ACCORDING TO PLAN (7 page)

Tank had an old army buddy there he wanted to see, so we three
girls opted to stay in the small city about an hour from his friend’s ranch. We’d
had manicures, pedicures and shopped until we dropped. It had been our last
vacation together and this photo was the only one with my mom and Aunt Tillie
together with me, so I never removed it from the wall.

“I always liked your mom and aunt. They were like family to me.”

I knew that. Aunt Tillie had been almost as devastated as me when
Tank left. The kicker was she hadn’t stayed mad, like me. Both she and Polly
had a soft spot for him and wouldn’t let me out-and-out hate him. I grabbed my
bag and headed upstairs with Tank following. Halfway up I stopped and turned.
Although two steps behind, he remained eye level with me.

“Oh no, cowboy.” I jabbed a finger in his shoulder. “You lost your
chance to stay here. Get out and find some other woman to haunt. We’re through.”

“Darlin’, it’s my house too. But if it makes you feel any better, I
promise on my mother’s grave I will not lay a hand on you until you ask.” He
placed his right hand over his heart. “I’ll stay in our guest room, cross my
heart, hope to die, stick a—”

“Shame on you,” I interrupted. “You told me your mother was alive
and well, counting cards in Vegas.”

He sidestepped me and bounded up the stairs, throwing an
unrepentant grin over his shoulder. “I know, but it worked.”

The guest bedroom door slammed shut.

Chapter Ten

My first instinct when I got to my bedroom was to crawl into bed,
pull the covers over my head and hide from the world for a day or two. But Aunt
Tillie always said,
Child, it’s better to meet life head on than waitin’ for
it to sneak up from behind. That way it can’t bite you in the ‘you know where.’

Then she’d laugh and threaten to show me all the bite marks she’d
received from life. Aunt Tillie was my mother’s aunt. She’d come to live with
me when mom became sick and stayed until she passed. Tragically, a short time
later, Aunt Tille was struck by a car on her way home from shopping. I lost
both my mom and Great Aunt within months of each other.

Sometimes I missed them both so much it felt like a canyon
stretched where my heart used to be. At one time Tank filled that huge void. Then
he took off and the ditch widened even more.

The doorbell chimed and I hastily wiped the tears off my cheeks.
Taking deep breaths, I willed myself to get a grip before going downstairs. I
opened the door to Polly, who held a bag of nacho chips in one hand and a
bottle of wine in the other. The cloying scent of
Poison
, by Dior,
wafted on the air as she breezed by.

“Do you put that stuff on by the gallon or what?” I waved a hand in
front of my face to disperse the air a bit.

“Put what on?” She blithely continued down the hall to my kitchen.

“Your perfume. Geez, Polly. There’s a red haze following you and
dogs are crying next door because they can’t breathe.” I followed and watched
her pull out a big bowl for chips, then glasses for the wine. I noticed she
brought down three glasses.

“Polly, you didn’t come by here to see Tank, did you?”

“Who me?” She batted innocent eyes. “Now why would I do that?’

I snorted in disbelief.

“I stopped to find out how your little trip went and to give you
these.” She pulled a sheaf of papers from her Fendi bag with phone numbers,
times and dates on it. “Gorgeous, hunky man staying at your house had no
bearing what-so-ever that I wore my new sweater. You like?”

Polly had on a soft pink sweater, which showed off her Mae West
figure to perfection as she swayed into the living room with the wine. Sway was
the only way to describe Polly’s walk. She just kind of ‘sashayed.’ You almost
expected her to put a hand on her hip and ask you to come over sometime. She
made me smile, as always.

Papers in hand, I grabbed the bowl of nachos and headed into the
living room. Focused on the pages I didn’t watch where I was going and tripped
over Tank’s long legs, stretched out from the couch. He shot out an arm and
caught me. Stiffening, I placed the nachos on the coffee table, moved away from
him and sat in my easy chair.

