Two O'Clock Heist: A Rebecca Mayfield Mystery (The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries Book 2) (6 page)

She skulked quietly along the breezeway wall, her Glock pointed and ready to fire. He crept along behind her, with no idea what he could do, but unwilling to leave her alone. When she reached the back yard, she peeked into it. The yard was dark. All the neighbors’ lights were off. “Kiki’s party,” she whispered. “I forgot all about it.”

He had no idea what she was talking about. Only a small entry light over her front door was lit. From it, he could see that the door was open. The yard itself seemed to be empty.

“Oh, my God,” she whispered.

Richie caught her arm as she started forward, holding her back. “It’s too dangerous.”

She shook him off. “I’m being careful.”

Like hell, he thought, but followed as she inched forward. Standing outside the doorway, Rebecca pressed herself to the wall as she reached inside and found the light switch right beside the door opening. She flipped on the lights then took a quick peek inside at her combination living-dining-kitchen area. It was empty of people, but it had been tossed. Drawers emptied, her television smashed, furniture knocked over. 

She stepped inside, gun extended, as she walked towards the bedroom.

Richie followed. The bedroom, too, was empty, as was the bathroom. The bedroom had also been tossed, everything from her bureau drawers lay on the floor, and even the mattress had been pulled off the bed.

Richie couldn’t help but notice some lacy, black underwear and immediately was hit with a pantheon of emotions—from fury at the thugs who would manhandle her things, to imagining how damned sexy she would look wearing that, to a stab of jealousy at the oaf she had wanted to impress.

“Spike?” she called.

Oh, no.
Her little dog.
Richie immediately helped her search. They first lifted the mattress back onto the bed, thinking Spike might be under or behind it. He wasn’t.

Richie thought Spike was just about the goofiest looking mutt he’d ever seen, but Rebecca loved him, so that made him just fine in Richie’s book.

They searched through the house, then went out to the back yard. He wasn’t there either.

“He may have run up the backstairs to hide near Kiki or Bradley’s flat,” Rebecca said, hope filling her voice. Wooden stairs led to small landings by the back doors to her landlord’s and Kiki’s places. “Kiki threw a big party tonight, so I suspect they aren’t home yet. I’ll go see if Spike is scared and hiding up there.”

“I’ll head outside,” Richie said, “in case he ran out and is hiding in the alley.”

He didn’t like the sad look on her face as she nodded that she liked his idea. Also, he’d never seen her so scared before, n
ot even two months ago when she came face-to-face with a killer. He knew her fear wasn’t for herself, but for her dog.

He wished he could tell her he’d make everything all right, but sometimes that was impossible. He feared this might be one of those times, and he also knew she wasn’t a person who would put up with feel-good remarks based on wishful thinking.

He walked up and down the alley calling for the dog with no luck. He even went out onto Taylor Street, and hoped Spike hadn’t run out there because there was far too much traffic. But most prevalent in his mind was the thought that one of those thugs gave the tiny pet a vicious kick, and that he’d find a broken corpse tossed in some corner.

About ten minutes later, he saw Rebecca, on her hands and knees looking under cars in the fog-filled alley. He went to her and helped her to her feet. “No luck, I take it.”

She shook her head, fighting hard to hold back tears. “I don’t know what to do. Where can he be? Who would do this?”

“Could the Russians have followed you home?”

She thought a moment. “They might have.” Her voice shook. “That poor little dog has already been through so much. I just …”

She took a few steps away from him, then turned back, her big blue eyes meeting his. He knew he had to say something that would give her hope. “None of this means they’ve hurt him,” he began. “Look, if they … if they did something to him, they would have left him where you could find him. Used him as a warning. But they didn’t. That tells me that when he saw them, he knew they were bad news and split. He’s a smart little guy. I think he took off and is probably sleeping somewhere waiting until he thinks it’s safe to come home.”

She said nothing a long moment, then nodded. “That makes sense,” she murmured. “I hope you’re right.”

His cell phone vibrated. He took it out. It was Louie, the guy he called to pick up Rebecca’s car. “Louie, where are you? I thought you’d be here by now.”

“You didn’t tell me this job was dangerous,” Louie yelled.

“What are you talking about?” Richie asked.

“The SUV—it caught fire! Burst into flames! My cousin was in it. He was going to drive it. The only thing that saved him was he hadn’t shut the door when he stepped on the gas. He was able to hurl himself to the ground and roll. Still, he got burned. An ambulance is taking him to SF General. I’m heading there now.”

“My God, Louie. I had no idea.”

“What’s wrong?” Rebecca asked.

“I’ll get over there,” Richie said. “You make sure he gets whatever help he needs. I’ll cover the cost, whatever it is. You got that?”

“I know, Richie. I know you’re good for it. He’s got some insurance from work, but still …”

“What’s his name?”

“Carlo Fiori. But that’s not the only reason I called,” Louie said. “You need to warn her.”

“I will. Thanks, Louie. I’ll see you later.”

He put the phone back in his pocket.

“Richie, what is it?” Rebecca asked. “What happened?”

He drew in his breath. How should he tell her? “Rebecca, how fond are you of your car?”

o0o

Rebecca tried to figure out what he was talking about. “My car? Don’t tell me your friends got into an accident.”

He looked around the dark alley. “Come on, you’re a sitting duck out here. We’ve got to move. Pack some clothes, and we’ll go to my house.” Richie grabbed her arm and started back to her apartment.

“Have you lost your mind?” She stopped and pulled her arm free.

“Your car was rigged to catch fire when you got inside. It might not have killed you, but it sure as hell would have put you in the hospital for a long, long time.”

