Wanted (3 page)

He’d gone after
them, tracked them down and nearly beat the pulp out of the sniper but
Kiel
wasn’t a killer. He let the guy live; wanted him convicted, to see that thing
called justice that everybody talked about so much. And he got it – but not
like he thought. The sniper’s own people came after him, murdered him in his
sleep to keep him from revealing their plans.

Kiel tried to
opt out then but Howland Slater, his boss, used guilt to talk him into staying
so he could finish the operation that had cost Jeri and Mandy their lives. It was
all done now. The crooks were in jail or dead, the plans thwarted – of course
there were other crooks, other threats – it was never-ending. But
Kiel
was sick of it, wanted to be washed clean of the whole dirty business.

He needed a new
start, doing work that was honorable and open. He’d been thinking about his late
parents’ hacienda in Baja. It was a gorgeous place, thick with waving palms and
lush mango trees – the fruit was taken to market every season but it wasn’t
being utilized to its full potential. He could make it profitable, easily.
Seemed like a dream – maybe it was.

The Questor
bunch wouldn’t leave him alone – he expected that, had prepared for it, though
he hoped they’d be called off. Once he reached Baja he was sure they’d be on
his tail. There’d be a showdown, no doubt. If he made it out alive he could be
free – to start fresh – to maybe even look up that girl, Tierney, to find out
what she was like. He remembered the scent of her, like a French garden in
April, and the way the sunlight glowed in her green eyes. He’d never bedded a
popular girl. In high school they’d labeled him a nerd and that made him
invisible. But he hadn’t been invisible to her. She seared him with her sexed
up glances, made him uncomfortable, not out of embarrassment but from the
urgency of his need for her. If only he could see her again, to kiss her, and
taste her - but what was the use in dreaming?

***

After a
harrowing, unproductive round with the local police and another with some
low-talking FBI mannequins in suits, Tierney was taken to her parents’ mansion
in
Brentwood
. She didn’t want to see Istvan, or Bodey, or anyone
else. But when they arrived at the house, her brother Dennis was waiting; his
left eye twitching as he paced the hardwood floor in their lavish white living
room. Tierney took a seat on the enormous beige sectional; grabbed a red silk
pillow and hugged it tight. Her mother’s Airedale, Huffs, came running, began
to lick her face.

“Whoa, fellow!”
she laughed. “That’s enough! Well, I guess that’s one way to wash my
tear-stained cheeks!”

“I’m glad you
can laugh after what’s happened, Tierney!” Dennis said with a snarl. “Anyone
smart would be shaking in their designer heels!”

“Well, I was
smart enough not to get blown up, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah, our
Tierney, the hero! All the news reports are talking about your grand act of
altruism, driving the car out to the beach to save any innocent bystanders. The
reality show freaks will eat that up like candy!”

“Could you be
just a tad bit more asinine, Denny? You’d think you were jealous of me being
targeted for murder!”

“Really, now,
darling, we know Dennis is only worried. Son, sit down and calm yourself.
Aram
has the FBI working on this.”

Dennis shot a
hard glance towards his father. “Why are they involved? Shouldn’t this be a job
for the LA cops?”

“The FBI was
investigating some threats before it happened.”

“What sort of
threats?”

Tierney jumped
up, unwilling to hear anymore. “I’m going up to my old room. I need a nap!”

“But Istvan
should be here soon.”

“You didn’t
call him?”

“Yes, Tierney,
I did. And he’s bringing Dr. Lenz. And Bodey. Bill Weathering wants you to film
a segment on the bombing.”

“Oh, God, Mom,
you didn’t say they could?”

“I thought your
fans might like to know you’re okay.”

“My fans.
Really?” She shook her head in utter bewilderment, dragged her weary body up
the enormous winding staircase and into her childhood bedroom.

A mahogany
canopy bed stood beckoning to her, surrounded by pale melon colored walls,
Persian carpets and a gray, limed-wood floor. The dressers and nightstands were
Art Deco, in veneered mahogany, and the ceiling had a large copper medallion
around a black wrought iron chandelier, which lit the room up like jewels.

