Dangerous Impostor Page 10

  A huge sigh heaved from her lungs. They had escaped.

  For now.

  The shuttle bus’s brakes threw Brent off balance, and his arm brushed hard against the person seated on the bench next to him.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  The woman didn’t even pause in her conversation with the lady on her other side. He settled the duffel bag more securely on his lap and angled toward Lauren as he slipped his cell phone from his pocket.

  She leaned toward him and whispered, “Where are we going?”

  “To a friend’s, I hope.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “You hope?”

  Instead of responding, he slid his finger across his phone’s screen until he found Mason’s number, then placed the call. Mason picked up on the second ring.

  “There you are. I’ve been gnawing my nubs, waiting for a call. What’s going on?”

  Brent glanced around the crowded bus. No one was paying attention to him, but he certainly couldn’t detail everything that had happened since he last spoke to his friend.

  “A lot.” Mason would have to be content with that for the time being. “Listen, I need another favor. Could you give your jailer friend a call? See if it’s okay for us to come over.”

  “Us?”

  Brent winced at the disapproval he heard in Mason’s voice. He glanced at Lauren, whose anxious expression squeezed a place deep in his chest. “Yeah. Long story. I’ll fill you in later, I promise.” He lowered his voice so no one but Lauren could hear his next words. “Tell him we’d prefer not to advertise our location.”

  “Oh, man, oh, man. This sounds bad. You know if I have to fly out there and ID your carcass in a Las Vegas morgue, that’s really going to tick me off, right?”

  Despite the sarcastic jab, Brent heard worry in Mason’s voice. He poured as much confidence into his response as he could manage. “Don’t worry. That’s not going to happen.”

  At least, I hope not.

  “All right, if you say so.” Mason didn’t sound convinced. “Where are you? Still at the Hollywood Casino?”

  “Not anymore.” He searched the landscape through the bus’s windows. “We’re on the Strip, not far from the Tropicana.”

  “Let me give Caleb a call and I’ll get right back to you.”

  The line went silent. He lowered the phone and looked into Lauren’s anxious face.

  “We’re going to see a jailer?”

  “He used to be a jailer. I’m not sure what he does now.”

  The hollows in her cheeks seemed to deepen as she received that information. “You’re not sure? I thought he was your friend.”

  “Sort of. He’s a friend of a friend.”

  The bus lurched to a halt, and her hands clutched the strap of the duffel bag containing the server. People left their seats to get off the bus, and others waited on the sidewalk to take their places. Lauren’s eyes moved as she scanned those waiting, and she inched a fraction closer to him. Her leg trembled against his, whether from nerves or the vibration of the bus’s engine he couldn’t tell. Probably nerves, and who could blame her? Brent would have put a comforting arm around her shoulders, but after the intensity of their kiss earlier, he didn’t dare.

  His cell rang. Mason. He answered the call and jerked it to his ear. “Did you get in touch with him?”

  “Yeah. Can you get to the Stratosphere in half an hour?”

  Brent looked through the wide, flat windshield. The unmistakable image of the Stratosphere Tower, an icon of the Las Vegas Strip, lay a few miles ahead. This shuttle would probably take them there, or at least get them close.

  “Yeah, I think we can do that.”

  “Good. Caleb will pick you up on the second level of the parking garage. He described his car as a piece- of-junk green vehicle with a cracked front quarter panel. Watch for him.”

  Another parking lot. Great.

  “Will do.” An unexpected knot of emotion rose to clog Brent’s throat. Mason was sticking his neck out for them based on nothing more than his friendship with Brent. “I can’t thank you enough, Mason.”

  “Oh, yes you can. I’m not sure how yet, but the payback is going to be bigger than a steak.” He paused and continued in a serious tone. “You stay on your toes, hear? And call with details as soon as you can.”

  “I will. I promise.” Brent pocketed his phone.

  “This friend of your friend,” Lauren said, “are you sure we can trust him?”

  At this point, he wasn’t sure of anything. But for her sake, he gave a confident nod and covered her clenched knuckles with his free hand. “The only thing I know about him is he’s a Christian. So I’m going to say, yeah, we can trust him.”