“
What?
”

“My friend’s cousin was in it. He’s in the hospital.” Richie’s voice was pain-filled. “Now, let’s get out of here.”

She didn’t move. “Someone got hurt because of me? Is that what you’re saying?”

“Someone got hurt because of the Russian syndicate.” This time she didn’t argue as he hurried her back to her apartment. She stood in the living room taking in the mess that her little apartment, her sanctuary, had become. She felt stunned, unable to comprehend all that had gone so wrong. And her dog …

Suddenly, Richie was in front of her, holding an armload of her clothes. She didn’t have many—she didn’t need many in her line of work—and it seemed he had grabbed everything in the closet, hangers and all. “I’ll put these in the car while you get some of those underthings you women wear—and as many guns as you have salted away—and leave.”

She pulled a carry-on from the closet and quickly threw shoes and anything else she thought she might need into it, probably more than she would ever use, but it was easier to grab everything than to try to sort things out.

“Don’t forget these,” Richie said, dropping in her black Victoria’s Secret undies. Normally, she would have had a choice word or two for him that would have wiped the smile from his face into the next county, but right now, she couldn’t manage more than a grimace.

She zipped the carry-on shut. “Wait! I can’t go. What about Spike? What if he comes back home and no one is here?”

“While you were packing I called a couple guys, explained the situation. If anyone can find him, they can.”

She had no reason to believe him, knew it might be next to impossible for his “guys” or anyone else to find her pet, and knew the odds against finding him alive. But at this moment, it felt good to have someone to put her trust in.

He took her suitcase and hurried towards the sidewalk, but before they left the breezeway, she halted.

“Stop!” she said. “I’ll leave, but I’m not going to your house. I can find a hotel somewhere.”

“Do you know the price for a decent one in this city? And, trust me, you do not want to go to a cheap place. Especially if anyone there finds out you’re a cop.”

She drew in her breath, but he was right. She rubbed her forehead, trying to think, but her mind felt empty. “I guess Kiki’s flat isn’t far enough away.”

“I’d say not.” He looked at her with a strange combination of exasperation and something akin to pity.

If the Russian mob was in fact after her, how could she put any friend at risk? She thought of her co-workers. All men, and all engaged or married except for Bo Benson. She didn’t want to put him in an awkward position by asking if she could stay with him. People gossiping about them living together might not be a career enhancer for him. “Stop. I’ve got to report this.”

They walked to his car and he put her suitcase in the trunk as she called her boss, Lieutenant James Philip Eastwood. She didn’t bother with preliminaries, but told him about going to a business looking for the husband of a friend, and it turned out to be owned by the Russian mafia. They didn’t like her questions, and fire-bombed her car and trashed her apartment. She left out details of her friend’s death.

“Good God!” Eastwood exclaimed. “Was this connected to one of your cases?”

“Not at all,” she said.

“I’ll send CSI to
go over both car and apartment. Keep away from your apartment. Do you have a place you can stay? A friend’s house maybe?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ll let you know what we find out. In the meantime, I’ll warn others in the department. Sometimes the Russians take their threats out on anyone close to the one they’re upset with. That could be any of us.”

“I’m sorry, sir,
” she said.

“Well, how were you to know?
Anyway, come in tomorrow at nine so we can deal with this.”

“Yes, sir.

“Now, wait for CSI, then clear out. Let them do their job.”

“I will, sir.” Last of all, she gave him the location of her car and the Golden Gate Garage, then threw in her apartment to save him the trouble of looking it up.

Richie had waited outside the car as she spoke to her boss, and when the call ended, he got into the car. “I’ve got to wait for CSI to arrive,” she told him.

He nodded. “Did Eastwood offer protection or a place for you to stay?”

“No. He knows I can take care of myself.”

He studied her. “My offer still stands—my place.”

She realized he was her best choice. But still … “How do I say this? If I’m there, I don’t want any”—she struggled for the words—“funny business.”

He grinned at the old-fashioned term. “Just think of me as your guardian angel.”

She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, but you’re no angel. On the other hand, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

“Good.”

They waited in silence for CSI. After a while, he asked, “So, are you seeing anyone?”

That surprised her. “Not that it has anything to do with anything, but yes. There’s a pharmacist.”

“A pharmacist? My.”

Something about his
comment made her grit her teeth. She had no idea why, but she felt compelled to add, “And a guy who works at Kiki’s spa.”

“Oh, a spa guy. Super. Does he put the cute little umbrellas in the fruit fizz?”

She grimaced. “He’s a masseuse.”

“A hands-on guy. I see.”

“Not funny.”

“Finally, something I agree with.”

She was glad to see the CSI pull up. She got out of the car, showed Crime Scene Inspector Pacheco to her apartment, gave him her keys, and then left.

o0o

Richie drove in silence to Twin Peaks boulevard, taking a number of small winding streets up to his house, a mid-century modern structure with a garage on street level and directly over it, the living room with an enormous picture window taking full advantage of the view of the Bay Bridge and East Bay hills in the distance.

His silence made her feel both awkward and overwhelmed by all that had just happened to her dog, his friend, her crummy little apartment, and even the conversation they just had about “funny business” and the men—or lack thereof
—in her life. That last conversation had broken off with too much left unsaid. She wanted to explain.

He pulled into the garage and stopped the car. Instead of getting out, she stared at her lap a moment, then said, “My staying at your house like this is awkward for me. But I want to be clear. You once told me you could
never see yourself dating a cop.” She faced front, still not looking at him. “This situation, this danger, only shows that you’re right. It shows why a cop shouldn’t get close to civilians ... not even to an ugly little mutt that nobody else wants.” Her voice broke, but she kept her shoulders square, her jaw rigid until she regained control.