Thrilled To Death (22 page)

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Authors: Jennifer Apodaca

BOOK: Thrilled To Death
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I spotted Grandpa on the right. He sat at a table that butted up to the cab of the motor home. Across from him was the small kitchen. Over the cab was a bed. Grandpa sat at a table and reached out to pet Ali with his left hand. His right hand was handcuffed to a bolt of some kind that had been anchored into the wall next to a big red fire extinguisher. He still had that vest on. He looked up at me. “Sam, we heard Ali barking. What are you doing here?”
Seeing him in that vest and handcuffed choked off my air. But I refused to cry and forced myself to remember that Grandpa always boasted no handcuffs could hold him. And I would find a way out of this. I had to. I saw the pain shadow and age Grandpa's blue eyes. He was afraid for me. But he also trusted me to lie. “I was looking for Rosy's car. I didn't know what else to do! I couldn't just sit home and wait.” I started forward to reassure Grandpa.
Fletch said, “Stop. Call Ali and get her in the bathroom.”
I assumed the bathroom was at the other end of the motor home. “Ali, come here girl. Let's go this way.” I turned. Fletch backed up while holding the gun. He was smart enough to keep me between him and Ali.
I took the time to study Fletch. His blue eyes were bright and focused, and his face was tight with strain around his mouth. But his hand holding the gun was steady. I was pretty sure Fletch had stayed in the NRA and leaned all about guns, just like he'd learned about pyrotechnics and explosives from the experts that worked on his shows. The determination in his gaze and the steadiness of his hand assured me he would shoot Ali or me if he felt he had to.
I dropped my gaze to his blue-checked shirt with the pocket. I could see the top third of the remote control device sticking out of the pocket.
I had to get it somehow. I knew part of the reason he had Grandpa handcuffed was that Grandpa had the skills to pickpocket that remote without Fletch realizing it.
I didn't have Grandpa's skills.
I didn't have any magic skills. Now I wished like hell that I did.
Fletch backed up past the bathroom door. “Turn around slowly, then step back to stand in front of me and tell Ali to go into the bathroom.”
I turned around with my back to Fletch and took another step back. Ali stood there and watched us both. She was leaning forward slightly on her powerful shoulders, as if she were ready to attack.
Would she go into the bathroom? God, I hoped so.
“Ali, go in.” I swept my hand toward the tiny little bathroom. It consisted of the basics—a sink, toilet, and tight little shower. There was just enough room for her to lie down and wait once we shut the door.
She growled in response.
“Ali, stop that.” I tried to reason with her. “Just go in.”
She sat down.
Damn.
“Ali, what's the matter with you?” I looked past her. “Grandpa, tell her to go in.”
He looked up from his shackled hand resting in his lap. “Ali, go in.”
She turned her neck around to look at Grandpa. Then she turned back to me and stared.
I knew Grandpa was up to something. It was true that no handcuffs could hold him, but what could he have found to pick the lock with? I didn't want to give him away so I didn't dare look at him again. Instead, I sighed and looked over my shoulder at Fletch. “I can take hold of her collar and tug her in there.”
Fletch stabbed the gun hard in my back. “Stop playing games!”
I yelped and took a half step forward to get away from the pain arcing through my sore ribs and stomach.
Ali barked and growled, then lunged toward us.
Fletch got his left arm around my waist and jerked me hard. It hurt like a bitch and I struggled to get away, but we both fell backward. I landed on Fletch and lost my breath in a haze of pain rolling across my middle. His hand dug into the scrape on my stomach.
Fletch screamed, “Get her off me! She's biting me!”
I wasn't biting him, so it had to be Ali. Where was the gun? Had Fletched dropped it, or was it still in his right hand? I tried to move, but his arm stayed locked around me. Every twist shot another wave of pain through me.
“Call her off!” he screamed in my ear.
