Midnight Vengeance (15 page)

He did, putting the cell to his ear. Bud was still there. He put Bud on speakerphone.

“Sitrep,” he said, putting Bud on video on another monitor now that Lauren was covered up.

Bud’s face was grim. “What a fuckup. My guy has been conducting an undercover investigation into the ‘accident.’ He sent two of his men to ask some questions of Jorge Guttierez. He saw signs right away that there’d been a coverup. Evidence lost, interviews misfiled. The guy who covered it up is retired, has half a mil in his bank account, right there for anyone with a warrant to see. Moron. Turns out judges in Palm Beach are very sensitive to police corruption, so a warrant to search the premises of the Guttierez household was easy to obtain. And the bad cop is no longer enjoying golf but is now under indictment, and if found guilty, which the fucker is, I’d bet my pension on it, he’ll spend the rest of his miserable life behind bars.

“So long story short, this morning PBPD sends two officers to question our guy Jorge, who apparently was coked to the gills. And the fucker opened fire, can you believe that? We have an officer down, he’s now in surgery. There’s a chance he can make it. The other officer called it in and there’s a SWAT team there now.”

Lauren was watching the computer monitor intently. “Jorge’s crazy, Bud. Please tell the team to be careful. He’s got an army in there.”

Jacko hooked an arm around her shoulders, kissed her hair. Telling a SWAT team to be careful was perfectly useless. “These guys know what they’re doing, honey. Don’t worry about them. They’re trained for this.”

The feed switched back to the helicopter footage. An army of SWAT team members, looking like heavily armed ants, crouched in a perimeter surrounding the house. No sound could be picked up but Jacko could write the playbook for them. There was a fusillade that barely registered as distant pops over the noise of the helicopter, and Jacko knew it would be covering fire for flashbangs.

There you go.
Two black-suited helmeted SWAT guys in front and two in back lobbed what looked like tin cans into the ground floor. A flash of light and streams of heat-distorted air and the SWAT guys rushed the place.

The feed switched to the bimbo anchor woman whose expression had sharpened—
live fire! Maybe dead bodies! Live, on air!
She was in anchor heaven, bleating. She had nothing to say but was saying a lot of it.

“Please, let the officers be safe,” Lauren whispered. She looked up at him, face pale. “Jorge’s such a whack job. And he takes drugs. No telling what he’ll do.”

Jacko didn’t answer. The SWAT team undoubtedly knew what it was doing. They’d be really competent guys, really well-trained. But shit happened. For all he knew a drugged-out paranoid fuckhead could even have the place wired to blow.

It wasn’t over until it was over.

So he didn’t try to reassure her again. They simply watched the monitor, listening to the
pop pop pop
of small arms fire and the
ziipp
of automatic weaponry.

Suddenly, there was silence.

“It’s over,” Bud said over the speakerphone. He was clearly on a direct feed with PBPD. “Asshole thinks he’s in some kind of movie like
Scarface
or something. Wait.” On the video feed Bud pressed a finger to his ear, suddenly breaking out in a smile. “Fuckhead’s
down
! Sorry about the language, Lauren. Jorge Guttierez is dead. Smoked. Caught thirteen bullets. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. They found two underage girls tied to a bed and enough cocaine in the room to choke a horse. Eight of his henchmen are down, another two surrendered and are going away for a long, long time. You don’t shoot at cops and walk. And my guy inside PBPD has a real jones for pedophiles. Likes to put them away forever, so his goons are never getting out. Ever. So, Lauren, looks like your troubles are over. I’ll meet you guys at ASI in half an hour.”

Jacko turned to Lauren, who looked shocked, a hand over her mouth. Her face was pale, blue eyes huge. She sobbed, choked it back. She was used to suppressing her emotions. Well, that was going to change.

He kissed her. “It’s over, honey. It’s all over. Your running days are over—you’re free.”

She breathed in and out looking stunned, as if she’d been hit. Jacko frowned, surreptitiously placing a forefinger over the outer corner of her wrist. Her pulse was racing fast and shallow, pupils dilated. She was in shock.

They wanted him and Lauren at ASI, but first he had to tend to her. He led her to the couch, pressed lightly with his hand on her shoulder. She dropped as if he’d shoved her down and he sat next to her.

