[B.S. #1] Tied Up in Knotts (2 page)

Looking back she could see that she had been naïve in her thinking. Her father had never worked at anything long-term, her mother always seemed to be nervous, and money was never a problem. Their house, while not a mansion, was in a good family area, vacations were spur of the moment, and she was frequently taken out of school to be carried away to exotic places. She always liked Florida the best. At the cottage her family seemed to relax more, and laughter and smiles were frequent.

God. Twenty-five and feeling sorry for herself. Looking back, Avery told herself, wouldn’t change anything. It just made her depressed. Pulling herself together, she opened the top freezer and pulled out a frozen dinner, a luxury for her, but with the day she had, she felt she deserved it. Unwrapping the frozen dinner of mac and cheese, she popped it in the microwave. Not exactly four-star fare, but a treat for her now. Making her way over to the other side of the small room, she sat on her thread-worn couch and laid her head back against the back of it. Taking a deep cleansing breath, she tried to think of all the good things that had happened since the accident.

1. She was still breathing. Thank God her family had decided on their last Florida vacation that she didn’t have to go with them everyplace. She was old enough to have a job back home in a small real estate agency and was grown up enough to be left alone. Her family—she could still see their faces as they pulled away in the family car waving back at her that last time. They seemed to be in a hurry to leave, but Avery thought nothing of it. They were always in a rush most of the time.

2. Money. Her family had just enough money in the bank to cover all of the bills following the accident once the house and cottage were sold.

3. She lost her job. Well, that wasn’t a blessing, but with nowhere to live and no prospects in the area when the house was sold, Avery had to make some quick decisions.

One of those decisions included selling her mother’s small collection of jewelry that she had hid from the Feds. That money had kept her fed for a small time, but now she was bankrupt just like her precious home town of Detroit. Avery had just enough to rent the small apartment in the seeder side of Detroit and later obtained a job at the local diner on 5
^th
Street without needing a reference.

Which was good, because references were just another thing she didn’t have anymore. Her reputation went down the drain along with her family’s once her father’s job as a fence for the local drug lord was revealed. The papers had eaten it up. A well-to-do family from a great neighborhood that had been living a lie and preying on the addictions of others and making a lot of money at it. Her face had been spread on the front pages with her family and no matter how many times she told everyone—the police included—that she didn’t know anything about her father’s dealing, they couldn’t or wouldn’t believe that she was that blind to all the things going on under her nose.

The ding of the microwave took her from her musings and she slowly got up. Dinner, shower, then bed. Hopefully the water would be lukewarm tonight. Too many times she went to bed freezing from the ice water in the taps.

* * * *

James entered the fifth-story office a half hour after leaving the diner. All was quiet as everyone had left for the day. Walking to his large office at the left of the reception desk, James took off his leather jacket and flung it onto the couch on the back wall. He knew his frustrations were starting to show and it was starting to affect his day-to-day life. He had to get a grip.

Rounding the corner of his large desk, he picked up the phone and called a meeting of his best friends and cohorts in their security business. He had to get this out. He couldn’t keep going every day watching and doing nothing. Anxious, he ran a hand through his thick black hair. He knew his friends. No matter what they had on their plate at the moment, they would be a good sounding board.

Clay arrived first and found James in his second glass of Scotch, bottle at his elbow, sitting at his desk with his tie askew and feet up.

“Well it looks like you started the party without the rest of us,” said Clay while nodding toward the bottle.

James sat up, his feet thudding on the floor. “Party? I wish. Come on in. Want a drink?”

Clay rethought his first impression of James. He had looked like he was tying one on and wanted company. But with a second look, Clay could tell something was bothering James.

“If you think a drink would help. I’ll have one, even if it’s only the damn Scotch you seem to love. The rest of the unit should be here any second now. I called them before I left.” Walking over to the desk, Clay filled one of the empty glasses beside the Scotch bottle James had laid out for the others.