Polly settled in next to Tank and offered him a glass. They
immediately started laughing and joking. I was so jealous of their camaraderie
I could have spit nails, so I pretended to study the phone list.

Tank kept looking over to me and I knew he wondered what Polly had
given me, so I lifted the sheet higher to hide my smug smile. The first page
had lots of phone calls to local numbers and I could see the L.A. prefix
interspersed among them. I was about to check out the next page when Polly
piped up.

“So, what did the hookers have to say?”

I lowered the sheets of paper and glared, willing her to realize I
hadn’t said anything to Tank about talking to hookers.

She caught my glare. “What?”

Tank looked from me to Polly and back at me again. “What hookers?”

He sat up straight on the couch and leaned toward me. “Did you do
anything that could have gotten you hurt, or in trouble?”

“More trouble than getting arrested outside an apartment?” I
quipped.

Polly choked on her sip of wine. “You were arrested?”

“No. Tank and Crocodile Dundee bulldozed me into a police cruiser
and then we went for a ride.”

“I was just looking out for your best interests. And I forgive you
for pepper spraying me.”

I felt heat steal across my cheeks.

“You pepper sprayed Tank?” Polly’s eyes widened and she put her
wine on the coffee table. She twisted to face him and touched his arm. “Tank,
you poor thing, are you okay?”

My eyes narrowed as I watched her console poor, poor Tank. What was
she up to?

He nodded, but kept his gaze on me. “So fill me in. What did you
find out in L.A.?” Leaning back once more, he put both arms on the back of the
couch and kicked his feet out onto the coffee table. “Maybe we can bounce ideas
off each other and figure out where he’s gone.”

Polly picked up her wine glass and settled into the corner of the
couch, tucking her feet under her bottom. It was then I noticed her wink at me
as she took a sip of wine and watched the two of us. Oh no. She was playing
matchmaker. Give me a gun and let me shoot myself.

“Shelby, what did you find out?” Tank’s question stopped me from
throttling Polly.

I paused and went back over my day. “This morning I talked to a
couple of hookers who might have known Lulu. They don’t believe Harrison is the
murderer. They’re street savvy and if they don’t think he did the deed, then,
my gut says they’re bang on. So... I have to ask myself, why has Harrison
disappeared? Does he think he’s being framed? Is he a target as well?”

Visualizing Harrison’s apartment I stood, tucked the folded papers into
my back pocket, and began to pace. I did my best thinking when I wasn’t sitting
still.

“His place was too sterile. Made me think he hadn’t lived there.
Or, almost like it had been professionally cleaned. Most people forget
something, like a bar of soap, razor blade. Little things that we just think, ‘
Let
the other guy have it, I’m outta here
.’ Nope, Harrison is a real mystery.”

Tank stroked his strong jaw, nodding. “You may be right. Dango didn’t
say Harry was the killer, only that he was a person of interest. He disappeared
right after the murder.”

I kept musing out loud. “I wonder why he thought he had to go into
hiding. And who’s bankrolling it? Harrison didn’t pay his own bills, there’s no
way he could keep afloat and try to stay out of sight.” A huge yawn escaped me
and my eyelids felt like sandpaper. “I’ll look closer at his parents. They
might have hired me to create the illusion of Harry taking a walk.”

Tank’s hand paused as he reached for a chip and he shot a hard look
at me. A little puzzled by it, but too exhausted to figure out why, I yawned
again and stretched. After running on about six hours of sleep over the past
two days, my personal gas tank hit empty. I had to get some sleep.

With another big stretch I looked over at Polly and Tank talking.
They’d always had an easy friendship. Disgusted with my envy of Polly I decided
to get out of there before I said something I’d regret, again.

“Good night.”

Did they even notice me leave? I headed down the hall and heard
Tank’s deep voice ask Polly if she’d like more wine. Trudging up the stairs I
wanted that to be me on the couch, laughing and teasing with him. The one thing
Tank and I lost, along with trust, was having fun.