He waited patiently as she cycled through her emotions. She shook, eyes unfocused. The thousand-yard stare. He knew that one.

Finally, she blew out a breath and shook her head sharply, as if getting rid of something. “I can—I can hardly believe this. Jorge is dead. I’m not on the run any more. I don’t have to hide anymore. I can walk around freely, no need for special makeup or funny hats.” For the first time a smile crossed her face. “Would it have been a stylish hat?”

Jacko sighed. What he’d seen in catalogs had been like a Marine’s beanie hat. She would have hated wearing it. “No. Sorry.”

She giggled and the sound zinged through him. “I think the first thing I’m going to do is to buy myself a pair of high-heeled shoes.”

“Yeah?” Jacko tried to suppress the image of a naked Lauren wearing only heels. Man.

“Oh yeah.” She lifted a pretty, bare foot. “I haven’t worn heels in two years. I need to be able to run at a moment’s notice. Correction. I
needed
to be able to run at a moment’s notice. Now I don’t have to think that way any more.”

“Nope. And you can walk in and out of here any time you want without me freaking if I don’t know where you are.”

She sobered instantly, turned to look him full in the face. “About that. About living here. I don’t know...”

And though he knew his face wasn’t showing anything, Jacko’s stomach dropped to the floor. He wanted to kick himself in the ass. What the fuck was he thinking—that they had a future? That she’d just continue staying here with him, that they’d be a couple? He’d promised to keep her safe and he had. With a little sex thrown in.

That was what it had been for her but it had been a lot more for him.

This was the first time his heart had been involved and that had messed with his head, making him think things that just weren’t true. Of course they weren’t a couple, together forever. What would someone like her be doing with someone like him? And yet—how the fuck was he supposed to have seen the signs when everything had been so mixed up and stressful? So yeah, the sex had been off the charts, but that didn’t mean—

She reached out to cup his face, searched his eyes. “Do you think you could stand living in my house instead of here? I need my skylight.”

* * *

Frederick’s cell buzzed when he walked out of the shower. He’d stayed under the rush of water at the hottest possible setting for over half an hour. Short of going to a spa to get that flushed rich-man look, a scalding hot shower was the next best thing.

He stepped out of the shower, made full use of the fancy moisturizer the hotel provided and gave himself a close shave, happy that he’d recently had one of those $200 haircuts by a stylist who knew what she was doing.

Solemnly, like a knight donning armor, he dressed rich from the skin out. Nothing that wasn’t silk, Egyptian cotton or cashmere touched his skin. The real estate agent had not been discerning. She’d been told he was rich and that was that. But Frederick was certain that Suzanne Huntington would be able to sniff out the real deal.

Well, Frederick was used to social engineering. And he
was
rich, after a fashion, just not billionaire league. So it was a question of degree not of kind. Plus, he could go gay. Muddy the waters a little.

Billionaire gay guy. Not so easy to read.

He was lacing up his thousand dollar Barker Blacks when his cell buzzed. An alert, not a call. He’d designed a nice little bot that scoured news feeds for about fifty key words, most pertaining to ongoing jobs.

The screen showed Jorge Guttierez. Which meant he was on the news somewhere. Frederick switched to the newsfeed with the most hits and his eyebrows rose.

The screen was too small. He turned on his computer and watched the monitor. He had to sit down to do it.

Jesus. This surprised even him.

Jorge finally proved what a moron he was. And a cokehead to boot. What a combo.

Listening to the news anchors, Frederick could easily piece together what had happened. For some reason the cops had come to the door while Jorge was hopped up. Of course lately, that was always. Jorge got mean when he was stoned. Crazy mean. And crazy stupid. It was a lethal combination.

From what Frederick could make out, Jorge had fired at two cops, wounded one. Seriously, apparently, because the officer was in surgery.

Well, no one fired at cops with impunity. From the feed from a news helicopter, Frederick could see the mansion surrounded by SWAT.

Alfonso would have been appalled.

This could only end one way because Jorge was too boneheaded stupid to give up when he saw himself surrounded. He’d watched
Scarface
way too many times. Right now, in his little pig brain, he saw himself a heroic figure, fighting off an army of cops. Going down fighting, like a man.