I lifted my head, fighting to ignore the soreness in my middle, and saw that Ali had her jaws clamped around Fletch's right calf. “Ali! Let go!” He'd shoot her if he had the gun. And if he didn't have the gun, he could have the remote that would blow up Grandpa's vest.
I forced my head up a little farther to see Grandpa.
He was gone.
Before I could make sense of it and figure out where Grandpa was, Fletch screamed in my ear,
“I'm going to shoot her!”
My brain put it together that Grandpa had escaped the handcuff. He was gone. We were on the floor in the hallway with the door around the corner about even with our knees. I prayed Grandpa had gotten out. Maybe he could get the vest off, but I couldn't risk it. I didn't see any other choice. I had to get that remote control device. Struggling to keep my back away from Fletch's chest, and the shirt pocket where I hoped the remote still was, I brought my right arm up and drove my elbow hard into Fletch's side.
“Ooff.” His body bowed up underneath my back, and he let go of me.
I rolled to the right, away from that remote control device in his left breast pocket. Then I got to my knees and reached for the remote while my brain tried to figure out if he still had the gun.
Fletch clamped his right hand over my right wrist. “You're dead.” He brought the gun up in his left hand.
Time slowed to a sense of surrealism.
I saw the gun coming at my face and thought,
Damn magicians! That gun had been in his right hand.
Then I saw the fury and pain on Fletch's face change before my eyes—
Into the intent to kill me.
In my peripheral vision, I saw Ali let go of his calf. From my far right, a stream of foam shot straight over Ali, past me, and hit Fletch in his face.
Instinctively, I used my left hand to shove the gun away from me.
It fired, rocking the motor home with the report.
My ears rang, and adrenaline pumped thick and fast through my veins. Specks of foam hit my face and chest. I didn't know where it was coming from. All I could think about was getting the remote and not getting shot. I looked at Fletch's shirt pocket.
The remote was still there.
Fletch roared in fury, and his hand tightened in a bone-breaking hold on my right wrist. He used the back of his gun hand to wipe foam from his eyes and face.
I ignored the crunching pain in my wrist and kept my focus on the black remote sticking out of his shirt pocket.
I had to get it before Fletch remembered it and killed Grandpa. I reached my left hand over and got my slippery, foam-spattered first finger and thumb on the remote. I had it!
Don't drop it.
Don't think about the pain in my wrist or around my middle.
Don't think about killing Grandpa if I make a mistake.
I bit my lip, struggling to hang on to the remote. I pulled it out of his pocket, every cell in my body centered on that remote. My finger and thumb slid a little on the black plastic casing, but I kept my grip and moved it farther away from Fletch.
I turned.
Grandpa stood there in the horrid vest holding a fire extinguisher. He stopped spraying once I had the remote. With my right wrist in Fletch's grip, I couldn't reach very far across my body to give the remote to Grandpa.
I knew Fletch was going to shoot me any second.
Grandpa started to take a step toward me when there was a loud noise.
For a horrid second, I thought Fletch had fired the gun and one of us was dead. Grandpa had frozen midstep.
Then behind him, Gabe, Cal, Blaine, and Vance burst into the door of the motor home. It hadn't been gunfire we'd heard, but the door bursting open.
My relief turned to panic when I remembered the remote. “Wait!” I screamed. “The remote. It's in my hand!” With Fletch's hold on my right hand, I strained my muscles to reach farther across my body and away from Fletch. I didn't want to drop it or accidentally push the button that would blow up the vest.
And I knew Fletch still had the gun.
It all happened at once, in fast-forward speed.
Blaine reached for Grandpa, moving him out of the way.
Cal rushed in and took the remote from my fingers, grabbed Ali's collar, then got them both out of the way.
Gabe and Vance stormed in with their guns drawn, filling up the small space.
Fletch brought the gun in his left hand up.
Vance and Gabe fired.
The gun flew out of Fletch's hand, and he screamed.
Then Gabe was there. He slammed his right foot down hard on Fletch's right bicep.
