On Tour (4 page)

"And you seem a little fat to be much of a guard," I growled under my breath.

"Here ya go, Stretch." He laughed again as he pointed me towards a metal chair in front of a window. There was no phone. It appeared that a speaker was built into the window. In the space opposite me, sat Tyrell. His hair was braided, and he looked thinner than he had four months ago in court.

I sat down and stared uneasily at him.

"Lookin' good, Diana," he drawled. His hooded eyes gave me a lazy appraisal. "I seen you on TV. Made it to the big time, huh?"

"Why am I here, Tyrell?"

"Come on, give me a little foreplay before you grab a handful." He gave me a smile, and his gold grill glinted against his dark skin.

I stared stony faced at him.

He sighed and shifted in his chair. He leaned back, all sprawled out, and worked his mouth from side to side. "You here," he said slowly, "because you got nerves of steel, mama. You impress me. It takes a lot to impress Tyrell."

"I'm here because you've been threatening my life!" I hissed. "And I want it to stop!"

Tyrell put a finger to his lips and shook his head. "No girl, you here because I'm tryin' to
save
your life."

"From who?" I demanded.

Tyrell leaned forward, his lips inches from the speaker. "From The Spider," he whispered.

Our eyes met, and I saw regret and sadness there. I was confused. Why would Tyrell care what happened to me?

"You're in the web, an' The Spider is already spinning a cocoon around you strand by strand. You ain't gonna know you're caught until it's too late."

I shuddered at his words, already feeling the stickiness of the web.

"So is this some kind of joke?" I asked, swallowing my panic. "Get me out here and try to scare me? Have a laugh?"

"Those little accidents you been havin' seem like a joke to you?" He stared me down.

I blinked first. "Tell me about The Spider."

Tyrell shrugged. "Ain't no one know nothin' about The Spider. He's a phantom. A killer you ain't gonna see until it's too late. The Spider's the best."

"Great." I looked at the ceiling. "So how do you know so much about The Spider?"

Tyrell looked down at his hands and worked his mouth some more. "'Cause I'm the one who hired him."

"You put a hit out on me!" I shrieked. "Really? Shooting at me on stage wasn't enough?"

Tyrell held up his hands. "That was the old Tyrell. I'm a changed man, baby. I cool now."

"So what, you found God or Allah or something?" I asked.

Tyrell waved his hand dismissively. "That old school prison shit. Do I look like I Muslim? No, man, I found peace. Tyrell's livin' large in the vortex. The light of the universe has driven out the darkness. I'm finally on the path." He nodded sagely.

I stared at him like he was nuts.

"Oh, I get it," I said sarcastically, "so hiring a hitman is okey-dokey in the vortex?" I raised my arms and gestured wildly.

The pudgy guard looked up from his desk. He grabbed the speaker in front of him. "Visitor four—read the rules: No lewd conduct. Quit that gyrating down there!"

Steam started to leak out of my ears.

Tyrell leaned forward and whispered, "Calm down, girl. Shit, you wrapped up tight."

"How do you expect me to be when you tell me you've got a hit out on me? You haven't even told me why," I ground out.

Tyrell shrugged. "You gotta point. I was tryin' to get back at your G-man and that singing pirate you hang with. I wasn't in my right mind. Thought I could get 'em both by takin' you out. But I put the hit out before I found peace and light. I got you here to warn you. I'm tryin' to redeem myself, but you ain't makin' it easy."

"Great! Just call off the hit then." Problem solved. I could feel myself starting to relax a little.

Tyrell shook his head sadly. "See here's the thing about The Spider. He don't fail. And I can't call him off. He don't stop 'til the job's done. Period."

I stared at him for a full thirty seconds. "This can't be happening. I'm a singer and a temp worker. It doesn't make sense for me to have the world's greatest hitman after me." A sob caught in my throat.

"Look, you gotta get your G-man on this. He know people who might be able to stop The Spider. I can't give up my contacts, but believe me when I say they don't know nothin'. It's a system where one hand don't know what the other's doin'. I tell a dude about my problem. He tell another dude. That dude sends a message to another dude. I put money in an off-shore account. It gets transferred somewhere. No trace."