Pinhead. Really, too stupid to live. Darwinism at work.

Frederick sat on the edge of the bed, filing his nails, waiting it out. Watching events unfold on TV, as predictable as any cop TV series. SWAT, hunkered down. Two officers throwing something into the mansion from the front and two from the back, and a second later, a bright flash of light, a sound that could be heard over the helicopter rotors, smoke billowing out.

With anyone but Jorge, the next act would be the men holed up inside walking out with their hands up, being told to kneel, hands on their heads. Flexicuffs, the perp walk, officers putting a hand to their heads to get them inside the cop car.

But this was Jorge, who probably had fevered dreams of glory sprouting in his drug-addled brain. Sure enough—by the time Frederick was buffing his nails, body bags were being carried out of the house. Jorge and his goons, loyal to the last, poor dogs.

Well, there went his retainer. Pity.

But, on the whole, it was for the best.

Jorge was becoming so very tedious as a client. Money talked, of course, but even just seeing Jorge once a month had become a chore. Something very unpleasant and really—what was the point of being successful if you had to do unpleasant things?

Unpleasant was for the peasantry. A saying of Alfonso’s, and quite right he was, too. Alfonso had had people to do the unpleasant things for him.

So, all in all, a very satisfactory ending. With Jorge out of the way, Anne Lowell would be lulled into a feeling of complacency, of safety.

How could she know he was about to deliver her to someone who would extract what he wanted from her and would then dump her body like a piece of trash?

She wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Anne Lowell’s death was in the cards; it was just going to be by a different hand now.

Just like in that great story by whosis he’d read in college. “Appointment in Samarra.”

What was that saying?
Karma is a bitch.

Chapter Nine

They threw a party for her, right on the premises of Jacko’s company. Lauren and Jacko walked in through the door and there they were, all of them. ASI employed ten rough guys, two of whom were the bosses, and they were all there. Plus Bud.

Plus Suzanne, Allegra and Claire. Smiling, laughing, hugging.

The girls made more noise than the men, who stood around looking slightly uncomfortable. It seemed celebrations were rare things in the security company.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’re safe!” Suzanne was the first to embrace her, soft and perfumed and happy. Suzanne held her at arm’s length and she actually had tears in her eyes. Lauren couldn’t imagine Suzanne, who despite her elegant looks was a tough cookie, crying. But there they were—tears.

And Allegra, too, crying and hugging her. Then Claire.

And there was Bud, who’d orchestrated her freedom.

Lauren tore herself from Claire’s hug and threw herself at Bud, holding him tightly. “Oh God, Bud, thank you! Thank you so much! How can I ever repay you for what you’ve done?”

She hugged Bud again. He was the one who’d set things in motion. Like the ASI guys, he was a doer and he was a good guy. Good guys were rare in this world. In fact, all the good guys she had ever met were right here in this room.

Bud shuffled his feet and patted her back awkwardly. “No problem. Glad to do it. And the cops there are really glad that justice has been done.”

“Thank you. I owe you a huge debt.” She squeezed him again, glancing up. Way up. Bud was really tall, just like John and Douglas. It occurred to her that Jacko was exactly the right height for her. Bud looked uncomfortable, glancing around the room for help, but his wife was too busy chatting and laughing and wiping away tears and the other men just shifted their weight from foot to foot.

“Uh,” he said. “Yeah.” He patted her back again. “But I didn’t really do anything. You should thank the Palm Beach PD and their SWAT guys.”

“No, if you hadn’t called them I would still be on the run,” Lauren said firmly. “Still be at risk.”

Suddenly Bud’s face tightened, shed that lost look. “I
hate
bad cops, and my friend in Palm Beach does, too. That bad cop is going to pay. And another biggie—we’ve got one more scumbag off the streets. And we have you to thank for that, not the other way around. You were supposed to be protected and you weren’t. Some heads are going to roll. Innocents shouldn’t be on the run—bad guys should be.”

Metal, Jacko’s friend, huge and scary-looking but always oddly gentle, lifted a bottle of beer. “Yeah.”

Suzanne put a glass of champagne in Lauren’s hand. “Here’s to bad guys on the run.”