Nightly rituals completed, I finally crawled into bed. For at least
an hour I tossed and turned, frustrated that I couldn’t fall asleep no matter
how tired I was. Through the vents I heard talking and the tinkle of Polly’s
laughter. Bitter jealousy tightened around my heart, squeezing until I felt
physical pain. If I had a heart attack and died, would they miss me?

Probably not.

Hands grab at me, pulling me toward a big crate. I hear the
cries of women from within, calling out to be released. I try to stop them. I
don’t want to be sold into slavery.

I awoke with a start, my heart racing. Even though I was a little
disoriented, the dream remained vivid in my mind. I glanced at the alarm clock which
dimly glowed a few minutes after two o’clock a.m. A bit shaken, I stared at my
bedroom door, and willed Tank to come through it.

I’d never admit that his scare tactic in L.A. had worked but it
would be nice if he’d wrap his arms around me and keep me safe.

The door remained closed and a tiny ache settled around my heart. Why
did I think he’d come to my room after promising to leave me alone? I guess I
never expected him to keep his word, at least not when it came to sleeping with
me.

Slipping out of bed, I tiptoed across the room, opened the door
slowly, crept across the hall and pressed my ear to the guest bedroom door. What
did I think I was going to hear? Polly and Tank getting it on. I froze at the
thought. They wouldn’t. Would they?

I opened the door a crack and listened again. Tank’s gentle snoring
was all I heard. I eased the door open further, poked my head in and looked
around toward his bed.

From the light of a street lamp, filtered through gauzy curtains, I
saw him spread out, blankets all tangled, his arm flung over the edge of the
bed. I edged in a little further. As I got closer I confirmed he was alone. A
deep sigh breathed out of me from relief. And, call me a klutz, but I
accidently bumped the bed.

Who was I kidding? I practically kicked the bed to jerk him awake.
My motivation for waking him was lost, even to me. Maybe I thrived on having my
heart broke. I backed away and ducked down so he wouldn’t see me and think
maybe it was a dream.

“Trouble sleeping?”

I knew by the inflection he was trying not to laugh. Embarrassed at
getting caught, I stood.

“Thought I heard a noise and came in to make sure you were okay,” I
lied and turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice deep and husky from sleep. “Stay
with me.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“To sleep only, darlin’. I miss having you next to me. And besides,
I promised I wouldn’t lay a hand on you unless you asked.”

I looked over my shoulder and felt so torn. The logical side of my
brain said, ‘get out, don’t make a bigger fool of yourself’. But the mushy
heart side, the one that needed him, shouted, ‘stay, stay, stay’.

My heart was a traitor to my mind.

“Okay, if you insist.” I crawled over him, into the bed. “Don’t
think this makes up for arresting me in L.A.”

He wrapped his arms around me and I curled against his chest,
twining my legs with his.

“Didn’t think it would. Go to sleep, you’ll feel better in the
morning.”

The steady rhythm of his breathing and heart soothed me. Through my
hair I felt a feather light kiss and he pulled me in a little closer. I loved
him so much.

Within minutes, I was sound asleep.

Chapter Eleven

...his mouth follows the curve of my collarbone before sliding up to
capture my lips. Instinctively I arch, and push up against his hard body. One
hand caresses my thigh while the alarm clock rings, and rings, and rings....

My hand groped around the nightstand, searching for the alarm
clock. It took a few more rings before I realized the ‘alarm’ was actually a
cell phone. Who would call this early in the morning? I found the offending
phone and glared at it. All the call display showed was unknown number, so I
hit talk and held it to my ear.

A disembodied voice droned, “Enter the four digit code from your
computer.”

What the...? I held the phone out and studied the unfamiliar icons.
Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I looked again. Uh oh, not my phone, it was Tank’s.
I punched end and dropped his phone back onto the nightstand. Simultaneously, I
remembered I was in the guest bedroom. The same guest bedroom and bed where
Tank slept and where coincidentally I happened to be all cozy beneath the
duvet.

