Irreparable Harm (28 page)

Leo came to. The back of his head throbbed. He sat up to rub it and whacked his forehead against something hard.

He was someplace quiet, dark, and small.

He touched the surface beneath him. Thin, rough carpet. Raised his arms bit by bit until they hit metal. Spread them wide, trying to get a sense of the contours of the area. Slightly curved, smooth.

He shook his head, tried to summon his memory through the dull pain permeating across his skull. Panic was not an option. Survival followed calm thinking.
Think.

He’d walked Sasha and Naya to the building, given Sasha his gun, and was about to punch out the side window of the thugs’ car when something or someone hit him from behind.

The car.

His eyes began to adjust to the blackness. He could make out the luminescent paint on an emergency trunk release, added to newer cars by manufacturers who didn’t want to be sued when some kid crawled into dad’s trunk during a game of hide and seek and couldn’t get out. He was in the trunk of a moving car.

And Sasha had his gun. He inventoried his pockets. Cell phone and wallet were gone. He had his keys and Sasha’s spare condo key. Nothing else.

He needed a weapon. He searched every inch of the space with his hands. He didn’t know how much time he had. He wanted to hurry, but he forced himself to making slow, small passes so he wouldn’t miss anything. The trunk was empty.

The car careened around a bend, throwing him sideways. He braced himself against the bottom of the trunk and his hand scraped against the fastener on the cover to the spare tire well.

He rolled onto his stomach and folded his legs as best he could into the space behind him, his feet touching the outer wall of the trunk on the driver’s side. He propped himself up on his elbows, braced his feet against the trunk, and scrabbled at the fastener with both hands. He pried the cover open, steeled himself against disappointment, and tossed the cover to the side.

He ran his hands over the rubber of the donut and down into the center. Wedged inside the spare was the thin, metal rod he’d hoped to find. He traced it with his hands to its hooked end. Relief flooded his body in a wave as he popped the tire iron free. He hefted it once, twice, and then set it down to continue his inspection.

In the back right corner of the well, Leo felt a hard plastic rectangular object. It had a handle. Toolbox, maybe?

He hoped so. There were plenty of serviceable weapons in the average tool box. He could do a lot of damage with a hammer or a wrench—even a screwdriver. He swung the box out and up. Placed it next to the tire iron.
      The car was slowing. A series of thumps jostled Leo. Up. Then down. Speed bumps. They were in a parking lot.

He fumbled with the clasp to the box. Flipped the top open. It wasn’t a tool box; it was a roadside emergency kit. He pulled out a set of jumper cables, three flares, a plastic rain poncho, and a reasonably heavy flashlight. He shoved everything except the flashlight back into the box and returned it to the well.

As the car came to a stop, he turned onto his side, held the tire iron in one hand and the flashlight in the other. The driver killed the engine. Leo tensed, ready to spring, and waited for the trunk to open. Minutes passed. No car door slammed. The trunk did not open.

Leo waited some more. Still nothing. He listened to his own breathing over the tick of the engine contracting and cooling down, but he heard no other sound. What was the driver doing?

* * * * * * * * * *

Gregor was sitting in the driver’s seat, grasping the steering wheel as if he could wring an answer out of it. He was trying to decide what to do next.

Before he’d run into the big Asian trying to break into his car, Gregor’s plan had been a simple one: drive to the lawyer bitch’s condo building and watch the building until she got home. Get the files from her. Go back to that hotel near the courthouse, where he’d had no choice but to stash Anton. Get Anton in the car and drive straight to Baltimore, where Gregor knew a doctor who liked to play the horses. There would be no hospital, no questions, and no charge for Anton’s care—the doctor was still working off his monumentally bad showing during the previous spring’s Preakness.

Then he’d planned to deliver the files to Irwin and collect his fee. Gregor figured he’d add a surcharge to Irwin’s bill. Anton wouldn’t be ready to work again for a while and that would cut into Gregor’s earnings.

But, now, Gregor’s plans were complicated by the guy in his trunk. As he worked through his options, his cell phone rang. He checked the display: Anton.

“Is everything okay?”

Gregor’s sister—Anton’s mother—was meaner than hell. When Anton was a kid, he’d gotten in trouble over some nonsense and Petra had stormed down to the elementary school with a baseball bat. She had smashed in a row of metal lockers on her way to the assistant principal’s office. She was not going to be happy when she saw her son with his jaw wired shut.

Anton mumbled something slow and indistinct.

Gregor thought he was saying the pain medication was wearing off and he was hungry. The only liquid medication Gregor had been able to find in the hotel gift shop had been a small bottle of children’s Tylenol. He’d given Anton the entire bottle, hoping it would provide at least a few hours of relief.

“Okay, Anton. I’m at the lawyer’s place now. After I take care of her, I’ll stop at the liquor store. Whiskey will probably work better to take the edge off anyway. And I’ll get you some … applesauce.”

