence. From the other room came an erratic bump here and there.

“Son of a bitch!” F.B. roared from the window.

“Signed in?” Ketchum.

“Can you stop asking every second? I can’t think!”

“What’s to think? Sign the hell in!”

“I can’t remember my password. I’m trying.”

“That’s a lie. Just sign in before I knock your skinny ass outta that chair.”

“It’s not a lie. I’ve been living on a cash stipend for three months. Just shut up and let me think!”

“This is not good. Not good at all.” F.B. swore continuously from his lookout perch. “There’s two of them. I think we’ve been made.” He raced back to the window, and from beneath his jacket, he produced a pistol.

“What are you doing?” She freaked when he checked the clip and popped it back in. “I’m in. Look! I’m in.”

“Give it here!” Ketchum yanked the computer from her hands.

“What the hell…” F.B. frowned at whatever he was seeing through the slit of drapery and glass.

“The PIN. You put your password in but not the PIN. Give it to me now!”

She was on the floor wincing at the fiery pain in her elbow joint before she realized Ketchum had ripped her from the chair like a ragdoll.

Her head blanked. As surely as a whiteboard that was suddenly erased.

“No bullshit about wanting to put it in yourself. You lost that privilege.”

“You gotta see this.” Totally ignoring the ruckus behind him, F.B. continued his monologue. “These two are brawling in the street.”

She absorbed the information, wondering for the life of her who would be fighting outside the house, but she didn’t dare even look in that direction. Last time she had taken her attention off of Ketchum, she’d found herself here on the floor. “My birthday backwards. Is the PIN.”

“I don’t know your―”

“Okay. Yeah. They’re in the gate. Coming to the house.” F.B.

“Then shut up about it and take care of them!” Ketchum yelled. Kneeling, he shoved the computer at her and snapped, “You’ve got five seconds to put the PIN in or I’ll wrap my hands around your neck and make you hold your fingers up for each number.”

The click of the safety released. F.B. positioned the gun and cracked the apartment door. Ketchum’s attention was diverted, and she took that opportunity to try out another move from her self-defense seminar years ago. Lifting her wrists above her head, she brought her arms down as hard as she could, using her hipbones and the momentum to rip her wrists apart and break the tape.

Ketchum spun back to her, but she already had the computer with a hand on either side of the screen, and she arced it in a swing so that the edge of the heavier keyboard clocked him in the temple. Immediately, she put distance between them and watched astounded as he crumpled. It looked as if she’d knocked him out!

F.B was in the hallway now, and through the broken windows, she saw Gage and Logan sprinting up the porch steps. Running, she used her weight and momentum, barreling into the back of F.B. while screaming out a desperate warning to Gage and Logan. Using the banister, F.B. caught his balance and reflexively turned the pistol to her.

“Scarlette!” Gage shouted her name in a way she’d never heard it. Terror. Frustration. Above all, love. One of his arms extended through the broken glass and he grappled with the locks at a disadvantage of not knowing which were already released.

“Stay out, or I
will
shoot her.” F.B. might have been acting like an extremely unseasoned criminal, but now, without Ketchum yapping at him, he was unruffled.

“Drop it.” Deadly calm, she heard the order come from behind her and although it had been months, she recognized the voice of her longtime neighbor and bodyguard. F.B. hesitated, but had his own moment of clarity. Reengaging the safety, he set the gun on the stairs, and Real Bodyguard demanded, “Hands up, motherfucker,” before stepping forward and grabbing it.  

“Scar...” Gage’s arm hooked around her waist, dragging her far from the action. “Thank fuck.” He hugged her close, but not before she noticed the scrape on his temple. Still against his chest, she twisted her head and found Logan just as scuffed up.

What the hell?