Groaning softly, I flopped back onto the pillow and I covered my
eyes with the back of my hand, flushing at the memory of using Tank as a
personal body pillow. I pushed the duvet off and sat. Where was Tank anyway?
The deep baritone of Tank singing,
I Love This Bar
, filtered down the
hall. A giggle slipped past me.

He only sang Toby Keith in the shower when he was in a good mood.
This was almost always followed by a gourmet spread of French toast, crisp
bacon and the best coffee in the state.

I wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not after practically begging to
let me sleep with him. So much for the hands-off message I’d instigated. I
skidded into my bedroom and fell back against the closed door just as the
shower stopped. That had been close.

I pushed away from the door and had my own solitary shower. Heat
unfurled within me at the thought of Tank naked in the other shower. I dropped
my head against the cool tile. Oh, how I wanted to skip my dripping body down
the hall and surprise him like the good old days. The pull to join him was so
strong my stomach churned. I had to get my thoughts and hormones under control.
A friggin’ yo-yo bounced around less than I did.

Although I wanted to, in a bad, bad way, I didn’t jump Tank. I
finished my shower and proceeded to pull on clean jeans and the ever present
tee shirt. Fresh coffee and the mouth-watering smell of bacon assailed my
senses while I dressed for work. I’d never admit it to him, but I missed his
cooking.

What would I say to him over breakfast? He didn’t know I’d had this
great epiphany before I fell asleep. And I wasn’t ready to be the first one to
say ‘I love you.’ Not after what he had done. He left me, not the other way
around. I expected some major groveling from the boy.

Once dressed, I walked over to my dresser and put on my watch. As I
hooked the clasp I glanced over the phone bills I’d left lying there. The ones
Polly brought over last night. Smoothing out the paper, I examined the long
list, turning to the second page. A series of phone calls made to a familiar
number practically jumped off the page and alarm bells rang.

Why were the Grants calling Tank?

This tidbit of information was something I hadn’t expected.
Harrison’s disappearance took another fascinating turn. In fact, going by this
print out, they had been calling Tank for several months. My previous
suspicions that this whole business had been too coincidental were confirmed by
this list. I ticked off on my fingers all Tank ‘coincidences.’

1. He’d shown up right after I was hired by Raymond Grant.

2. He’d been waiting for me at the end of their drive.

3. He’d been camped outside Harrison’s apartment.

I looked again at the list and a harsh realization floored me. They
must have told him I was going to L.A. Why would they hire me when they could
have hired Tank? And why would Tank be talking to them if he suspected Harrison
murdered a girl in L.A.?

I needed some uninterrupted time to figure this out and the best
place would be my office, alone. I grabbed the list, ran down the stairs and
yelled out, “See you later.” I thought I heard Tank call out, “Wait!” but
ignored him and couldn’t help but feel like a guilty husband ducking out on the
loving wife, slaving over breakfast.

My drive to work would normally take anywhere from ten to fifteen
minutes. This morning however, there was a detour on the main road. I followed
the temporary road signs while listening to my favorite country music station. Consumed
with thoughts of the phone records, the Grants and what possible link they
could have to Tank, I didn’t notice that over time and a few right turns, the
only car traveling down this narrow side road was mine.

Merde.

In certain situations, I’m bilingual.

The fact that I was the only car on the street wasn’t my main
concern. No. What really had my belly in a free-fall was that this bit of paved
real estate was deserted. My last turn had brought me into a long ally bordered
by empty warehouses with broken windows and lost dreams. The sinking feeling
intensified when a huge tractor-trailer with a ramp attached to the back,
loomed ahead.

Actually, the truck itself hadn’t given me the lead gut feeling.
The big gorilla in a suit with a gun, directing me into the back of said truck,
made me realize I was in a bunch of doo doo.