Sliding into the chair in front of the desk, Clay asked, “Did one of the current jobs derail? I thought at the last meeting that things were going smoothly?”

James took a long swig of his drink and put the glass down on his desk. Looking across at Clay, James ran his hand though his hair again.
How do I explain this without sounding like a mother hen? Might as well start at the beginning.

“You know the Knotts job? The one I have been working closely on with the Feds?”

At the sound of footsteps approaching his office, James stopped his train of thought. Might as well tell the story only once. Looking up, he saw the rest of the unit file in. Brad was in the lead with Grant and Angel bringing up the rear. They were all intimidating men, each over six feet. Some with tattoos, some with scars, mentally and physically, but they were the best of friends and the most loyal group that he knew from their time in the army.

They had formed a close-knit group, having gone through the worst life could throw at them and come out the other side sane, for the most part, and in one piece. A lot of that could be attributed to Angel and his uncanny sense of knowing things ahead of time. Perhaps it was his Native American heritage—he sure looked like a warrior with his long black hair and piercing black eyes. He had earned the name Angel when he had been right too many times for it only to have been instinct.

Clay always looked like a hardcore biker with tattoos covering both arms, and since he always wore his black, lucky leather jacket, he usually dealt with any drug-related cases when they arose. But since he had just come off an assignment in the Middle East, James had taken this case on. Their firm had a reputation for surveillance expertise and the ability to ferret out information that the FBI couldn’t within their legal operational restraints, and that’s why they had been picked for this job. Avery Knotts was being closely watched by him, but also, he suspected, by goons hired by a drug lord.

Glancing over at his odd assortment of friends, James stood up from the chair behind his desk.

“As you know, I have been working on the Knotts case. What you don’t know is that neither the Feds nor Carlos Casteel, the major drug-running kingpin in the city, believes that Avery Knotts, the daughter, has come clean and told everything that she knows. They still think she might lead them to the last stash of drugs her father hid. They didn’t find any when they went through the family cottage in Florida or their city house. It would mean millions to Carlos if these drugs can be found and the Feds want them found and destroyed so no further lives are lost from this last batch Knotts was peddling. I have been able to locate Knotts’s daughter in South Detroit. She is currently living in an apartment on Fifth Street and works at the local diner as a waitress. From what I have been able to uncover so far, I don’t think she had anything to do with her father’s dealing activities. It looks bad for her, though, because she was always on the scene or around when the drops took place. The Feds think the vacations the family took every three months were just covers for the drops, and I concur.”

Pacing behind his office chair, James looked at the men assembled in front of him. “I know in my gut from following her around for the last week that she has nothing to do with it. She is a naïve little thing, only five feet tall, that a strong wind could blow over. She spends all her time at her apartment, leaving only for work and small outings to the grocery store. She keeps to herself and doesn’t seem to have any friends. What do you think we can do to either bring this thing to a head or at least get the Feds and Carlos off her back? I think she deserves a break.” Looking up from his rant, James was surprised to see all of his friends staring at him.

“What?” James shot back at them.

His friends looked at each other and seemed to quietly come to the conclusion that Clay would speak for the group.

“James, maybe you should step back a bit and take another look. This is just another job, and you seem to be taking it as a personal affront. This girl—what’s her name, Aven?”

James interrupted. “Her name is Avery.”

Clay threw a shocked glance back at James. This was not the James they all knew and it was not the way he operated—maybe he better poke him to see what was really bothering him.

“Yes, Avery. She might seem to be innocent of any knowledge, but you know as we all do that sometimes looks can be deceiving. Are you sure her looks are not deceiving you into believing something that’s not there?”

James looked at the group and gritting his teeth, snarled. “Since when do you question my motives on a case? I expected support, not questions. I need suggestions. If none of you can be objective, I can do this alone.” Falling back into his chair, James poured another drink and swallowed it. Looking up at his friends, James noticed that all were oddly quiet and still looking at him with a strange look on their faces.

