Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper (6 page)

Joe blinked and the fantasy vanished.

Annie glanced down, pink staining her cheeks. She opened the door and went inside, closed it behind her.

That's it
, Joe thought, cursing quietly and raking a hand through his hair. Time to call old man Macy and put an end to all this. He would deliver his report about what had happened tonight and be through with it. Macy could take it from here. Why should Joe give a damn if Annabelle Macy was in over her head? He didn't know her. He didn't care about her. She might look good, but she damn sure wasn't his type. He didn't even like the woman.

He started down the hallway, cursed again, returned to her door. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't walk away. And not only because he was low on cash, short on work and the rent would soon be due. Until he was certain that the woman was not in any danger from Harry Landau or Frank Reno or anyone else, he couldn't leave her alone. He'd just have to lock up his libido. It shouldn't be all that difficult; he had no use for fancy-pants women. Especially this one.

He'd keep telling himself that.

 

A
NNIE STOOD
in the dark with her back against the door, drawing deep breaths, her eyes closed. Except for her feet, she no longer felt cold and she wasn't all that afraid anymore that Harry might jump out of the shadows. Now it was the man in her hallway who frightened her. More so, her reaction to him.

On the other side of the door, she heard him utter a particularly foul word, and thought,
I couldn't agree with you more
. Good gawd. What in the hell was she thinking letting him get so close? He was a complete stranger and she could not afford to be reckless. Right now, she couldn't trust anyone except herself.

Her eyes flew open as the parallel hit her. Is this how her mother had become tangled up with Frank Reno so long ago? Had she found herself in New York alone, desperate and confused? Searching for something? Had he reached out to her and she'd grabbed hold, needing so much to cling to someone?

Stepping away from the wall, Annie flicked the light switch. The lamp beside the sofa came on, flooding the cluttered living room with a muted glow. Maybe everyone was right and she
was
like her mother, but she would not make the same mistakes. Tempting or not, she would not fall prey to the stranger outside her door. She would pay him, thank him and send him away.

A bare Christmas tree sat in the corner, the ornaments to decorate it overflowing from boxes on the floor beneath the branches where she'd left them last week. Her bathrobe and yesterday's clothes were strung everywhere. A pair of red Jimmy Choo heels she'd bought in her past life peeked out from beneath a chair. Dishes cluttered the coffee table where she'd devoured a quick bowl of cereal at 7:00 a.m. while catching the morning news.

Sighing with fatigue, Annie walked to the sofa and set Harry's briefcase at her feet. She hated to admit it, but she sorely missed certain aspects of her prior life. Namely, her weekly maid.

But for now, at least, maids were a thing of the past. Charlene, Reece and even Sara had told her she was silly not to use her trust fund money. But silly or not, Annie wanted to try to make it on her own for once in her life. The things Aunt Tawney had said about her needing a keeper still burned her ears. It embarrassed and shamed her to be so old and only now completely supporting herself. Besides, her father had set up the trust fund, and though they talked briefly at least once a week, she was still upset with him after learning he had never intended for her to take over for him at the bank. And he had hid so much about her mother for so many years. Things Annie had deserved to know.

As for the small sum she'd inherited from her mother, she refused to dip into it, either. She had never asked herself why she had saved it for so long, but now she was glad that she had. After helping put Harry away, and with any luck his uncle Frank, too, she planned to use the money to open a business of her own. It was something else she and her mother shared in common—the desire to build something, to make it their own. The difference was that Annie would succeed where her mother had failed.

Starting for the bedroom, Annie passed the end table and ran her hand across the Waterford crystal angel Aunt Tess had given her last Christmas. She snatched her bathrobe from the floor as she passed it by, and started to pull the purse strap over her head when a prickly sensation at the nape of her neck made her pause. Nothing in the apartment looked any different than it had when she left this morning. She didn't hear any odd noises. Still, she sensed she wasn't alone. Dropping the robe, she held her breath and slowly backed toward the briefcase.

The instant her hand touched the leather handle, the lamp went out. Shoes shuffled against carpet, and the case was grabbed from her grasp. Pale light from the windows streamed in. Annie swung around and saw a shadow the size of Sasquatch looming over her. She didn't have time to cry out before the intruder shoved her onto the sofa and darted for the door carrying the briefcase.

Panic shot into her bloodstream. Gasping, she pushed to her feet and lunged for the case, catching the man's arm instead. She dug her fingernails into what felt like a sweatshirt. He tried to sling her off and when she clung, dragged her with him toward the door.

Annie shrieked, kicking and holding onto his jacket. On pure instinct, she lowered her mouth to his wrist and bit down.

The feral sound of rage he made raised the hair on her arms. While still holding the briefcase in one hand, the burly man used his opposite arm to catch her about the waist. He lifted her up like a quarter-pound rag doll. Her feet left the floor. Annie screamed and didn't stop. The man dropped the briefcase to cover her mouth.

A crash sounded. The door flew open. In the spear of light that sliced in from the hallway, she saw the cab driver leap toward them.

She twisted, kicked, the toe of her boot connected with Harry's briefcase and sent it skidding across the room.

The driver plowed into them and they all hit the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.

Annie scrambled away from the grunting, cursing men and let them have at each other. On hands and knees she made her way to where the case lay, grabbed it, stood and stepped toward the window, praying she could make it to the fire escape on the other side before the intruder came after her. Her chest ached and her breath spasmed as, hesitating, she glanced back to where the two men blocked the door. The cab driver was on his back and taking a pounding.