I had to stop my car and I couldn’t back up because my transmission
was shot. I hadn’t been able to go into reverse for months and kept forgetting
to take it in to be fixed. So, I turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.

After my little scare in L.A., I’d made the decision I wouldn’t
willingly go anywhere. I’d also seen enough Oprah to know—don’t ever go to the
secondary place. Reaching over my left shoulder I locked the door, which gave
me a perceived sense of safety. The knuckle dragger could shoot me, but someone
would report the gunshot.

Right?

Looking around the area I realized maybe not, but a girl could
always hope.

I crouched down a bit lower in an attempt to make myself a smaller
target and groped for my purse. Dread washed over me. Instead of my usual knock
off designer bag, I still had the tacky hooker purse from L.A. and didn’t have
the little gun I usually carried. My only weapon was pepper spray.

Double Merde.

I had less than thirty seconds to think about this because the goon
approached my car, and I had to cover my head as he smashed in the driver’s
window. Then, with apparent ease, he ripped the door off my hatchback.

I gaped in disbelief. This car had been my mother’s and I’d
inherited it when she died. The Blue Bomb was my last physical link to her and
this rusted piece of tin may have been an oil guzzling, exhaust-belching piece
of crap, but it was
my
piece of crap.

Jaw clenched, my blood began to boil. Anger might have been out of
place, given the circumstances, but I felt no guilt as once again, in less than
twenty-four hours, I curled my fingers around the tiny little canister hidden
in my purse and waited.

When my attacker turned to come at me through the door, I held my
arm out stiff and squeezed. This time mist spewed from the nozzle and hit his
face full on. Howling, grabbing at his eyes, he backed away. Not a second to
lose, I pretty much fell out of the car, scrambled to my feet, and took off as
fast as my still stiff legs would let me.

I found I limbered up pretty quick. Being faced with death will do
that for you. I heard him shout and figured he’d be fumbling for his gun, but I
wasn’t looking back to check. My eyes were on the prize of freedom at the end
of the alley. The Olympic record for the one hundred yard dash was about to be
broken when I heard bodies collide and a familiar voice cursing behind me.

Tank? What was he doing here?

I skidded to a stop and against my better judgement turned around.
Tank and Gorilla Boy fought beside my car. A movement at the front of the truck
caught my eye and I spotted a second person jumping down from the big rig.

Now what?
I couldn’t leave Tank alone with two guys, he’d be
outnumbered. I looked around the alley for a weapon and at first couldn’t find
anything. Over by a dumpster I spotted a piece of wood about the length of a
small baseball bat.

That would work.

Digging the two by four out from under garbage I picked it up and
tested its weight in my hand. Good and hefty. It was time to join the fight.
The second guy, focused on Tank, didn’t even see me approach. Feet spread
shoulder width apart I wound up my makeshift bat and cracked him on the back of
the head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, out cold on the pavement. My arms
reverberated from the hit.

Ow! Mama Mia…
I let go of the two by four and grabbed my
hand.

A huge splinter lay lodged in my palm and although I pulled at it
with my teeth, the sliver wouldn’t budge. I kicked the second person in the
leg, to make sure he was really out cold and not playing possum.

Tank continued to go toe to toe with the big guy. My would-be
kidnapper had blood trickling from a cut lip, his breathing labored. Although
muscle bound, he wasn’t in good shape.

Sometime during the fight the gun had dropped to the ground, so I
pounced on it and pointed the barrel at the two men. They continued to punch
and grunt, taking no notice of me. I shouted out the only phrase I could think
of to make them stop, “Freeze, Police!”

Tank kept going but the massive Neanderthal, caught off guard,
paused, which allowed Tank to take advantage of his break in concentration.
With a swift upper cut, Tank laid him out flat. Gorilla Boy crumpled to the
ground and probably saw little birds tweeting around his head.

Not even breathing heavy Tank looked over his shoulder and grinned.
With a dangerous glint in his eye he approached and pulled me against his
chest. His head lowered and my lips parted, waiting for a kiss. Instead he
whispered in my ear.