  Questions formed in her eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated and then closed it again. A nod, and then she turned to stare through the window beside her.

  Brent looked through the bus’s front windshield at the Stratosphere Tower standing sentinel over the Strip. He sure hoped this Caleb guy was trustworthy. If not, they could be stepping into a bigger mess than the one they had just left.

  FIFTEEN

  The Stratosphere’s eight-story parking garage was a huge concrete structure on the west side of the famous tower. The shuttle let them off in front of the casino, and Lauren followed Brent down a narrow sidewalk to the garage entrance. Pink landscaping gravel and neatly trimmed bushes lined the walkway. No big hedges to hide behind this time. Lauren cast a fearful glance behind them. No sign of the police.

  They climbed the stairs to the second level. The duffel bag with the server seemed to grow heavier with every step. The ninety-degree heat lessened when they stepped into the shade of the garage, but the air smelled stale with remnants of automotive exhaust fumes. Nausea quivered in her stomach at the odor.

  No, it’s not the odor. I’m starving.

  As if to prove the point, her stomach rumbled. When had she last eaten? It took her a moment to remember. She’d had no appetite for breakfast after the gruesome discovery of Frank’s body and Detective Gaines’s exhausting interrogation. She and Brent had run nonstop since then. So the last food she’d eaten was dinner with Frank last night, almost twenty hours ago. She clutched the bag’s canvas handles, gritted her teeth and kept climbing.

  Cars packed the second level of the parking garage behind the Stratosphere. They stepped out of the concrete stairwell, and Brent’s head moved as he scanned the area.

  “He’s not here yet.” He glanced at his watch. “I guess we’ll just wait.”

  Lauren was suddenly too tired to answer. She backed up and leaned heavily against a round column. Shock, taut nerves and no food were taking their toll. Her limbs dragged at her body as though they had weights attached. And the heat wasn’t helping. She set the bag at her feet and shrugged off the trench coat. The stale air against her bare arms felt instantly cooler.

  Wait. Didn’t she have something to eat in her purse? She ignored the dirty surface of the rough concrete floor, slid down the column to a sitting position and pulled the duffel bag onto her lap. Rummaging through her purse proved only mildly rewarding. She drew out a small bag of airline peanuts and a pack of gum.

  “Are you hungry?” She held the peanuts toward Brent.

  He turned from his intent study of the entry ramp and glanced at the package in her hand.

  “Yeah, thanks.” He dropped the money bag beside her and lowered himself to the ground, angled so he could see incoming traffic.

  Lauren tore open the package and divided the contents—about a dozen peanuts each. When she placed the nuts in the palm of his hand, he closed his fingers to catch hers. A warm thrill danced up her arm.

  “You look tired,” he said. “Are you doing okay?”

  Tears stung the backs of her eyes at the concern she heard in his voice. He was such a nice guy, and look what she’d dragged him into. By all rights he ought to be irritated with her. Instead, he showed concern.

  Blinking back tears, she nodded. “I am tired, but I
’ll be okay.” Gently, she removed her fingers from his and toyed with the peanuts in her own palm. “Brent, I want to thank you for helping me. I’m sorry I’ve gotten you involved in this mess. I…” She paused until she could school the tremor out of her voice. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

  “I do,” he teased. “You’d have gone to jail for murder.”

  A smile twitched at the corners of his lips. Lips that had kissed her not long ago. She tore her gaze from them and shoved the memory of that kiss away.

  “Seriously,” Brent continued, “I can’t take any credit, because we’re not out of hot water yet. Not by a long shot. In fact, I’ve probably made things worse by encouraging you to run from the police. But I do think the Lord sent me out here to help.” He leaned his head back and popped the peanuts into his mouth.

  Lauren stared at him, not sure how to respond. The idea of God sending someone to help her, especially her handsome boss, was hard to believe. “Why would you say that?”

  He dusted his hand against his pant leg. “Don’t you think the Lord helps us when we need it?”

