Authors: Kristen Brockmeyer
Lucky in Love (17 page)
Horror dawned slowly.
"What about Tanya?" I asked. Nate's eyes went bleak and he shook his head. "When we met with Dominick—when things went bad, he dealt with me, and then took her in another room. I heard her screaming… and then it just stopped."
My stomach rolled again and my mind wanted to rebel at what he implied. I prayed that Tanya hadn
't suffered. She was rude and bitchy, but no one deserved death. And I'd seen personally what Dominick did to women. Tamara, huddled in Nate's arms, was a prime example.
He was a monster, pure and simple, and he was still out there somewhere. But when I looked around me again what probably only represented a small percentage of his victims, at the motley crew of
wasted faces, I realized something else. These weren't the charges the FBI were pursuing Dominick for, but here was the evidence that was going to take the monster down.
The rest of our escape was actually pretty uneventful. We commandeered two SUV's from the garage to transport all of us. We headed for the FBI offices in Las Vegas where Julian, Chance, Nate and I were split off into separate rooms and debriefed. Fisher, Tamara and the other girls were taken to the closest hospital under heavy guard for evaluation and treatment. Agents were dispatched along with state police to Dominick's little hidey hole under the parking garage to start the investigation.
I didn
't know much about FBI procedure, but I'd seen enough movies to expect a tiny room with bright interrogation lights and mirrored windows. Instead, Agent Wilkinson, who shook my hand warmly and told me to call her Angela, led me down a bustling hallway to a normal conference room like the ones the lawyers used at the law office I had worked at. Agent Wilkinson wasn't what I'd expected, either. Maybe a year or two older than me, she was dressed in black slacks and a red sweater, and was short and curvy, with springy curls and an expressive face.
Angela was kind to me, and I didn
't feel like I was being grilled. She even broke her professional demeanor long enough to hug me when I ended up breaking down into tears because I finally realized that during my epic battle with Big Ears that I might have killed him with that stupid, freaking vase.
I found myself telling her everything, actually. Probably more than she needed to hear. About Addy and Jack
's wedding, my friendship with Julian… even that I was convinced after only two days that I was pregnant with Chance's baby. My words just rattled out, bouncing around like bb's poured from a coffee can. She listened, sometimes laughing or shaking her head, sometimes asking questions, but mostly just patting my hand when I needed it.
When I finally wound down, Agen
t Wilkinson put down her pencil and gave her cramped hand a shake. Even though the whole thing had been recorded, she'd been taking pages of notes as quickly as I could speak. Pressed the intercom button, she asked for a couple of cups of coffee. After disconnecting, she studied me for a moment. "Lucky," she finally said sympathetically, "You've had a hell of a time this past week."
"
Tell me about it," I answered, dropping my head to the table with an exhausted thunk. My voice was muffled when I spoke again. "And I'm getting the impression that it's not over."
There was a quick knock on the door and another agent came in with two mugs of steaming coffee. He set one in front of me with a brief smile and then
spoke in a low voice to Agent Wilkinson. The coffee was molten hot and smelled like it had been sitting on the burner for six weeks but I didn't care. I used the mug to warm my freezing hands and gulped a mouthful of the bitter brew, not caring that it scalded all the way down. I was wondering idiotically if Chance was drinking the same stale-ass coffee when the agent shut the door behind him.
"
You're right, Lucky." My muddled mind thought she was talking about Chance and the coffee, but she continued. "It's not quite over yet."
I sighed.
"We've been after Dominick for a long time. We now have enough witnesses to take him down, but first we need to find him and then we need to get him to trial. We're following up on some things right now, but I honestly can't say how long that will take."
"
And you need me to act as bait?"
She chuckled.
"No, it doesn't really work like that. Sting operations don't usually involve civilians if it can be avoided, and the situation with Agent Whiteford and Agent Pennington—Nate and Tanya—was unusual, to say the least. But from here, we'll be using more traditional routes to bag him. Dominick is a slimy bastard and the hard part was building a case against him, but we've got a couple of CI's—confidential informants—on the inside that maybe be able to narrow down places to look for him. Fortunately, he's also cocky, so bringing him in should be the easy part."
"
So I can go home, then?" I asked hopefully.
"
Not exactly," she answered with genuine regret. "We're sending you to a safe place for a little while."
"
Like Witness Protection? Will the others be there? Will you be there?" Ugh, I sounded needy, but I was really desperate for someone to cling to at this point. "Wait,will I have to change my name?
"
Kind of, no, no and no. It's safer for all of you to be separate. It shouldn't be long, a few days to a week, maybe, and then you'll be able to head home once he's in custody." Agent Wilkinson's brown eyes were warm and sincere when they met mine. "Look, I like you, Lucky. And I promise I'm giving it to you straight when I say we'll be working our collective asses off to make sure that happens in a hurry."
She didn
't exaggerate about the hurry part. Our interview concluded quickly after that, and everything else I saw that night was viewed through the grainy filter of exhaustion. There was one stone-faced agent that ferried me to an airport, another to ride with me, two plane rides, a middle of the night landing someplace warm and sultry, a third agent to drive me to a hotel, and the last and best thing of all, a comfortable bed to collapse into.
There was a clock next to me when I woke that read 9:30 AM. Completely disoriented, I sat up and looked around. I was in a small, but nicely-furnished room with rattan furniture, tropical prints and a wicker fan spinning lazily overhead.