Fletch screamed again and let go of my wrist.
Gabe kept his foot anchored over Fletch's arm and looked at me. “Get up, Sam.”
My right wrist hurt like a bitch, and I didn't dare look to see if Fletch even had a hand left. I dragged myself to my feet. The motor home spun. I got to the corner and leaned against it as Vance moved in with a couple uniformed cops.
I concentrated on breathing. We were alive. Grandpa was safe. Ali was safe.
Then Gabe was there next to me. He slid his arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his body. “I got you, Sam.”
21
I
t was a night of magic. Nikki, Bo, and a few other magicians joined Grandpa to put on a spectacular magic show at Storm Stadium in place of Shane Masters's spoiler show. The evening had concluded with a standing ovation.
Afterward, friends and family gathered at the new offices of Heart Mates and Pulizzi Investigations to celebrate. We had platters of chicken wings, cheese and fruit kebobs, cookies, brownies, coffee, and wine set up on the round desk in the center of the new offices.
I moved through the people, trying to thank everyone for pitching in to help make the magic show work. I paused where TJ and Joel were talking to Bo about his upcoming cartoon character. “I'll see if your mom will let me take you to the studio where we do the voice-overs of the characters,” Bo said.
I looked at the excited faces of my two sons and smiled. “It's fine with me.”
Bo turned around. “Hey, Sam. These two,” he tilted his head toward the boys, “did great tonight.”
Pride filled my heart. Joel loved magic and had been terribly excited to assist Bo and Grandpa in different acts. TJ pitched in to help Nikki. He wasn't as big a magic fan as his brother, but he was a huge fan of Grandpa, and he knew how much this night meant to him. “Yes, they did. And you were wonderful too. The audience loved you.”
Bo grinned. “Everyone needs a little magic in their lives. And I had a great time. It's been years since I've been onstage with Barney.”
His chocolate-colored eyes shined, and I knew he was sincere. I opened my mouth to tell him how much he meant to Grandpa when my mom's voice cut me off.
“Samantha, I have a client interested in your half of the suite.” She slid up between Bo and me.
Bo, TJ, and Joel knew when to make their exits, and they melted away. I drained my glass of wine, then said, “Mom, I'm not selling out my lease.”
She pulled her mouth tight. “This is a perfect opportunity to change your life. You can work for my real estate office answering phones and filing while getting your real estate license.”
That was my mom. Even though she helped on this case, she was still determined to get me on the path she thought was best for me. I tried for patience. “I don't want out. I love Heart Mates.”
She raised her perfectly penciled eyebrows. “And private investigating?”
I hadn't been sure for a while there. Change was overwhelming and a little frightening. But, “Yes, and private investigating.”
She shook her head. “I've gone to so much trouble, Samantha, to get all the key people here tonight. People who could help you—”
I laughed. “Oh please, mother. Sure, you talked the city leaders into hiring Grandpa and his friends to put on the magic show in place of Shane. And they are grateful to you for saving their collective butts. But I've seen you pass out at least two dozen business cards between the magic show and the party. You will probably parlay that goodwill into a half-dozen home sales.”
She glared at me. “And why is that funny? It's good business, Samantha.”
“Yes, it is. But real estate is not my passion, it's yours.” Before my mom could figure out how to convince me otherwise, I reached out and put my hand on her arm. “I never thanked you for coming to get me the night I called you at the police station.”
She looked down at her black pants and brushed a speck off them and cleared her throat. “Don't be ridiculous. You're my daughter. Of course I came to get you.”
I knew I made my mom uncomfortable. The truth was that in my growing-up years, my mom might not have come to get me. Not if she had a new boyfriend on whom she had been focusing all her energy. She would have told me to call my grandpa. In those years, I had come in second to some driving need in my mom to catch a man.
I was pretty sure that need came from something that had hurt her deeply. Grandpa knew it. And I knew it. I was sure it had to do with my mystery bio-dad. I intended to find out what that mystery was.