He’d been about to say baby food but caught himself. Anton was humiliated enough by having his ass kicked by the girl.

Anton mumbled again, registering his displeasure.

“Just hang in there. It shouldn’t be long.”

Gregor hung up. He had no basis for saying that. Who knew how long he’d have to wait for the little bitch. Or if she’d even come home tonight.

He drummed on the steering wheel, thinking. Maybe he could make the guy in the trunk work to his advantage.

And he could tell Irwin he’d had to pay the guy. Run up the bill even higher.

Gregor’s neighbor was a contractor and he’d told Gregor that most of his clients pissed and moaned about cost overruns, but they paid them nonetheless. Gregor had begun finding creative ways to add charges with his own customers, and they, too, just dug deeper into their wallets.

Gregor stepped out of the car and into the parking lot. He went around to the trunk and stood back about a foot and a half. Popped the trunk with the button on the key fob and waited.

As the trunk lifted up in a slow smooth motion, the guy sprang up and shined a flashlight right in Gregor’s face. He blinked and took a step back.

The guy climbed out and advanced toward him. Gregor saw the tire iron in his raised right hand. This guy was resourceful. Good.

“Wait, wait!” he said in a hurry. “I’m not going to hurt you. I have a business proposition for you.”

The guy stopped but didn’t lower the tire iron. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t know who you really are, because you sure as shit aren’t Leonard Connelly, U.S. air marshal. But, I’m gonna assume you were trying to break into my ride ‘cause you need some fast money. Am I right?”

The guy shrugged. Smacked the tire iron against his hand but said nothing.

“So, here’s the deal. My, uh, friend is hurt. I need to take him some food and medicine. While I’m gone, I need you to sit here and watch for someone to come home.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a private investigator. I just need to keep track of this woman. Nothing illegal and I’ll pay you fifty bucks.”

The guy looked like he was considering it.

“What makes you think I won’t just take off after you leave?”

Gregor had already thought of that. “You’re gonna give me your shoes. I’ve already got your wallet and cell phone. How far do you think you’re gonna get?”

The guy nodded. Then he said, “Who’s the woman?” He lowered the tire iron.

Now they just looked like two guys in suits having a conversation in a parking lot. Not that anyone was around to see, but Gregor maintained it was always better not to make a spectacle.

“Some lawyer cu—chick. You can’t miss her. She drives a dark gray Passat and she’s maybe five feet tall. Can’t be but a hundred pounds, if that. Dark hair, green eyes.”

“So, what do I do when I see her? If you’ve got my cell phone, I can’t call you.”

The guy had a point. “Just watch her. Make sure she goes into the building. I won’t be gone long.”

“Well, what if she comes back and then leaves again?”

This guy sure had a lot of questions.

Gregor snapped at him. “Then just tell me which way she went. We’re wasting time here,
Leonard
. Do you want fifty bucks or not?”

“Yeah, sure. Sure. I just thought maybe if she came home and then made to leave again, I could approach her. Say I had a fight with my girl or something and she tossed me out, no shoes, no nothing. See if I can stall her. That’s all.” The guy shrugged.

Gregor considered the idea and decided it wasn’t half bad.

“Okay, you do that. But, listen, don’t try to grab her or restrain her, okay? She’s, uh, dangerous.”

The guy shot him a look, like how dangerous could a five-foot tall, not-quite-a-hundred-pound chick possibly be?

Gregor ignored the look. He’d warned the guy. “Okay, let’s have your shoes.”

The guy bent down to untie them, keeping his eyes on Gregor the whole time. Handed over a pair of wing tips. The leather was buffed to a high shine and it was soft. These were expensive shoes, well maintained. Gregor took a closer look at the guy. “And the flashlight and tire iron.”

The guy stared at him for a long time first, but he picked both up from the ground and held them out for Gregor.

“I’ll be back in a half hour or so. You’d better be here.”

“Make sure you bring my fifty,” the guy said as Gregor climbed into his car.

Chapter 34

Sasha remained spooked for the entire drive home. She called ahead to Thai Place Shadyside and ordered the takeout. Connelly hadn’t returned her call, so he’d have to live with what she got him.

At the restaurant, she parked directly under a street light to run in and get the bag of food. She repeated her check under the car and in the back seat when she returned. But, she couldn’t shake the feeling—irrational, she knew—that someone was in the car.

Her fear was morphing into anger, though. That was progress. She kept her eyes on her rearview mirror as she fished her cell phone out of the center console. She hit a programmed number and her Krav Maga instructor’s name flashed on the screen as his number rang.

“Daniel, hi. It’s Sasha McCandless.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the floor of the rear seat.
There’s no one there
, she told herself.

“Sasha, we missed you this morning.”

“I was driving back from D.C. I don’t think I’m going to make it to class tomorrow either.”

“Oh?”

“There’s a lot going on at work. But, listen, Daniel, I need to ask you a favor.”

“Anything,” he said without taking a beat, as she knew he would.