Forget Me Not: A Novel (Crossroads Crisis Center) (12 page)

“Yes. Damage is restricted to just the reception area. It appears from the glass shatter that they tossed something burning through it. A little fire and smoke damage right in here and up through the attic, but otherwise
it’s just the glass and foam mess to clean up. Harvey ran a perimeter check, but he’s taking a look outside as a precautionary measure.”

Ben surveyed the damage. If someone wanted to cause damage, this was a poor effort. “Better alert the cleaning crew. They can get started right after the sheriff and fire chief are done.” He motioned to the plate-glass window, half of which now lay in soot-stained shards on the floor. “Better get Clyde Parker to come in and board up that window. I’m assuming he still does handyman repairs.”

Peggy tilted her head. “Would that be the Clyde Parker you couldn’t place a couple hours ago?”

Caught red-handed, Ben confessed. “Yes, that would be the one.”

“Ah. Good.” Peggy smacked her lips. “Your memory is returning.”

His memory hadn’t left. It just hurt too much to recall things once normal in his life with Susan and Christopher—a fact Peggy knew well, and she still attempted to shove Ben through the past into a future. What she failed to understand was that he had no incentive. The past was rich and full, the future bleak and empty. Why stretch for a bleak and empty future?

He slammed the door shut on his thoughts. “Mel, did you see anything?”

“The car stopped right out front.” Hand at her jutted hip, she pointed through the window near the center of the reception area. “The guy in the front seat on the passenger’s side was straining his neck to see in here. He glanced left, like he was talking to the driver. A second later, he sticks this thing out the window, lights it on fire, and then hurls it at the window.
Boom
, it explodes, and glass and stuff flies everywhere.”

Mel sucked in a shuddery breath. “Then the fire and smoke—I didn’t see where he went. I just had to try to put out the fire.” She pursed her
lips, looking spitting mad and remorseful. “I should have yelled sooner or checked for his tag number or something, but it never dawned on me he’d actually throw a bomb into the building.”

“He?” Ben asked for verification. “So, the passenger who threw the bomb was a man?”

“Definitely.”

“What about the driver?”

“I don’t know.” She paused to watch Clyde Parker come through the door, carrying two bags of burgers, then added, “I didn’t see the driver.”

“I saw him.”

Ben turned to Clyde. “Where were you?”

“On the sidewalk, walking back from Burger Barn. The car passed right by me.” Clyde lifted the fragrant bags of burgers that smelled a whole lot better than the burn and chemicals from the extinguisher. “I figured Susan had to be starving. She hasn’t eaten a thing today and it’s nearly noon.”

“What did the driver look like?”

“Not too big, dressed kind of like Harvey does in those golf shirts. Late twenties, maybe a little older.” Clyde shrugged. “When you get to be my age, it’s harder to tell. Most everybody looks like kids. The driver had dark hair too. Did I mention that? I’d guess he’s fussy about his appearance. Clean-cut and everything.”

“The guy I saw—the passenger—was older.” Mel sniffed. “About like you, Mr. Brandt.”

No offense was intended, and Ben tried not to take any. A decade and a half made a lot of difference to someone barely twenty.

Oblivious, Mel went on, swiping an ash smudge from her black slacks. “Red hair. More redneck. Kind of cute, but in a goofy way.”

Vague but apparently close enough, gauging by Peggy’s expression. “The descriptions match the woman’s?” Ben asked, referencing her alleged abductors.

Peggy nodded and then relayed the descriptions that the woman had given her and she’d reported to the police.

Mel confirmed them, and then Clyde added his opinion. “Sounds like the same guys to me, Ben.”

He frowned. So the men who allegedly abducted her knew she was alive and here—and they had come back to finish the job? It made sense, particularly if they’d left her for dead in the woods. They wouldn’t want her to identify them. “What kind of car was it, Mel?”

“I’m not into cars.” She shot him an apologetic look. “About all I can tell you is that it was red and looked expensive.”

Expensive to Mel could be anything with a windshield and without rust to a Lamborghini.