Climbing out of bed, and aching like I
'd gone ten rounds with Mister T, I hobbled to the window and pulled the blinds back. Blinding sun met my eyes and I blinked for a moment, waiting for my vision to adjust. I was on the third floor of the hotel, facing a courtyard with a swimming pool. The pool was deserted, but surrounding it were palm trees standing sentry. Was I in Hawaii? I didn't remember getting lei-ed when I got off the plane, but we had taken the red eye, so maybe the airport hula girls didn't lei people in the middle of the night. Or maybe airport hula girls were only a product of Hollywood these days. The closest I'd ever actually been to Hawaii was watching Dog the Bounty Hunter a couple of times with Julian.
I jumped when someone knocked at the door, and fear thudded in my chest. Dominick couldn
't have found me already—I didn't even know where I was, so I was sure he couldn't possibly.
I crept cautiously to the door and looked through the peephole.
Letting out a yelp of surprise, I yanked open the door. Standing in the hall was Agent Wilkinson, looking completely different. She had on a flowy maxi-dress, and even though she was so short the skirt hem dragged a little on the floor, showing the tips of her red-painted toes in flip flops, it worked on her. The cocoa and white pattern accented her café au lait skin and sparkling dark eyes. Her springy hair was mostly confined to an up-do, but sprigs still poked out. She grinned at me and held out a Starbucks cup, ice cubes rattling. In it was something cold and chocolate-colored. The smell of espresso drifted out and I closed my eyes and moaned in longing.
"
Can I come in?" she laughed.
"
Only if that's actually an iced mocha in there and you're not some kind of cruel mirage."
The cup hit my hand, icy condensation dripping down the side. Without opening my eyes, I took a sip, letting the sweet chocolate heaven run down my throat slowly and feeling the promise of caffeine and full alertness ahead. Finally, I stepped aside.
"You may enter." I gestured her regally into my room.
"
So, what the heck?" I demanded, once she'd settled cross-legged on the bed, shifting her skirt so it covered her knees, and I'd dropped down on a chair, still clutching the mocha like a talisman. "How did you know Starbucks iced mochas were my favorite? And didn't you specifically say that you wouldn't be my safehouse babysitter?"
Sipping her own mocha, she laughed again.
"Well, I'd been due for a vacation, but my caseload's been so heavy I haven't been able to wing one. So I pulled a major guilt card with my superior and got myself assigned to you. Took the next flight out after you did. And as for the mocha, you told me yesterday that they were your favorite."
"
Why did you ask me about mochas during the debriefing?" I asked, puzzled.
She laughed again.
"I didn't. You offered up all kinds of information when I was interrogating you. God help us if you ever get entrusted with state secrets."
"I talk a lot when I'm nervous," I retorted, flushing. "So are we in Hawaii? Or should that be classified for my own good, too?"
"
Palm Beach. I figured you might prefer it to Boise, Idaho, or Camden, Maine. I knew I would. Plus, most of my family lives here, so I figured you can pose as one of my cousins on the white side, and I can do some visiting, too." She gestured to the wilted, stained, hated red dress that I was still wearing. "Want to go shopping before I inflict you on the Wilkenson clan later?"
"
Angela, find me the closest thrift shop, and I'll marry you."
Angela did better than that. She took me to Palm Beach Vintage. It was near the hotel we were staying in and way over my normal Salvation Army price point, but I was able to pick my own maxi dress—a '70's Lilli Rubin halter in black, with sprays of bright pink and blue flowers climbing up from the hem. A floppy black straw hat, big Audrey Hepburn-style sunglasses, and beaded thong sandals completed a purchase that would have set me back a week's paycheck. When Angela rejected, deliberated, weakened and finally bought an original Esther Williams bathing suit, I knew we were going to be good friends.
She grinned at that and said she
'd just put our purchases down as therapy on the expense report—leaving off the 'retail' portion of the phrase, of course.
After that, we did a quick hit on a Target store for necessities like underwear and toothbrushes and a couple more outfits, all on the FBI
's tab, since I had no clue where my purse was, and then stopped at a drive through for bagels. In the course of the morning, we discovered shared passions for romance novels, ugly cats and emotionally unavailable men, and our friendship was cemented. Angela dropped me back off at my hotel room for a horribly overdue shower and clothing change at 11:00, telling me to be ready in an hour.
I spent nearly 45 minutes of my allotted time in the shower, scrubbing all over until it felt like the invisible stains and my various aches from my experiences as Dominick
's guest had mostly been washed away—the external ones, anyway. When I finally emerged, the bathroom was so clogged with thick steam, I had to do my hair at the mirror in the bedroom. After I was finally dressed and ready, I realized my halter dress showed an unpleasant dark purple bruise on my shoulder where Big Ears had caught me with his sledgehammer fist, but the rest of me looked like my old self. I left my hair in loose waves, hoping it would cover the mark.
Right at noon, there was another knock at the door, and I flung it open, expecting Angela. Instead, Chance was standing on the other side
of the door.
The bruises on the left side of his face had started their fade from purple to a sickish greenish-brown, but his right eye was still puffed nearly shut and sported an impressive a shiner, and there was a piece of tape on the bridge of what was probably a painful broken nose. He smelled like new clothes and there were still fold creases in his jeans and black t-shirt.
He gave me a little half-smile.
"How's it going?"
I was shocked to see him and my heart automatically did a happy little leap in my chest. But wait, that was wrong. I was also a mad. I mean, really, here I
'd rescued the guy and he hadn't even swept me up in his arms and carried me out to the getaway car, much less said "thank you" or "I'm sorry I almost killed you with a lamp."
And now he had the nerve to just swing by and ask me how it was going?
"Fine." I deliberately kept my response cool and his attempt at a smile dropped away.
"
Can I come in?"