“And in a cage.” Bud had opted for a beer, too, and drained his bottle.

Lauren walked over to Jacko, looked him in the eyes, clicked glasses. “Thank you, Jacko,” she said softly. He didn’t smile, but leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Suzanne, Claire and Allegra lit up like Christmas trees. They descended on her, a perfumed cloud of buzzing bees, and spirited her away to a corner of the room where they went into a huddle. A real one, like football players, arms around each other’s shoulders. Lauren in the middle.

She was surrounded, trapped by these wonderful women who—yes—loved her but who were also intensely curious about her and Jacko and weren’t going to let her go until their curiosity was satisfied.

“So,” Claire said. She huffed out a breath. “Jacko.”

“We thought he’d
never
make his move,” Allegra said, bouncing on her feet with excitement. She rolled her eyes. “Guy’s a sniper, probably killed more bad guys than smallpox and he was so
scared
of you. Amazing. Jacko a wuss, who would have thought? Took a death threat to force him to make a move. We were really frustrated.”

“It was a lot of fun watching him suffer,” Suzanne said briskly, “but we’re really glad that stage is over. So—dish.” She curled her hand up in a
gimmee
gesture.

“
Dish?
” Lauren brought a hand to her mouth, knowing that she was blushing down to her breasts. Oh my God! Images of her and Jacko on her bed and on his filled her mind. “I can’t—I can’t do that!”

“Well, we don’t mean
details
,” Suzanne began.

“Yes we do. Lots and lots of details.” Claire’s eyes gleamed. She looked around. “What?”

Allegra narrowed her eyes. “Okay, no details. Or not many. For the moment. Just—is he good in bed? I mean all those muscles...but he doesn’t talk much.” Allegra shook her head. “Of course Douglas doesn’t talk much either and he’s dynamite in bed.”

“On a scale of one to ten,” Claire demanded. “How good?”

“A hundred,” Lauren blurted and covered her mouth again. Why did her girlfriends keep asking this question?

The three women sighed. “Do you think they teach that in SEAL school?” Allegra wondered.

“No.” Claire shook her head decisively. She’d recently cut her long dark hair to shoulder length and it swirled around her head. “Bud was a Marine and a cop. And he’s off the charts.”

“How would you know?” Allegra looked at her with a sly smile. “He was your first and last.”

“I just know.” Claire smiled smugly. “Any better and I’d pass out.”

“Girls, girls.” Suzanne frowned and put on her CEO scowl. “You’re not the point, Lauren is.” She turned to Lauren. “Come on, talk!”

“I—you can’t be—I can’t!” This was so embarrassing. Even her
tongue
was embarrassed. “It happened so quickly!”

“Quickly?” Allegra exclaimed indignantly. “You call that quick? Glaciers melt faster.”

“Allegra’s right.” Suzanne nodded. “I can’t believe it took you guys so
long.
Four whole months!”

“Though we had fun watching you two,” Claire said, and Allegra and Suzanne nodded. “Better than TV. Except for maybe
Game of Thrones
.”

“Douglas and I had sex the night we met.” Allegra smiled at the memory. “The night they tried to rob the Parks Foundation jewelry show. Gunfire and hot sex. Amazing combination.”

Claire nodded. “Same with Bud. We had sex right away. The night we met.”

Suzanne smirked. “John and I had sex the night we met, too, and three days later I was pregnant.”

Silence. That trumped everyone.

“So.” Suzanne took pride of place and leaned forward. “Does he talk?”

Lauren blinked. “Does he
talk?
”

Suzanne nodded. “In bed.”

Oh man. Lauren bit her lips.

“I’ll bet he doesn’t,” Allegra said judiciously. “I mean he doesn’t talk anywhere else—why should he talk in bed?”

“Has he told you he loves you yet?” Claire asked.

Lauren’s jaw dropped. “I—ah—no, ah—”

All three women laughed. Suzanne patted her shoulder. “He will. It’s just a matter of time. Guy’s cooked.”

“Ripe pear,” Allegra nodded. “Dropping at your feet. Be kind to him. It’s his first rodeo.”

“Don’t break his heart,” Suzanne ordered. “John and Douglas count on him. He and Metal are their top operatives.”