“Thanks, Shelby. Now find some rope and tie up the little guy.” He slipped
the gun from my hand. “I’ll take care of Tony here.”

“You know these guys?” How did he know this goon’s name and why did
I think he’d kiss me?

Tank didn’t answer and returned to where Tony lay. I guess I’d find
out later, when we had that much needed long talk. I opened the trunk of my car
where I kept emergency supplies—a length of rope handily being one of them. It
took a few minutes, but I hog-tied the still unconscious man, snagging the
splinter several times with the rough rope. The little guy had a cool tattoo on
the back of his hand. It was a serpent, inked to look like it was a part of his
body, slithering around his bones. Any movement of his hand made the snake ‘come
to life’.

Tank sat on an overturned crate and kept the gun pointed at our big
burly friend while we waited for him to wake up. I watched the entire thing
from the side of the Blue Bomb, holding the stick of wood within kicking
distance of Tony’s partner. When Tony finally came around he didn’t look too
pleased to see us in control of their roadside diversion. He semi-sat, but went
no further when Tank waved the gun at him.

“Anthony. Long time no see. What are you doing in my back yard?”

“I don’t got nuthin’ to say to youse guys.” Tony mumbled.

My eyes rolled heavenward at the classic ‘bad guy’ line. Tony
obviously didn’t have many conversation skills.

“Well Tony, here’s how
I
see it. I’ve got the gun, you don’t.
This makes me think you’ll have a lot to say.” Tank scratched his jaw with the
barrel of the gun, “Now we can do this easy, or it can go down like our last
little meet and greet. You decide.”

Tony’s eyes, red and irritated from the spray, became huge like
saucers. He clearly panicked and blubbered, “Come on man, take it easy. Don’t
be shooting me again.”

Shoot him? Tank shot him?

“Then spill. I’m getting testy and that’s my wife you were roughing
up.”

“Your wife?” Tony paled even more, if that were possible.

Little dude started to wake and, in my humble opinion, move too
much, so I gave him a swift kick in the backside, adding a visual reminder by
thumping the wooden stick in the palm of my hand. He settled back down with a
sullen look on his narrow face.

I’d jammed the sliver deeper and the stupid thing was driving me
crazy, so once more I gnawed at my palm, stopping when I heard Tony say, “…so
we was to get the girl in the truck and meet up at the warehouse.”

That didn’t sound too good for me.

“Tony, turn over so I can cuff you and don’t even think about
running.” Tony rolled over and let Tank slap some handcuffs on him. Then Tony
struggled back into a sitting position. Tank came over beside my desecrated car
and pulled out his phone.

“Yeah, it’s me. Tell Neil we have a situation and I need cleaners
at…” He looked around. “...the alley at First and Delaware. Bring a flat-bed
tow truck.” Tank looked down at weasel lying at my feet. He took the two by
four from me and propped it against the car.

“Good job.” Tank draped an arm around me and squeezed. He flipped
the Glock and handed it to me, handle first. “Take this and watch Tony. If he
moves, shoot him.”

The whole situation was beyond anything I’d ever encountered and I
could only stare. I felt like I’d wandered onto a bad movie set and at any
moment a skinny, balding man in a beret would jump out from behind a dumpster
yelling, “Cut!”

Tank placed both hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to face
Tony. With a firm hand he lifted my elbow, so that it was almost shoulder high
and away from my body. “Point the gun that way, darlin’.”

I racked the slide, popped out the magazine and reloaded the gun. “Thanks.
I got it.” Tank nodded in appreciation, ducked his head and kissed me quick. The
gun laid a little heavy in my hand. My own handgun was a Glock 23 Sub-compact
or ‘Baby Glock’ as others liked to call it. For me it was the perfect size and
when I added the mag extension, gave me a fantastic grip. Confidence returning,
I held the gun on Tony, who looked panic-stricken.