Annie winced. She couldn't leave him to fend for himself. The poor guy was in this mess because of her. And she knew Harry. The man believed in doing things in a big way, in getting it “right” the first time and making an impression. This behemoth he had hired to do his dirty work was undoubtedly a pro at his job, someone with a solid background in beating the crap out of people…or worse.

Annie blinked until her eyes better adjusted to the darkness, tightened her grip on the case handle and took a deep breath. She caught sight of her Jimmy Choo shoe sticking out from under the couch. Rushing over, she picked it up with her free hand, then turned and ran toward the scuffling men. She aimed the spiked heel and started hammering away at Sasquatch's shoulders. “Stop it! Let him go! You'll kill him.”

“You little—” He reached back a flailing arm and grabbed at her.

“Ow!” the cab driver shouted. “You're hitting
me!
”

It took a moment for Annie to realize the driver was talking to
her
. She tossed the red heel aside as both men struggled to their feet, bent over, still swinging at each other.

Annie ran to the end table and grabbed the lead crystal angel, darted back to the men, reluctantly set down the briefcase. Lifting the heavy angel, she swung it hard, hitting the intruder across the back of his head.

He rose to full height, tottered.

Using both hands, Annie heaved the angel over her head, screamed like a banshee and brought it down, hitting him again.

The man fell forward into the cabbie and the cabbie fell against the door, slamming it shut.

“Run!” he shouted. “Go!”

Dropping the angel and grabbing the briefcase again, Annie bolted toward the back window that led to the fire escape. Whimpers of panic worked their way up her throat, her breath emerged in strangled bursts, her heart hammered. The purse strap had twisted around her neck and the bag banged against her bottom with each step she took. Something crashed behind her but she didn't look back. She reached the window, fumbled with the latch.

A sharp
thump
sounded. The glass above her fingers shattered. The pungent scent of gunpowder burned her lungs. Annie cried out and ducked, feeling as if her heart had exploded along with the windowpane. She reached for the latch again, twisted, shoved the shattered window up with one arm. She climbed over the sill and onto the fire escape, sucking in great gulps of fresh cold air.

The cab driver climbed through the window and stood beside her. He looked at the ground two stories below, then met her gaze.

Annie stared into his eyes for half a heartbeat, then shifted to peer at the snowy asphalt below. She turned to him, shook her head,
no
. She didn't survive Sasquatch to die jumping from a building. But she knew he was right; they couldn't risk taking the stairs. There wasn't enough time.

Taking hold of the hand he jammed toward her and hugging the briefcase with her opposite arm, she squeezed her eyes shut, gritted her teeth and they jumped.

“
Ohmi
—!”

The fall sucked the breath from her lungs. The impact on landing slammed her teeth together. She lay on her side, dazed, with Harry's briefcase wedged between her hip and the snow-packed ground and the cab driver on top of her.

Wheezing from exertion, he pushed to his knees, grabbed her hand again and pulled her up. “Let's go.”

Annie seized the briefcase from the ground and ran. Her right shoulder and hip throbbed. She tasted blood on her lip.

When they reached the cab, the driver unlocked the closest door on the front passenger side, ducked in and slid across to the wheel.

Annie dove in beside him. “I don't even know your name,” she panted.

“Joe.” He shoved the key into the ignition. “Joe Brady.”

She slammed the door and slouched down in the seat as the cab shot away from the curb on screeching tires. “I'm Anne Macy.”

“Anne, huh?” He grinned. “Well,
Anne,
congratulations. You win the award for my most interesting ride of the day.”

 

H
ARRY
L
ANDAU PUNCHED IN
a number on his office phone and waited through the following six rings. Puffing his slim cigar, he stared out the window at his penthouse-floor view of the frosty city below. He had worked long and hard for his piece of that view. Worked and planned, wheeled and dealed, back-slapped and brown-nosed and cheated his way up, floor-by-floor to his own private perch above the Big Apple. No way would he lose it at the hands of some bitch on a do-gooder mission.

“What took you so damn long?” he snapped when he finally got an answer.

“It's the middle of the night. I was—”

“Never mind. We've got problems. He let her get away with the case.”

The man cursed. “How? She's a woman, for pity's sake. I don't know many men he doesn't outweigh by at least a hundred pounds.”

“He said she bit him and took to his back with what felt like a ball-peen hammer.”

“A hammer…
Sheesh
.”

“Then she slugged him with an angel. Twice.”

“An angel?”

“Some fancy ornament thing. Gave him a freakin' concussion.” Harry huffed a humorless laugh and muttered, “Gettin' hit by an angel must hurt like the devil.”

The man chuckled, but the sound was more nervous than amused. “Maybe you should've hired her as a bodyguard instead of a waitress.”

Harry thought a minute, then said, “I'll have to call Willis.”

The man at the other end of the line sighed noisily. “Can't you find someone else? Someone who isn't involved? If Willis gets caught and talks, the whole line of dominoes'll topple.”

“We need him. The bitch had help. Some guy must've heard the scuffle. He came in from the hallway and she took off with him in a cab. The plates match the one she left here in.” Harry recited the numbers.

“You'll have Willis do a trace, right?”

“Yeah. How long will somethin' like that take?”

“Not long.”

“Good. Don't be making any trips. I'll be in touch.”

Harry hung up, dreading what would happen if his uncle found out about this, determined not to let that happen. He reached across his desk for Anne Macy's billfold, then opened it. Taking another hit off his cigar, he stared at the driver's license photo inside.
Annabelle
Macy, it read.
Savannah, Georgia
. Harry fluttered his eyelashes and in a high-pitched, mocking voice drawled, “Well, I do declare.” Then he blew a smoke ring into the dark and growled, “You're in over your head, lady. And Harry's gonna make sure you drown.”