  Actually, she had never given the idea much thought. She believed in God, but the God she knew was a remote though caring deity, someone she prayed to at night and visited at church every month or so when she wasn’t traveling with her father. He watched over her. She knew that from the reverend’s sermons, but she’d never considered that He might actually lend a hand.

  “I guess I’m more in the camp of God helps those who help themselves,” she answered.

  He stared at her for a long moment, unreadable thoughts running rampant across his fluid features. Finally, he answered with an uninformative, “Ah. I see.”

  The sound of a revving car engine bounced between the parking garage’s concrete floor and ceiling. They both jerked their gazes toward the ramp. The muscles in Lauren’s stomach tensed. What if it was a police car coming to get them? She scrambled to her feet and scooped up the bag containing the server. Beside her, Brent also stood and put a hand on her arm, as though ready to grab her if they had to run.

  A green car rounded the corner and headed up the ramp. The front bumper lolled sideways beneath a sun-bleached hood. Lines of rust spidered through a crumpled dent in the metal in front of the passenger door.

  The car screeched to a halt in front of them, and the driver’s door opened. A man stood, a huge man with beefy arms and a neck like a post. His hair was gathered into a ponytail at the back of his head. He was so big, if Lauren had run into him on the street, she probably would have been afraid of him. But who could be afraid when they caught sight of the almost jolly smile that split his darkly tanned face?

  He stood behind the open door, one arm resting on the hood of his car. “You Brent?”

  Beside her, Brent gave a cautious nod. “And you’re Caleb?”

  “That I am, brother.” His gaze slid to Lauren, and his grin softened. “Sorry my ride’s a grimy mess. I’d have cleaned out the construction dirt if I’d known I was going to escort a pretty lady today.”

  Her anxiety ebbed as she looked into his face. She couldn’t recall ever seeing a more honest, open expression. Though she’d never laid eyes on this giant man before, she felt instantly that he could be trusted.

  Beside her, Brent had apparently reached the same conclusion. “Before you help us, I need to tell you we’re running from the police. You might get in trouble.”

  White teeth reappeared in the tanned face. “You wouldn’t believe how often I hear that.” His huge palm slapped the hood. “What are we waiting for, brother? Hop in and let’s get out of here.”

  With less tension than she’d felt in hours, Lauren hefted her bag and followed Brent to the car. As she slid into the backseat, she realized she still clutched the peanuts in her fist. She leaned against the dusty rear seat and filled her mouth. Food had never tasted so good.

  Since Lauren had climbed in the back, Brent slid into the passenger’s seat. The minute he slammed the door, the car lurched forward and rounded the corner to the exit ramp. He scrambled to snap the seat belt as he was thrown against the door. The Toyota’s tires squealed on the concrete floor.

  “Sorry I was a few minutes late.” Caleb spoke while focusing his attention through the windshield. “Had to kick a couple of guys out of the house before I could leave.”

  “Kick them out?” Brent eyed the man’s profile. A tattoo of an elaborate cross covered the skin of his massive upper right arm, and a ponytail snaked down the back of his neck. “We’re not putting you to any trouble, I hope?”

  He snapped his mouth shut. What a stupid thing to say. Of course they were putting him out. If things got any worse, they might just land him in jail along with them.

  “Nah, not your fault.” One hand released the steering wheel to wave in a dismissive gesture. “There’s always somebody crashing at my house ’cause they got kicked off someone else’s couch. I don’t mind. That’s why I’m here.” A grin creased his sun-darkened cheeks. “But I’m not stupid. I don’t let them stay there when I’m gone. A crackhead will steal even cheap junk like mine if they think they can trade it for a hit.”

  Lauren leaned up between the front seats. “Crackhead? You let drug users stay in your house?”

  He didn’t hesitate. “Yes, ma’am. But only if they’re sober. If they show up trashed, they’re out on the streets.”

  The car reached the parking-garage exit. Caleb tapped the brakes to slow a fraction, then zoomed out onto the street and across oncoming traffic. They slid into a tight space in front of a car traveling in their direction, and the driver laid on his horn. Caleb merely grinned into the rearview and waved a hand at the man, as if in thanks.