I stared at him. "You've got to be kidding! I can't believe you did this to me!" I screeched.

He held up his hand. "You gotta be cool, girl. Get your man on this and watch your back."

I stared off numbly. "I feel like I'm falling. It's all out of control." It came out in a jumbled rush.

Tyrell slapped his hand on the glass to get my attention. "Then catch yo'self, girl! Ain't no one goin' do it for you. Shit, you let yo'self fall too far, you end up here. Or worse." He looked at me pointedly.

I took a deep breath. Catch yourself, Diana. Get a grip. "Where do I start?"

"Follow the money. Got a pen?"

I dug around in my purse and pulled out a pen and a grocery receipt.

He recited, "Cayman National Bank and Trust. Account number 231590-3675. That's all I got. That was written on a piece of toilet paper and left in my cell. I moved the money using a smartphone I borrowed."

"They have smartphones in prison?"

"Girl, they got everything up in here if you got the Benjis." He flashed his grill.

The guard called time up. Tyrell stood. "You take care now, Shorty. You're the first wrong I'm tryin' to right." He yawned. "Lord, I gotta do some meditatin'. You 'bout wore me out with all yo' negative energy. You might want to get your aura worked on." He waved his hands indicating my figure.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." I sighed. Then I remembered something. "Hey! Tyrell! What about the scrapbook letters?"

He stared at me like I'd finally lost it. Some of the old Tyrell was back in his answer. "Girl you hard a hearin' or somethin'? This ain't no joke! That dude gonna kill you. Ain't no one doin' no god-damned scrapbookin'."

I watched as they led him away, thinking about what he'd said. Time to catch myself. Ain't no one else going to do it for me.

*  *  *

I drove the three hours back. Mark spent most of the time on the phone.

If my life hadn't been in such mortal danger, the look on his face when I told him about the hitman would've been amusing.

"A top hitman called The Spider? Are you serious? Guess he does scrapbooking in between hits too?" he had asked sarcastically.

"Interestingly enough, I asked Tyrell about the scrapbooking, and he had no idea what I was talking about."

"So maybe the hitman has a crazy partner who likes to scrapbook."

I shook my head. "I've been thinking about this. The messages came before the attempts. Only problem was, I didn't open my mail in time. It doesn't make sense that the killer would warn me."

"None of this makes sense." Mark raked his fingers through his hair. "Oh, geez, I've got to actually repeat this story to colleagues if we're going to get some back up on this." He'd been on the phone with Marsha for the last half hour. I couldn't stand her, but she'd watched my back in the spring when Tyrell was after me. Mark swore their relationship was all business, but I still had my doubts, at least on Marsha's part. The fact that Marsha was a voluptuous red-head who constantly tried to get Mark back into the CIA made her presence barely tolerable.

We stopped at a little seafood restaurant in Marathon. The island was the fourth key in the chain and not far from the villa in Key West. Happy hour was in high gear as Mark led me through the crowd and out to a back deck that overlooked the setting sun.

"You do know how to pick a romantic spot. You must have plans for me." I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively at him.

"You know that's not really sexy," he replied. "Cute, but not sexy."

I stuck out my tongue at him. "How's that?"

"Better." He reached across the table and covered my hand with his.

"I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." I lost myself in his warm, dark eyes. It felt like it had been months since we'd done this—just stared into each other's eyes, letting the world go on around us.

A waitress dressed as a serving wench arrived to take our order. I shook my head at her attire. There seemed to be no escape.

Mark ordered a beer, and I ordered iced tea. I was still recovering from my roofie experience, and didn't want to test the waters with an adult beverage yet. We decided to share some fish and chips, and I ordered a small salad.

"So I have a plan," Mark announced after the waitress had left.

I raised my eyebrows, not wiggling them this time.

"Marsha's coming here to be your double until after the concert." Mark held up a hand. "It's the only way to throw this guy off the trail. Marsha did some digging. If Tyrell really hired The Spider, it's not just some crazy fan. He's a professional." His voice was serious.

I tamped down the rising panic. "You'll just end up with two of us in his line of sight," I replied reasonably.

Mark gave me a look. "Come on," he said. "Are you really worried about something happening to Marsha?"

