The Ringer

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The Ringer

Copyright © 2014 by Amber Malloy

ISBN: 978-1-61333-694-6

Cover art by Lacey Savage

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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The Ringer

By

Amber Malloy

~Dedication~

For Flo and Go. Two crazy cuckoo birds who I love dearly.

And Melissa Ringsted: Thanks for sprucing up the place. I couldn’t have flipped this house without you.

Lane Garrett wanted nothing less than a warm bath and a hot cup of cocoa, but the mark she’d picked up at the bar had other plans.

A college haunt of all places, she noted with a snort.

Six foot two and balding, the man appeared to have careened into his fifties kicking and screaming. He clung to her body as if she harbored the last available life preserver under her mini skirt.

All hands, he pawed and grasped at her with amazing gusto for someone his age.
Frat boy in a different life
. Lane gave a healthy amount of resistance to the Viagra-type-horny strength the man exhibited.

Assault would have been a better word for what she endured. In good consciousness, she could settle upon the term pervy instead. After all, she had gone with him to the dingy parking lot behind the bar on her own accord.

For what it was worth, Lane gave him all of the appropriate signals. She fought hard to make sure he didn’t touch any body part that could have been referenced by a Georgia O’Keefe in vivid oil color detail.

The time to rethink her life choices should have come well before this moment. Fresh from a separation, she took a mental note of how things had gone so wrong so fast.

“Are you sure you’re not married?” She giggled in his ear. “A good-looking guy like yourself.” Lane waited for his reply, tilting her left boob up to get every word of his denial.

Of course any audio evidence she obtained would be inadmissible in court, but it always dried the ink on the divorce papers much faster. After hearing the evidence, the wives didn’t tend to waffle.

“I told you, honey, she died, and I ain’t been with nobody for months,” the mark growled in his best attempt at a sexy voice.
He’s practiced it for hours
. She fought the overwhelming urge to puke.

“Well, how about I get in my car and follow you to somewhere more private,” Lane said, bearing in mind they stood in a parking lot. Anywhere would have been more private.

“No, now! I want it now!”

An icky wave of panic began to bubble in her gut. The man tightened his grip on her arm while he hit the car alarm on his midlife crisis—a BMW sports convertible.

“What’s your hurry, big guy?”

He snatched the passenger’s door open. She didn’t want to blow her cover quite yet. Nevertheless, if this maniac didn’t let up on her arm soon, she would be forced to take drastic measures. To buy herself some time, Lane made her body go rigid.

“Come on, baby, let’s do this.” He tongued her ear.

Grossed out, Lane slipped her free hand into her purse. She used her other arm to fend the freak off of her ample breast. “Well, sweetie, you just might have to buy me a diamond.”

“A whaaa—”

“Di-am-ond,” Lane repeated the safe word for the security team into her own cleavage.

“Honey, you’re going to have to do me something real good for a diamond,” he said while he pushed her head south toward the bulk of his beer gut.

Close to committing a crime far worse than adultery, she heard the sound of footsteps.
At last, the cavalry
. He loosened his grip. She used the distraction to slip the ironclad grip her mark had on her head.

“Johnny Mac?” a man asked. Lane tried to save her tacky blonde wig from the dingy street. Somewhere between the bar and the car door, her cute little pageboy cap had met its demise.

“Beat it,” the mark growled over his shoulder at the interloper.

“You got something for me?”

Crouched too low to see over his beer belly, she tried to look past the cheater in hopes to implore the intruder for assistance. However, the hefty bulk of her horny mark’s body kept her from noticing anything other than his cheap leather jacket.

“I said—” The mark’s words got covered by a loud boom, and his big frame jerked away from hers. A look of pure shock ran across his bloated face when he tried to turn around.

In the throes of some sort of fit, he rocked from left to right before he tipped over backward.

Confused, she leaned toward the guy’s motionless body at the same time she found her can of pepper spray near the bottom of her purse. Operating on automatic pilot she flipped the safety off the canister with her thumb. A twitter or a flash of something drew her attention, perhaps the shiny gleam of the gun reflecting off the streetlight. Lane opened her eyes and whispered a silent thank you. At least she wasn’t dead. Of course, she couldn’t say the same for the cheater.

Dressed from head to toe in black, a man stood above her unfaithful mark’s limp body. His thin, hardened face twisted in a genuine look of surprise when Lane pulled out the can of poison and aimed.

***

Thirty minutes earlier
….

A line formed in front of the neighborhood college bar, Paddy’s, and snaked around the block. Jax Thornbird leaned his driver’s seat back in his classic Plymouth 1969 GTX. He sat idle outside of the packed pub while he tried to knock out a couple of Zs.

