Catch & Neutralize (7 page)

Chapter 10

By her third Appletini, Angie felt relaxed. Thoughts floated to her husband, Mark T. Carter, M.D., the best Research Geneticist on the east coast transferred west, and who also happened to be her everything. Shortly after high school graduation, the week she turned eighteen, Angie met Mark. Her first job, his secretary. At forty-four-years-old, Mark had been the sexiest African-American man she’d ever seen. He fit all her criteria: athletic, brilliant, and wealthy. The only downfall – and it was a big one – he was already married. Determined not to play the home wrecker role, Angie stayed away.

Incredibly, it had taken almost two years for Angie to find out about the marriage. Up until that point, Angie had flirted like mad. It was strange that Mark didn’t talk about his wife, Cheryl, and never wore a ring. He’d kept no pictures of her in the office. Angie suspected a crinkle in his married life, something wide and dark and unmentionable.

Soon after Mark’s daughter, Tia, turned 18 (a mere four years after Angie), Mark divorced Cheryl. Seven months after that, he and Angie were married and packing for New Mexico. Smiling to herself, Angie thought, true love eventually breaks all chains.

Her reminiscing floated away when a petite woman with shoulder-length, mousy curls and black rimmed glasses laid a hand on the neighboring chair.

“Hi, I’m Tiffany. Mind if I sit here?” The woman tried handing Angie something.

Noticing the object was her own driver’s license, Angie snatched it, adding a smile as an afterthought. “Thanks. Didn’t know I’d dropped it. And,” she inhaled audibly, “the chair’s empty, isn’t it? Of course, you can sit there.”

“Looks like you could use some company, Phalanges.”

“How did you know…”

“Your driver’s license, silly.” Tiffany threw her head back laughing. “For a second, I bet you thought I was some kind of crazy stalker.”

Angie’s hand covered a chuckle. “Anyone ever tell you that you sound exactly like a monkey when you laugh? And yes, crazy stalkers. Can’t be too sure these days.”

“Very true,” a nod and a pause, the monkey comment completely ignored. “Interesting name. You’re named after finger and toe bones?”

Angie’s features remained expressionless, but her eye roll said it all. “Yes, actually, I am. My parents are amateur scientists and thought it’d be cute. Ha! Not so much. I thought about going by Phal, which sounds just like the word foul. I didn’t want to sound like a bad play in baseball, or fowl as in chicken. So, I started telling everyone to call me Angie. It took a while, but finally stuck.”

Tiffany nodded with hand held out. “Nice to meet you, Angie.”

“Likewise,” Angie said turning, ignoring the offered hand. She’d had plenty of experience with shaking the wrong hands. In her line of work, shaking the wrong hand could be the same as signing your own death warrant. She trusted no one until they earned it.

Following a brief silence, Angie spoke first. “So, what brings you to this excellent establishment on such a lovely late fall evening? Is it the pricey grub, delicious cocktails, or hot prosperous men? Perhaps the complete hat trick?”

“Just wanted to get away.” Tiffany’s gaze floated over the landscape, at clouds rolling over mountaintops. She pushed her glasses up. “And definitely the cocktails. Had a bit of a rough one this afternoon. I’m a therapist, and one of my patients is in an awful predicament. I can’t really discuss it, as you probably know, but it’s taking a toll on me.”

Angie perked up, interested in the secret crisis of an unknown person. “Sorry to hear that.” She noticed Tiffany’s hands shaking. “You can talk to me about anything. I don’t know you or your patient. I’m just a girl in a bar.”

“I wish I could, but I’d lose my license if word got out,” Tiffany rattled off. “I really shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

“No worries. Let me buy you a drink.” Angie raised her hand and snapped twice to signal Richard. Turning back to Tiffany, “What would you like?”

Angie watched as Tiffany eyeballed the lime green liquid in her martini glass. A sliver of Granny Smith Apple clung to its rim.

“That looks tasty,” Tiffany nodded at Angie’s cocktail. “How about one of those?”

Richard approached with a fresh Appletini preparing to give it to Angie. She knew that he knew her routine of sucking down five or six during each visit and always leaving with a different male patron. This was her cover.

With a smile directed at Angie, Richard said: “Here you are, Mrs. Carter.” He turned to Tiffany. ”What would…”

Angie interrupted, “Thank you, Richard. Will you bring another for my new friend here?”

“Right away.” He pulled a cloth napkin from his pocket and wiped it over his face. Richard scurried away leaving a wake of aftershave behind.