Tierney locked
the door; stripped down to nothing but flesh and stepped into the shower in the
adjoining bath. She let the steamy water pour over her aching muscles, enjoying
the heat and the cleansing.

“Wash me away,”
she sighed. “Let me vanish down the drain like the last bits of my mascara.”
But her wish was left unanswered. She shrugged, dried off and hurried to the
welcoming bed. Once under the covers she let her mind drift back to Kiel
Fortune as her hands drifted across her breasts and down between her thighs.
She imagined him there, touching her, kissing her with that full, strong mouth,
grasping at her with those long, slender fingers. She could almost feel the
soft hair on his muscled chest, wanted to dig her claws into it as she begged
him for release. She found it, too quickly. Then she cried, thinking she’d
never really see him again.

Tierney fell
asleep, had strange, disturbing dreams where the people in her life chased her
with guns and bombs, trying to destroy her at every turn. She asked them “Why?”
but they refused to say, only came at her with wrenched up scowls and blazing
red eyes. She woke screaming, heard a desperate pounding on the door.

“Tierney, let
me in!” It was Istvan. No doubt he had Bodey and that slimy Dr. Lenz waiting
for her spontaneous breakdown in front of the camera. Well, she wasn’t going to
give them the satisfaction.

She ignored the
pounding, threw on some faded jeans and a red T shirt from her closet, added a
pair of checkerboard Chucks and a leather jacket, and tied up her hair in a
red-flowered scrunchy. Then she escaped to the balcony outside, shimmying over
the rail and down a lattice covered in pink bougainvillea as she had done a
zillion times from the age of fourteen on. She sifted through the half dozen
vehicles in the driveway, decided to take Istvan’s baby blue vintage Corvette –
which she paid for – and backed it out as quietly as possible. She was clear
down the road before anyone came out of the house. She could see their faces in
the rear view mirror. Not one really seemed concerned for her – they were all
scowling like the monsters in her dream – even her mother!

“Great,
Tierney, girl! You’ve made them all angry now.”

She couldn’t
trust any of them. It was plain to her - though she had to admit she might be
overreacting. Still, she needed to get away – some place quiet and safe. But
she would have to get money first.

She drove to
her Beverly Hills bungalow. It was locked. She searched under a rock near the
porch, found her extra key and let herself in.

The sun was
disappearing below the hills, throwing orange sparks as it dived; the clouds
heavy and black above it, threatening to storm. Tierney grabbed her secret cash
stash from a red-striped tin can in a bookcase, and scribbled a note to Istvan,
explaining that she needed space to think, and to feel safe. Then she left the
house, and the Corvette, thinking it better to grab a bus ride.

The night came
down with an audible thud. Rain hit the pavement, pummeled the roofs and spat
on her bare face as Tierney scurried down the docks of the Pierpont Bay marina,
looking in vain for a certain boat called Sea Mistress. But it – and Kiel
Fortune- were gone.

“Now what?” she
sighed as tears forced their way out of her eyes.

“Hey, you’re
going to drown out here!” a graveled voice called from her left.

She turned to
see a rustic old fellow, beer gut swaying, white beard flying. He looked like
Santa Claus on vacation in Bermuda shorts and a green tank top.

“I was looking
for someone.”

“Who?”

“
Kiel
Fortune. Do you know him?”

“Sure,
everybody in the marina knows Kiel. What you need him for? Wait, come on into
my boat. I hate to see a pretty gal looking like a drowned rat!”

He ushered her
onto a fairly new but small yacht. Once inside the dry, warm interior, he
handed her a fresh towel and offered her a cup of coffee, which she took,
gladly.

“I forgot to
have dinner!” she exclaimed as she sipped the dusky brew. “God, this is good!
Thanks!”

“You’re
welcome. My name’s Travers, by the way. I’ve got some potato and bacon soup on
the stove. There’s plenty, if you don’t mind simple fare?”

“I don’t mind.
I’m famished!”