“Here.” Claire reached over and put a full glass of champagne in Lauren’s hand, taking the empty one. “Get smashed. Get drunk out of your mind, then go have wild monkey sex with Jacko. If anyone deserves to celebrate, it’s you.”

Allegra suddenly clutched her. Lauren spilled a little champagne onto the back of Allegra’s dress but nobody cared. “We’re so glad you’re safe, honey,” she whispered fiercely.

“And we’re so glad you’re with Jacko,” Claire said, eyes shiny. “He’s one of the good guys. He deserves some happiness and so do you.”

Now tears sprang to Lauren’s eyes.

Suzanne wiped under her eye with one manicured finger and turned when someone tapped on her shoulder. “Yes?”

Alison, the receptionist for ASI and for Suzanne’s interior decorating business smiled uncertainly. “Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Huntington—your three p.m. is here. Mr. Paul Andrews.”

“Yes, of course.” Suzanne straightened her jacket. “Tell him I’ll be right there.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Alison turned and walked away.

“Okay, okay. Whew.” Suzanne wiped under her other eye. “I feel like I’ve been through the wringer. First we find out that killers are after you, then we find out the killers are dead and you’re safe. My head is whirling. I don’t know how I can talk estimates and materials after this, but I will.”

She sure would. Suzanne’s prowess in business was legendary. She advised her husband, who listened to her carefully. Allegra listened to her carefully when signing contracts for concerts and recordings. Everyone’s business was thriving, in no small part thanks to Suzanne.

And now... Whoa. It just now occurred to Lauren. She could continue her business! Maybe in the open now! And she’d ask Suzanne’s advice, just like everyone else.

She was going to have a life here. A real life. With a wonderful job and wonderful friends.

Jacko appeared by her side, her coat in his hand.

And a wonderful love, too, apparently.

A couple of days ago she’d been ready to abandon everything and leave, planning on living alone the rest of her days. And now she had an overabundance of great things in her life. From zero to hero. It was enough to give her the bends.

“Time to go, honey,” he said, helping her on with her coat. He rested his big hands on her shoulders afterward. It felt good, warm, grounding. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to do. Midnight said I still have the rest of the week off.”

They did have stuff to do. She did. No,
they
did. God, she was part of a couple now. She wasn’t going to be facing things alone any more. Someone by her side. It felt odd and wonderful and scary, all at the same time.

A couple. Doing things together. Counting on each other.

Who’d do the dishes?

Jacko would, she decided. He’d do them naked wearing only a tiny frilly apron. Heat came over her so fast it was as if she’d walked in front of a furnace. There was going to be a lot of naked Jacko in her future.

She smiled up at him. He didn’t wince and look away. He searched her face and gave a small smile back.

Wow.

Suzanne, Claire and Allegra kissed her, hugged her and dispersed. The guys from ASI had gone; only John and Douglas were left and they were checking something on a monitor, frowning.

The party was over.

Well, the party inside her wasn’t over; she still felt the champagne bubbling in her veins. Or maybe that was—happiness.
Happiness.
She turned the word over in her mind. A couple of days ago she’d been listening to Jacko’s plans to keep her safe essentially by keeping her locked indoors 24/7, which had been fine with her, since the alternative was a messy death. And before that she’d planned to disappear forever. Leaving all these wonderful people behind.

Happiness hadn’t even been a consideration; survival was. And now—now she was looking at a life that was more than survival. A life with a job she loved, friends she loved, a man she...loved?

He was standing next to her, his arm cocked at that peculiar angle. She slipped her hand into the warm space between massive forearm and brawny biceps, feeling his strength and feeling his solidity. This man who’d been willing to give his job up for her, this man who’d been willing to stand between her and danger. Forever, if necessary.

Happiness. Love?
Well...just maybe.

They walked out of the building just as Suzanne’s three p.m. came in. He was unmistakably one of Suzanne’s clients. Tall, slender, exceedingly well dressed. And giving Jacko a slow up and down.

Lauren smiled to herself.
Sorry, mister, but he’s all mine. And he swings my way.

Lauren leaned heavily into Jacko, squeezing his arm. He looked down at her and smiled again. Smiles looked odd on his face.

Maybe she’d get used to it, in time.