The ladies watched him hurry to the outside bar of stainless steel countertops and thatched overhang. The grassy material danced in the nippy mountain breeze.

“He smells just like my grandfather,” Tiffany announced.

They watched Richard manhandle the drink shaker. His cheeks and salt and pepper hair bounced in time with his chunky arms.

Angie tilted her head laughing, “Mine too. I think it's Old Spice.”

“It is. I’d recognize it anywhere. It reminds me of comforting hugs, beefy arms, and sandpaper stubble.” Tiffany smiled. “So, now you know something about me. Tell me about you. What do you do for a living, for fun, whatever?”

“I’m the secretary of Hollite Coffee Company’s Executive Director. He was promoted to Vice President today,” Angie's smile vanished, “but he’s an unworthy ball sack.”

“Oh? Sounds juicy. I’m happy to listen free of charge if you’re interested in spilling details. I stop for Hollite Coffee almost every morning. Love it.”

“Yeah, it’s good, and thanks,” Angie pushed a few loose strands of hair behind her shoulders. “I don’t really want to talk about it. I just found out the VP title was given to someone who doesn’t deserve it. That’s partly why I’m here.”

Tiffany offered: “If you’re feeling underappreciated, you could always look elsewhere. Staying at the same company too long can make a person stagnant.”

Bringing the glass of bright green liquid to her lips, Angie waved the suggestion away as if it might be a fly buzzing too close. “I’m just a part-time secretary, but I’d rather that undeserving asshole go elsewhere. Or just die, the fucker,” she laughed mechanically. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“Wishing for his death, huh? That’s nothing new. Have you ever thought about killing him or hiring someone to do it?” Eyes widening, Tiffany appeared surprised by her own question. She ran a middle finger over an eyebrow, index finger swollen.

The question made Angie nervous, but it didn’t show. She’d have to keep an eye on this one.

“Haven’t we all thought about killing someone?” Angie’s lips tightened. She turned to get a better view of the interesting looking customer talking to Richard.

The customer wore a black suit with white shirt, no tie. Angie could tell, even from across the deck, his suit cost several thousand. Loafers, black crocodile, more than likely cost at least as much as her heels. Angie was no stranger to style, quality, and most importantly, expense.

The dark skinned man appeared shorter, but his apparel exact. Angie could definitely see a resemblance to the picture she’d been sent. Plus, he had blue eyes with an African-American background. This was the guy.

“Angie?” Tiffany’s voice finally registered, “Are you all right?” She turned seeing what had Angie so intrigued. “Ah, okay. I understand.”

“What’re you talking about?” Angie felt flushed, embarrassed. She wasn’t supposed to let on about her Target. Grabbing her handbag, she slid out of the chair, “I’m going to the ladies room.”

Richard approached Tiffany as the echo of Angie’s heels carried across the planks. Admiring eyes followed.

Chapter 11

Scott Dovy watched Angie disappear into the ladies room. Knowing it had access from both the patio as well as inside the building, he headed back inside Macaroons. Clanking of silverware against plates, the hum of talking patrons, and the hustle of scuttling staff radiated throughout the restaurant. Undertones of soft music gave an air of romance. The setting sun reflected off the mountains, sending a magical glow across the room.

Scott opened the small maintenance closet and grabbed a yellow Closed-for-Service sign. After placing it in front of the ladies room, he entered and locked both sets of doors. Checking each stall for Angie, he was surprised to find the restroom empty. This trapping ploy had worked on other rich bitches, and he was planning on using it on Mrs. Carter right now.

Although he knew it was a weird way to meet ladies, Scott never hurt any of them. Not really. Most refused anyway. This was just a sneaky plan that forced women to at least acknowledge him and pay him some goddamn respect. Scott got a few phone numbers and dates this way, had even screwed one old crone over the sink. That aged Betty was so grateful she’d actually given him a hundred bucks.

Fuckin’ right
, he thought.

The memory caused him to look over at the very sink where he’d gotten lucky not too long ago. Something strange covered the mirror. Scott stepped closer to get a better look.

A message written with pink lipstick, all caps: YOU ARE NEXT.

What’s up with these crazy bitches?

Scott knew of Angie’s indiscretions, of her leaving Macaroons with different men and women over the past several months. She must’ve written the flirty message on the mirror.

How is it she’s never left with me?

Is she finally going to give me a chance, or is she just playing with me?

He grabbed a handful of paper towels and a bottle of generic glass cleaner from one of the cabinets. The lipstick, thick and smeary, took three tries to remove all residue. He stuck the glass cleaner back under the sink and slammed the cabinet closed.