“Very cool, though.” She dipped her chin. “That’s why I noticed the redneck in the first place. He didn’t fit, you know? In a pickup truck? Yeah. But in a sweet thing like that sporty dream machine? No way. Yet,” she slid her gaze to Clyde, “from what you say, the driver fit. It must have been his car.”

“I suppose you could say he fit. He drove it like demons were on his heels—nearly sideswiped your SUV, Ben—but he didn’t strike me as out of place in the car.” Clyde scratched the back of his neck. “If it’s his, though, I’d guess it’s new.”

“Why is that?”

“The guy shifts like a novice.”

Sporty. Dream machine
. “Mel, you said it was red.” When she nodded, a sinking feeling punched him. “You’re sure about that?”

“Definitely.”

Ben looked to Clyde for confirmation.

“I’m sure. It was red.”

Red. Sleek. A sporty, cool dream machine
. Tense, Ben walked over to the woman. The color was back in her face, and she’d taken off the strap. The extinguisher was on the floor near her feet. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She sounded fragile and frail but determined to put on a strong front.

“Good.” Ben glanced at Lisa, who signaled that the woman really was okay, which freed Ben to ask the question nagging at him. “When you were abducted, what kind of car were you driving?”

“My Jeep,” she said, then paused. “No, wait. That’s wrong. It wouldn’t start.” She hesitated a second, flinching as if recalling her abduction. “It was a Jag.”

Ben planted his feet to keep from staggering back a step. “You were driving a Jag?”

“It wasn’t mine.” Frustration lined her face. “In my mind, I see this man handing me the keys, but I don’t know him.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then reopened them. “I don’t know. There’s nothing familiar about him, and I don’t feel anything when I see his face. He must have been a stranger.”

“A rental, maybe?” Lisa suggested.

The woman shrugged. “No idea.”

Ben prodded. “But you’re sure it was a Jag?”

She paused; uncertainty flitted across her face and then faded. “That’s what I recall, Mr. Brandt.” Her gaze darted back and forth, as if she was searching her mind. It stopped suddenly. “Yes, I’m positive it was a Jag.”

His skin crawled and he broke into a cold sweat. “Um, what color was it? Do you remember that?”

“It was red.”

Red. A red Jag
.

Just like Susan’s …

“Tell me again why we’re crazy enough to be driving this Jag to pipe bomb a crisis center in broad daylight.” Harry looked over at Edward from the passenger’s seat of the car. “The only person in there was that kid at the front desk.”

“She isn’t the only one in there. She’s the only one you could see. The whole staff is in.” Edward slammed the gearshift into first, then stomped the gas pedal. The tires screeched, a burning smell filled the car, and finally the tires grabbed on to pavement. Fishtailing, he swerved to avoid hitting Ben Brandt’s SUV, then wrangled control of the high-performance vehicle and took off down Gramercy headed toward Gulf Drive.

“We want them to see this Jag because it’s our proof we tried to save her.” Edward sent his slow-witted partner a frown. “I’ll explain later, when I have more time.”

“Well, that’s the first time I’ve bombed a place to save somebody.” Harry harrumphed. “You’re losing it, man.”

“I’m saving your sorry behind.”

“Right. Fine. But slow down now, will you?” Harry strapped on his seat belt, clicked the buckle into place. “You drive like a maniac.”

“I am a maniac.” Harry, fool that he was, had no idea that the woman was inside. Maybe it was better that way. “I’m also alive, and I’d like to stay alive. In case you’ve forgotten, Chessman and his henchmen are opposed to that.”

“They’ll let us live if we kill her.”

Edward made a right at the light, then headed east. He could keep driving, right out of town, but Chessman would just send his attack dog, Johnson, after them. “Harry, once in a while I wish you would engage your brain.” Edward tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “She’s going to die. Chessman will see to that. Which leaves us with two choices. One, we stay out of the way and let him. Or, two, we let her know someone else is coming.”

“Why would we want to let her know he’s coming? She can identify us, Edward.” Harry rubbed at his head. “Sometimes you don’t make a lick of sense.”