Clay, now standing next to his chair, took offense to James’s words.

“That’s a low blow, James. This group has been through hell and back. We have always been there for you when you needed us. You know that. I think you’re just not thinking straight on this case.”

James looked down at his hand, clasping his glass with white knuckles. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the group and saw the sincere concern on their faces staring back at him.

“God, you’re probably right. But she looks so alone and down on her luck that I just want to protect her. Ever since the Feds showed me her picture for the first time, something in her keeps calling to me. I can’t explain it. Do you know what I mean? When I see her in the diner looking so small and frail, with all the dirty old men watching her every move, I just want to protect her. I want to grab her and take her someplace where she doesn’t have to deal with the scum that frequent that hellhole and keep her all for myself. It might seem selfish, but that is where my head’s at right now. So maybe I’m not seeing clearly, but I still think my gut is right.”

Angel, who had been sitting off to the side in the corner with his back to the wall—something he always did no matter where he was—spoke what everyone in the room thought. “Looks like you have a bad case of lust for this Avery woman. What can we do to help? Any woman that makes you sit up and take notice is worth helping. But I don’t know if we need to help her with her problems or keep her safe from your intentions,” Angel said with a smirk in his voice and a smile on his rugged mug.

James had to laugh at Angel. They know me well, James thought to himself. They knew he was all business, and even after getting out of the army still kept the same work ethics. No time for any long commitments. Plans and people could be taken away at a moment’s notice, he had learned that the hard way. Jerking himself back from his thoughts, he once again looked at his friends.

“I think I have a plan. Let me give you the run down and tell me what you think.” James picked up the Scotch and poured each of his friends a shot.

Chapter Two

Avery woke up the next morning and shook her head, thinking about her walk home last night. Hadn’t she lived here long enough to know that there were drunks or johns at most corners? She probably had seen a drunk stumbling home from a night at the bar and mistaken him for someone following her.

Getting up, she made toast and coffee and looked over the paper she had picked up on her way home from work. She desperately needed a new job. The diner was OK, but the owner did not strictly stick to selling only meals and coffee. She suspected that some backroom drug deals were going on and wanted out before it came back to bite her like last time. The Feds would never believe her this time. Hell, they didn’t believe her the first time that she knew nothing about the drug deals. If it happened a second time, they would probably think she was part of a distribution ring. Straightening out the newspaper on her small kitchen table, Avery looked over the help wanted ads. Not much new, especially in this area, not that she could get anything fancy. Since her only other experience was a couple of months working as a receptionist, her hopes of landing a better job were slim.

Avery took her plate and cup to the sink, still thinking of her lot in life while rinsing them out. With a sigh, she went to her closet to get ready for another day at the diner. She couldn’t be late and lose this job because she was daydreaming about a life that was out of her reach.

James was sitting at his usual back booth at the diner when Avery walked through the door the following morning. He could see she had dark circles under her eyes, probably from lack of sleep, and looked a little down. Her apartment, with all the nightly trades being plied just outside, couldn’t have been the most restful place to lay your head.

Walking past him, Avery glanced in his direction on her way to the back to leave her purse and grab an apron. Her green eyes seemed to recognize him. He hoped only from his everyday cups of coffee, morning and night, and not from seeing him in the alley last night. She probably thought he was some down on his luck guy if she went by his clothes and rust bucket parked outside. As long as that’s all she thought, his cover was safe.

The bell over the door of the diner rang just then and James looked up to see Clay stride though the door. Without even glancing where James was sitting, Clay took a stool at the long counter that ran the length of the diner. Sliding his large frame onto the stool, Clay reached for a menu and looked the place over. He looked like any other customer, gruff and gritty in his black leather jacket, getting accustomed to a new place. But James knew Clay and could see his gray eyes taking in everyone in the diner and marking all the exits in case they were needed. Clay was staking the place out in case danger was stupid enough to come calling when he was there. Clay was always prepared. No one had ever gotten the drop on him.