Giving the large bathroom another once over, Scott’s brow furrowed. Something wasn’t right. After unlocking the doors, he replaced the service sign and headed back to his podium, searching for Angie along the way.

Chapter 12

Angie spotted him at last. The attractive blue eyed man with milk chocolate skin walked through the parking lot towards a gray Land Rover, the most expensive model. The last time she checked, this vehicle was priced at ten thousand more than hers.

Impressive Target
, she thought trying to catch up.

He quickly turned and the anxiety covering his face changed from fear to curiosity. “Are you following me?” Full lips curled into an inviting smile, but the question lingered.

“Yes.” Angie admired his mustache, barely more than a shadow. She watched his swirls of sapphire travel down her body before holding out a hand. “I’m Angie and totally following you.”

Taking it, he stepped closer. “Hello, Angie. I’m Kyle. What can I do for you?”

Angie illustrated a sly grin and in a playful whisper used bold directness for shock value: “I was hoping to get you naked.”

It seemed to work. Kyle’s eyes widened, lighting his face and making his attractive features even more so. “Okay then. Sounds interesting so far.” Slipping a hand around the small of Angie’s back, he pulled her closer. “You’ve got my attention, mystery girl. What next?”

“That depends,” Angie raised her head closer to his ear. Considering her five-inch heels, Kyle was taller than she’d originally anticipated. “Let’s get naked together right now, and I’ll show you.” Noticing her whispered breath had prickled the skin on Kyle’s arms, she ran a finger over the tiny bumps.

“My place would be more comfortable,” using her hushed tone, amusement flickered in Kyle’s eyes. He withdrew his arm taking a step back.

“What about here?” Angie pointed at his vehicle, her head buzzing with alcohol and the task at hand. “Right here?”

Kyle glanced over the parking lot appearing to consider her proposition. Angie followed his gaze. The sun dipped lower at a rapid pace. Its orange glow deepened into burnt rust. Dozens of cars, trucks, SUVs, and motorcycles filled Macaroons parking lot.

Looking back at Kyle, she watched his inner struggle. Pulling a business card from his jacket, Kyle placed it in Angie’s hand.

“I’d love to, but I can’t.” He gently squeezed her hand, pulled her closer. She heard him taking in the scent of her highlighted locks. Humid breath tickled Angie’s ear. Her nipples tightened against silky fabric.

She couldn’t let him get away yet. Thinking fast, Angie stepped back and began unbuttoning her top. Kyle’s eyes, as if drawn by magnetic force, slunk down to her chest. Shimmery fabric hugged her breasts in a combo of black silk and lace. Barely hidden nipples saluted him proudly, more from the cold than anything else. Angie’s tongue slid over her lips. She hoped her actions appeared authentic.

Inspecting the card, she read his name aloud, softly, suggestively: “Kyle Caldwell, Attorney at Law.”

Yep, definitely the guy. Thank God.

“That’s me,” he said still staring at her chest.

Angie began buttoning her shirt. “Well, Kyle Caldwell, you’ve successfully hurt my feelings.”

“I didn’t mean to. It’s just too hazardous here in the open.” Kyle’s attention reverted to her face. “And I’m not that kind of person, Angie. I have more respect than that for both of us. I’d like to take you out, get to know you better. Sex, at least for me, is much more with an emotional connection.”

He retrieved a vibrating cell phone from his pocket and glancing at it said, “I wish I could stay, but I need to check on a client. Please call me, Angie. I’d love to take you up on that offer after getting to know you better.”

Kyle flashed a smile and headed across the parking lot. Puffs of dried clay fell from his loafers, dispersing in his aftermath.

Angie watched Kyle climb into his vehicle and drive away. Gravel crunched under the Land Rover’s wide tires.

She hoped that display allowed for the amount of time necessary. Angie was getting tired of using her body for assignments. When thrown into these kinds of situations, she didn’t know what else to do. At least he hadn’t said yes to the sex offer. She wasn’t in the mood to deal with the oh-so-sorry-I-just-can’t act.

Sometimes Angie’s life seemed filled with desperation, sadness, disappointment, and lost opportunity. She felt surprised by her feelings of emptiness and insecurity. This wasn’t the first time she’s had to show some skin for the job.

And for such a second-rate mission:
Delay Target 15 Minutes
.

She checked the compact for additional instructions and was surprised to find another order so soon. This one sounded like it could be interesting:
Stay with Dr. Tiffany Bell. More Info to Follow.