“Sometimes you act as if you don’t have a lick of sense. If she dies, we’re the first people they’re going to suspect. We abducted her, knocked her around, and they’ll have our descriptions. We want her taken out of play but not dead. And if Chessman gets her, we don’t want to go down for her murder.”

The light dawned on Harry’s face. “Okay, you want her to know someone else is after her—someone besides us so we don’t get blamed. I get it. When Chessman tries to make the hit, she’s ready. He—or his goons—get tagged or reported.”

Finally
. “Yes, and
them
is officially not us.”

“That makes sense. But if she reports them after reporting us, Chessman won’t dare go after her himself. He’ll need us to take her out”—Harry grinned—“and that gets us off his priority list.” He went quiet. “But what I don’t get is why we don’t want her dead.”

“You pick up on things at the most inopportune times, Harry.”

“You’re not answering my question.”

“I have my reasons. Let’s leave it at that.”

Harry frowned. “Let’s don’t.”

“It’s personal.” Edward checked his rearview mirror, changed lanes. “That’s all I’m saying.” Hopefully, it wasn’t too much.

“Personal?” Harry grunted and waved a hand. “Like what? Did you fall for her or something?”

“No, it’s not like that.” Edward refused to look at his partner. “Personal means personal.”

“It ain’t when you’re talking about my backside kissing the electric chair, man.”

Edward didn’t like it, but Harry had a point. “Okay, that’s fair. If we can let her live, fine. If not, we kill her. How’s that?”

“She’s gotten to you.” Harry’s jaw fell open. “I can’t believe it.”

“Don’t be stupid. She hasn’t gotten to me. The situation’s gotten to me. Chessman stiffing us on our money—that’s gotten to me. But she hasn’t gotten to me.”

“Whatever.” Harry thought a minute, chomping on a wooden toothpick. “Okay, we let her live for now. But the first time it looks dicey, she’s going down.”

“Agreed.”

“And if she goes down, we make sure Chessman’s blamed for her murder. That’ll teach him to stiff us.” Harry clapped a hand to this thigh. “Yeah, I’m liking this. He gets smacked and we walk, free and clear.”

“Not exactly.”

“Ah, the carjacking.” Harry shrugged. “That’s easy enough for us to beat in court.”

Easier than a murder rap. That was true enough. “You’re getting it now.” It’d taken his partner a while to catch up, but when he did, he appreciated the genius in Edward’s plan. Of course, Harry had stopped short of Edward, who had gone a couple steps further, but no sense in passing it on now and confusing Harry.

Harry chuckled. “You’re smarter than you look.”

“You’re not.” Edward let out a deep sigh. “But you are my partner.”
Harry wasn’t long on brains, but he was predictable, loyal, and as strong as an ox.

“We’ve only got one problem.” Worry rippled over Harry’s face. “Chessman’s lost her. How can he attempt a hit if he can’t find her?”

“Ordinarily, that would be problematic.” His wiretap had paid off. Huge. “But I’ve already taken care of it.”

Harry’s crooked smile returned. “How?”

“Paul Johnson recruited a private investigator down in New Orleans to shadow her. When we abducted her, Johnson’s recruit lost her. He put out word he needed help to find her.”

“Who put out word? Johnson or the recruit?”

“The recruit.”

“I see.”

“Not yet, you don’t.” Edward bit his lower lip. “I got hired.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “Oh no, Edward. I ain’t believing you did that.” He reared back and dragged his hands over his skull. “Are you nuts? Johnson letting his recruiter hire somebody he ain’t personally checked out? Come on, man. He’d run a line on his own mother.”

“Probably.” Edward cast Harry a sidelong look. He was back to worrying, so Edward decided to cheer him up. “There’s more good news.”

“I hadn’t heard
any
yet.”

“We get paid.” Edward enjoyed Harry’s reaction to that. “Not as much as we were supposed to get the first time, but—”

“If you’d stop supporting my ex, we wouldn’t need the cash. But—”

“I shouldn’t have to do it.” Edward glared at him. “Feeding your son is your responsibility. Your ex shouldn’t have to beg you to support him.” Harry had no idea how strongly Edward felt about this, or why, or how dangerously close he was to getting himself shot.