She finished
drying her hair, combed it out with her fingers and sat down at Travers’ square
black lacquered table. Along with the soup they ate fresh-baked bread and a
wonderful salad filled with spinach and radishes.

“How do you
like it?’

“It’s great!
Are you a chef?”

“Actually, I
was, for a time. Been just about everything … a teacher, a laborer, a salesman
… I hated that!”

“What are you
now?”

“I’m retired;
though I do take clients out for deep-sea fishing now and again, when the
coffer is running low.”

Tierney glanced
at him, her mind working on an angle.

“I’d like to go
deep-sea fishing. Never have before. How much do you charge?”

“A fair rate.
But I don’t think that’s what you’d be hiring me for, Miss Evans.”

“Oh, you know
who I am?”

“Yeah, my daughter
watches your show. I’ve seen it a couple of times when I was at her place in
Pasadena. Got three grandkids … two boys and a girl … all a bunch of wild
towheads!”

“What’s a
towhead?”

“A white-haired
blonde, probably like you were at that age. My daughter’s hair is about the
same color as yours is now.

“Oh. Well, I
need to get away. I don’t think I can trust anyone I know. Could you help me?”

“What makes you
think you can trust me?”

“I don’t know
you.”

“Ha! That ain’t
a good way to tell, little lady. But you can trust me. Tell me all your
troubles and I’ll see what I can do.”

She related the
facts as she knew them and her instincts as she felt them, while they finished
up dinner and washed the dishes.

“So, you’d like
to find Kiel. Why?”

“I … well, I …
kind of fell for him, at first sight.”

“Did he seem to
feel the same?”

“I’m not really
sure he likes me at all.”

“Kiel is a
complicated man. He’s had a rough life. He lost his parents to an earthquake,
lost his first love to a murderer. And she was pregnant at the time.”

“Oh, no, that’s
horrible!” Tierney had to stifle her tears. “I felt like he wanted to be near
me but something was holding him back. Or maybe it was only my imagination. I
usually get any guy I want.”

“I’ll bet you
do. And now you want Kiel?”

“I at least
want a chance with him. And I want to get away from LA. I’m not safe here.”

“What about
your folks? They’re not safe, either.”

“I don’t know
about that. I think my dad was lying about those threats. When I was leaving, I
could see all of them, staring at me. They didn’t seem upset for me, or
worried. It was frightening, Mr. Travers, but I’d swear they all were in on
trying to get rid of me!”

The tears broke
loose. He stood, comforted her with a pat on her back.

“Cry it out,
girl. Then you can get your mind clear and think about the future. I can take
you to Baja. I’ll get a fishing permit online tonight! But now, if you don’t
have any documents with you …”

“I brought my
passport. My driver’s license was in the car when it exploded.”

“Hum, could be
trouble if the Mexican Armada stops us. But I ain’t never had any trouble with
them before, so I probably won’t now. They know my boat. You can bunk in the
guest room. It’s on the right, just through that door. We’ll be leaving bright
and early, so get you some good beauty sleep! Wouldn’t want
Kiel
seeing you all puffed up and red-eyed!”

“Do you think
he’ll be there?”

“It’s one of
his hang outs. If he ain’t there, we’ll go look for him somewhere else, all
right?”

“Okay. Thanks,
Mr. Travers.”

“You’re welcome!
Now, off to bed with you!”

“Yes, sir!” she
smiled and hurried off to find her bunk.

The rain hit
the deck all night, beating a rhythm that lulled her into a calm, dreamless
sleep.

Morning found
Tierney fresh-faced and determined to see her mission through to the end –
whatever that might be. Finding Kiel was uppermost in her mind. But she also
wanted to figure out who was after her, and why.

She used
Travers’ computer to Skype with her best male friend, lanky, bearded Ernie
Saunders, a geek extraordinaire she’d bonded with in high school over, of all
things, The Lord of the Rings. If anybody could dig out some info it was him.

“So, can you
help me, bro?”

“You know I’ll
try, sis. I’m glad you called. I couldn’t get a straight answer when I talked
to your family. They had the FBI come here this morning, thinking I might be
hiding you. Funny thing about those FBI guys …”