The college haunt split at the seams with grads and undergrads. They came from assorted institutions of higher learning in the downtown area.

Autumn in Chicago brought out the small town kids with big city dreams. The reality of their wasted weeks of drunken exploits sunk in once winter came around. Those stars in their eyes dulled to a lack luster shine when the first start of snow hit the ground.

Thankful he had been off the street beat for some time, he tried to think about anything other than the current state of his career. The sudden yank at his passenger door interrupted his thoughts and made him reach for the sidepiece, which made things worse. Jax forgot he’d had to turn in his gun.

“My man, wha’cha know, no good?” Sherman, his old partner from vice, hopped into his car with a huge smile from ear to ear. “You’re getting rusty in your old age, or should I say retirement.”

“You’re lucky I don’t have my gun.”

“Ha! Get in line,” Sherman joked. “So what’s up with this poster for erectile dysfunction?” The dark-skinned man, who could be mistaken for a college nerd instead of a narcs officer, ran his hand across the GTX’s dashboard.

“Sweet, huh.” He smiled. It had taken him forever to rebuild the ol’ girl, but he got her in top order.

He’d added some extras to the car such as an iPod dock, GPS, and satellite. If other people wanted to suffer under the guise of being a purist, then let them. He had no desire to be uncomfortable.

“What’s the deal, man? Raff called me for a favor.” He nodded toward the bar. “You got a bust or something?”

“Nope, but you do.”

“Funny,” he said with no humor at all. He faced an investigation from Internal Affairs for a wrongful shooting. Of course, Jax felt he wasn’t the least bit wrong.

“Ah, Raff’s always up to new business ventures.” Sherman jerked his thumb at the ever-growing crowd in front of the bar. “You see the platinum blonde in the hat and the mini. Stacked like a brick house, not skinny and frail like the rest of these kids.” Sherman peered at him over his glasses. His former partner had never been a fan of the waif.

“Get to it,” he pushed, since Sherman could draw out the simplest of conversations.

“She’s a decoy. In about one minute, a sweet honey will saunter past the bouncer and get right into the bar. Inside is a hellacious cheater whose wife has paid top dollar to get the goods on him.”

“And this means what to me?” he asked as Sherman tossed a small headset over to him.

“You’re the tail. Make sure nothing gets out of hand or goes too far, and in case there’s a problem, listen for the code word
diamond
.”

Jax sighed, knowing he couldn’t back out of this.

“Tell me Raff at least called someone else?”

Sherman flashed him one of his famous smiles before he opened the door to the brisk fall night. “Nope, you’re the only rich dude with time on his hands, Thornbird. Everyone else is on the job.” He stepped out. “And for God’s sake, man, get a haircut. You may be unemployed, but you don’t have to look it.” Sherman laughed before slamming the door shut on the gritty sounds of the city’s nightlife.

Lane sprayed her assailant straight in the eyes. A yelp of a scream came out of the gunman, not at all satisfying. She sniffed.

While the shooter stumbled around, aiming any and everywhere, Lane tiptoed toward the cheater’s keys. They fell away from his limp body. Panicked, she snatched them up and dove into the BMW, scrambling to get to the driver’s seat.

Whispering silent prayers under her breath, Lane hoped her pleas reached the heavens when she shoved the key in the ignition, quite aware the roar of the engine would tip the psycho murderer off to her spot. She twisted the key anyway.

A bullet hit the windshield while another whizzed past her ear. She tried not to waver. Lane pulled at the gearshift, and froze when the killer flashed the gun at her.

“Get out of the car you stupid bitch!”

Don’t scream, don’t cry, don’t scream, don’t cry
. She chanted as she braced herself for a blow.
Have a semblance of dignity
. Lord knew she didn’t want to be shot dead in the parking lot of a shitty bar.

“Slut,” he growled.

Lane steadied herself for quick pain and decided a quiet bliss would come next. However, the shooter interrupted her on-the-spot burial plans when he gave a grunt and slumped forward.

She watched as another man yanked her assailant from inside of the car. He threw her attacker’s limp body to the ground along with a huge chunk of plywood.
I’ve seen you before
.

Flustered, she couldn’t summon up the place or the time where she had met the guy. The perfect man, with his squared jaw and hazel eyes had just saved her. Afraid because she couldn’t make sense of anything, Lane’s whole body began to shake.

The sexy man she knew, but couldn’t remember, jumped into the passenger’s seat. He shut the door behind him and commanded her, “Drive.”

It was too dark to see the woman’s face, but he recognized something about her. The glow from the streetlights ran over the car, creating a quick shadow before slipping back into the night.

He couldn’t get a good read on her face.

Even with her strange blonde hair and oddly matched clothes, he remembered the decoy.