  A quiet choking sound came from the backseat.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am,” Caleb told Lauren as he punched the gas pedal to pick up speed. “You gotta be aggressive here. Otherwise you’ll never get anywhere. I’ve gotten used to the Vegas traffic in the past couple of years.”

  Brent’s conversation with Mason came back to him. “I understand you used to be a jailer in Atlanta. What brought you to Vegas? You said something about construction?”

  “That’s right. Hard work, but the pay’s good. But that’s not what I do, it’s just a means to a paycheck.” Caleb’s lips pursed a second. “You might call me a missionary.” A laugh barreled out of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m a missionary. Only with no funding and no resources other than these.” He lifted both hands off the steering wheel long enough to splay his fingers. “So I use them to pay the bills, and trust God to do the rest.”

  “Mason mentioned you’re a Christian.”

  His head bobbed a nod. “Said the same thing about you. I’m always ready to help out a brother in Christ.”

  Warmth seeped into Brent’s chilly insides at the words.

  “Apparently you help more than Christians.” Lauren’s dry voice crackled to the front seat.

  “That’s true, ma’am.” Caleb glanced in the rearview mirror. “See, the Lord gave me two great big hands, and I can’t believe He means me to use them just to smack people down. He wants me to give them a big old hand up, too.” He settled back in his seat with a satisfied nod. “’Course, I don’t mind using them to smack sense into people, either, when I need to. And when you’re dealing with the people I see every day, sometimes they’re just aching for a smack.”

  Brent laughed, and even Lauren chuckled. No wonder Mason liked this guy. Though Caleb wasn’t as sarcastic as his P.I. friend, they shared a similar jabbing wit.

  Caleb turned the wheel, and the car moved onto the entrance ramp for Interstate 15. When they’d crossed over to the center lane and merged into traffic, he took one hand off the wheel and rested it casually on the armrest.

  “So, since you’re friends and not junkies, I assume I’m offering a helping hand instead of a slap. What can I do?”

  Brent scrubbed his scalp with his fingers. How much should he reveal? He
felt deep in his gut that they could trust the giant man beside him, but any information they shared would only pull him deeper into the tangled mass of deception that surrounded them. The bag of money lay on the floorboard between his feet, a sobering reminder that this was no friendly visit with a new friend.

  “At the moment, all we need is a place to lay low for a while, until we can sort things out and figure out our next move.”

  The big man’s eyes narrowed as he considered this. “Without going into details, can you tell me how much trouble I could get in by helping you? Have you committed a felony?”

  “Of course not,” Lauren answered at the same moment Brent said, “No.”

  Caleb glanced sideways, and his gaze connected with Brent’s. He might be a big, jovial man, but those eyes held a shrewd intelligence. They flickered toward the backseat for a fraction of a second, then returned.

  He’s wondering about Lauren. Mason must have spelled out his black-widow theory. Well, of course he had.

  Brent twisted sideways in the seat to face him head-on. “Neither of us has committed a crime. But we need to prove that. Until we do, you could probably get in a lot of trouble by helping us.”

  Silence filled the car. Caleb faced forward again. His lips moved almost imperceptibly without making a sound.

  He’s praying. Relief flooded Brent at the realization. Without a doubt, the Lord had guided them to this man. Brent wasn’t at all surprised by Caleb’s answer.

  “I’ve been in trouble before. I can handle it.”

  Behind him, Lauren gave a soft sigh. “Thank you.”

  When he turned to face the front, Brent’s toe nudged the duffel bag. How had Frank gotten it, and what had he planned to do with the money? The answers lay with those computer files, of that Brent was positive. He had to crack that code, and time was running out.

  SIXTEEN

  The sinking sun cast long shadows across the road on Caleb’s street. Lauren stared through the car’s window with growing discomfort as they drove by dilapidated houses that looked to her as if they should have been condemned years before. Broken furniture and trash littered most of the yards. Caleb’s Toyota looked like a luxury car compared to the heaps that lined both sides of the street.