One day.
When I was ready.
My mom looked up. “He's going to hurt you.”
I knew she meant Gabe. “Maybe, but I'll survive it.”
She sighed and put on her critical gaze. “That skirt is a little short. You really don't have the thighs for it. A nice calf-length black skirt would look more slimming, polished, and professional.” She walked away.
I felt my left eye start to twitch.
A voice behind me said, “That skirt is short. And with black boots, it sends a certain message.”
I blinked and turned around. “Vance! What are you doing here?” He was dressed in boat casual—tan slacks and a black knit shirt that graphically outlined his swimmer's shoulders.
A group of guests drifted toward us, stopped and said hello, then faded away to join another group. Vance watched them move away, then answered, “I had to see for myself. So you are really hooking up with Pulizzi?” He looked around.
We stood on my side of the reception area. The pale rose paint trimmed in white molding on the walls and the rose, tan, and cream blended carpet made the area feel soft and romantic. I had the brown leather couch my best friend Angel had given me against one wall, and two chairs in a soft rose facing them. Right now Nikki, Rosy, and several others sat around the waiting area and chatted. Gabe's side of the reception area had several brown leather chairs but no couch. In between was Blaine's round desk covered in the food trays and drinks. I turned my gaze back to Vance.
“Yes, although I'm running my dating service and just working for Gabe part time. Rosy and Nikki were happy with our work. In fact, now that the case is solved, Nikki is in talks with a TV station to do a special on Shane and spoiler magicians.”
Vance shook his head. “You are something else, Shaw.” I looked down, adjusting the thin gold chain looped around the waist of my skirt. “I don't think that's a compliment.” What message did Vance think my outfit sent? My black skirt covered about two-thirds of my thighs. I probably didn't want to know; besides, I had a more important question. Looking up, I said, “How is Michelle?” Shane's assistant had nearly died from an overdose of sleeping pills that Fletch forced her to take.
Vance said, “She's very lucky you and Pulizzi found her in time. She's been released from the hospital and will be fine.”
I still had trouble believing everything Fletch had done. “Do you know how Fletch drugged the dogs and got into Shane's motor home?”
Vance looked around, then said, “Can we talk in your office?”
I nodded, then turned and walked to my office and opened the door. He followed me in and closed it. I sat on the edge of my desk and said, “Why the secrecy?”
Vance sat on the arm of the chair facing my desk. His left knee was inches from my right thigh. He answered, “Normal caution. We always keep some information back, so I don't want other people to overhear. Where's Pulizzi?”
It took me a second to follow his shift of topics. “Gabe is on his way. He's been in Los Angeles helping his brother out with something.” They had tracked down two witnesses who had seen Dirk and his two firefighter buddies jump Cal. That put an end to the assault charges again him. Gabe had been trying to get back in time for the magic show, but then Cal asked him to go have a beer. I knew Cal needed to talk to Gabe. He had career decisions to make. I told Gabe to take all the time he needed with his brother. “So tell me how Fletch did it.”
He flashed his deep dimples, revealing the sun-god handsomeness he often kept locked up with his hard cop stare. “Bathroom window, which is kind of disappointing since he was supposed to be an accomplished magician. Fletch knocked out the screen in the little window over the shower and tossed in meatballs laced with sleeping pills. The dogs gobbled them up. Most guard dogs are trained not to take food except from their handlers. But—”
I knew the answer. “They are still dogs. Left alone without Shane around, the meatballs were too tempting. And Fletch knew animals. He knew they'd probably eat them.” I picked up the length of chain that hung down from the waist of my skirt and played with it. The dogs had always bugged me. The first hit man hadn't known Shane had dogs, which meant Fletch hadn't known. “How come Fletch didn't know about the dogs when he hired the hit man in Vegas?”