"That was a low blow," I huffed. "I don't like her, but I certainly don't want to see the woman killed."

"She's a CIA agent. This guy—no matter how good he is—isn't going to take her out. Having a double for you will keep him off balance and make it less likely for him to try another attempt while you're here. It'll also buy us time to try to track the money."

It was all very reasonable; however, I didn't want Marsha around. She coveted Mark, and she didn't like me one bit. But if it kept The Spider from spinning me up in his web…

"Okay! You win. But I swear if she starts making cow eyes at you, I'm going to rip her red hair right out of her head." I pounded my fist on the table.

Mark's eyes laughed at me. "I like it when you get all riled up. It's sexy." He leaned across the table and kissed me.

The steam went out of my sails and moved downward. My toes curled, and I started counting the miles to the big bed in the boat's stateroom.

Mark drove the rest of the way back so I could call Carol. Not that she really needed my guidance. Carol was definitely the brains of the operation.

"Greene's Staffing," a familiar voice answered.

"Hi, it's Diana. Is Carol in?"

"No, this is Tabitha. Can I help you with something?"

"No, Tabitha. I was telling you it's me, Diana." I rolled my eyes.

Mark chuckled next to me.

"I'm sorry, but Diana isn't in today. I can take a message if you'd like."

I took a deep breath. Let's try this again.

"Hi, can I speak to Carol?"

"Sure, one moment." There was a pause. "Oh, may I ask who's calling?"

I paused. Best not mess this up. "Diana Hudson."

"Oh, hi, Diana! Why didn't you say it was you? I'd have put you right through."

"My fault, Tabitha. How're things going?"

"Well, Carol has me helping out in the office. You know Mr. Pyres is in Yugoslavia for at least a month. I'm still working on his transcription but no more dating sites. He's engaged!" she gushed.

"To Betty Getty?" I asked.

"Yep! I'm so happy for them. It just goes to show that love knows no bounds. It can even happen for vampires."

"Tabitha, he's not really a vampire. You know that right?"

"Of course. Mum's the word," she replied conspiratorially. "Here's Carol."

The funny thing was she wasn't really crazy. Dizzy maybe, but not crazy.

Mr. Pyres had been my employer when I was still temping, and he really did dress and act like a vampire. He was a Yugoslavian professor who wrote about medieval husbandry and played the hurdy-gurdy. Strange, but not other-worldly. I will admit that helping him navigate the online dating world had been quite a challenge. But it seems to have been successful.

"Hey, there partner," Carol called. "How's the life of a rock star."

"Actually kind of dangerous right now," I replied and brought her up to speed on my latest snafu.

She was silent for a moment. Stunned, I guessed. "I don't even know what to say, Diana. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine for the moment. Just a little rattled." Actually I was looking over my shoulder and jumping at every noise, but I didn't want to worry her more than was necessary. I changed the subject, asking about our biggest account. "How's the tampon business?"

Carol sighed. "It's not easy getting guys to work at a tampon factory. I had to tell a guy the other day that he'd be working in the rework department. He wouldn't take the job until I assured him 'rework' didn't mean 'used.'"

Ugh! I was glad Carol was taking care of that part right now. "Thanks for that picture, Carol. But I have to ask, what
does
'rework' involve?"

"I forgot you haven't been on the full tour. You have to do that when you get back."

Yeah. Sounded like almost as much fun as visiting prisons in sunny Florida.

"Can't wait."

"It's where they send the defective tampons. They have people disassemble them, and then they reuse the parts."

That didn't sound a whole lot better to me, but I let it slide. "Anything else going on there?"

"Since Personal Products was bought out by Personal Manufacturing Services I think there'll be even more work. I've heard a rumor they will be adding a third shift soon. We'll need to hire at least twenty-five more workers. I'm spending a couple of hours a day there already. I think we need to consider hiring an on-site supervisor."

I was still marveling at the tampon manufacturer with the initials PMS. "Can we afford an on-site supervisor?"

I could picture Carol's eyes rolling behind her big, coke-bottle thick glasses. "I don't think we can afford not to. I agree I wouldn't want to hire a full-time person and then have it not work out. Maybe I could find a temp."