Vance watched me fingering the chain. “Best as we can determine, when Shane stayed in hotels, he didn't have his dogs with him. He brought his motor home to Elsinore because we don't have the swanky accommodations that he's used to. But in Vegas, he had his pick of high-end hotels. Fletch apparently went to Vegas to confront Shane about the tickets sent to his dad.”
I sighed. “Shane was in Vegas to see Nikki. Once she told him she was pregnant, he dumped her. He wasn't a nice man.” But that didn't mean he had deserved to be murdered. “So once Fletch came to town and learned about the dogs, he devised a way to murder Shane but spare the dogs.”
His dimples flattened to cop serious, and he stopped staring at the chain dangling over my thighs. “So it seems. Once he had the dogs sedated, he picked the cab door lock on the driver's side of the motor home and went in. All he had to do was wait for Shane to come in.”
I shook my head. “He couldn't kill the dogs, but he could shoot Shane in cold blood.” A shiver ran through me.
“He's lawyered up, but that's what it looks like. Did you know he parked the truck a couple blocks away from Rosy's house and blew that up too? He set it off around the same time as he set the bombs off in Rosy's house.”
I nodded; Gabe had told me. “To delay police and fire so he could get into hiding. Once he dropped off Rosy's car at the abandoned house he hid in and picked up the motor home, he thought they were safe. Then to be sure, he had been going to wait at the outlet center, right by a freeway on-ramp, until everyone gave up looking for him and Grandpa. All he had to do was drive away.” And we would never have known but for Ali.
My hero dog.
Vance reached over and tugged the chain from my hand. He wrapped his fingers around the links and looked into my face. “You have the damnedest luck, first stumbling onto him like that with your dog, then not getting killed. I don't know why he didn't shoot you.”
I tried to tug the chain from his grip. “He didn't want to kill me or Ali. He just wanted Grandpa.”
He held on. “There's something about you Shaw that drives men to insanity.”
I could hear voices and laughter from outside my office door. But in here, it was warm and dangerous. I tried to think of something safe to say. “Even you?” Uh-oh, that wasn't safe. That was inviting trouble.
He stood, still holding the end of the chain, and hovered over me. “Even me,” he answered in a husky voice. “You make me want to do insane things. Like in a romance novel. A very hot, sexy, downright sizzling romance novel.”
No! Danger!
My brain screamed warnings, but his voice and words stirred my nerves to a searing curiosity. I couldn't tear my gaze away from Vance. I didn't really even know him, I desperately reminded myself. But I did know that he secretly wrote romance novels that crackled with sexual tension. He knew the language of women, and he wasn't afraid to use it. I stiffened my spine and said, “Save it for your books, Vance.”
He smiled and dropped the end of the chain. “We're going to keep running into each other. Wouldn't it be better to get it out of the way?”
Huh? “Get what out of the way?”
He leaned down. “Sex. Lots of pleasure and orgasms. Then we move on.”
“You think so?” He thought a quick roll in the sheets would extinguish the sexual tension between us?
Men.
I stood up, forcing him to step back, and went to the door. For once, just this once, I was going to get the last word. “Won't happen, Vance.”
He smiled at me. “Afraid, Shaw? Maybe you'll find out what it's like to make love with a real man?”
I shook my head. “No. You'll find out what it's like to make love with me.” I turned the knob but didn't open the door. Then I looked back. “And Vance, with me—once would never be enough.” I opened the door and walked out.
I heard a choking noise behind me.
I walked fast, heading toward Grandpa, where he was chatting with Bo and Lola by Blaine's new desk.
A hand caught my wrist and I ground to a halt, then looked over to see Gabe leaning against the wall behind Blaine's desk. He wore butt-hugging jeans, a molded T-shirt, and an expression I couldn't define. How long had Gabe been there? “Uh, hi.”
“Why were you locked in your office with Vance?”
Oh boy.
“He was telling me stuff about Fletch.”
Gabe did a slow and very thorough body search with his gaze. Then he said, “Do I have to shoot him?”

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