Dangerous Impostor Page 14

  “The FBI, then,” Lauren said. “Two people have been killed, and we have a bag full of money that belongs to the Mafia. Surely they’d be interested in hearing from us.”

  “How do we know who to contact within the FBI?” Brent didn’t like to say it, but at this point his suspicions were on alert. If the Cicalo gang had corrupted a Las Vegas detective, how far did their reach extend?

  He saw his fear mirrored in Lauren’s expression. He also saw a wild look in her eyes, as though a full-fledged panic attack lurked nearby.

  He looked at Caleb. “What do you think we ought to do?”

  The man’s answer came immediately. “Ask God for guidance.”

  Of course. That should have been Brent’s first act.

  Lauren leaped off the couch and stomped to the middle of the room. “What is it with you two? Can’t you make a decision on your own?” Anger gave her voice volume. “I know you’re both Christians, but so am I. God gave us brains for a reason. He wants us to use them.” Her eyes flashed from Caleb to Brent.

  The vehemence of her anger surprised him. Earlier, in the parking garage, she’d told him she believed God helps those who help themselves. Fine. Many people felt that way. But in this case, his brains weren’t coming up with an answer on their own.

  Caleb’s gentle voice fell like rain on a raging fire. “God did give us brains, sister. But He also gave us a Spirit to guide us.”

  She whirled to glare in his direction but didn’t say anything. The only part of her that moved was her trembling jaw. Tears sparkled in the eyes she turned on Brent. “I thought you said you wanted to help me.”

  He replied instantly. “I do. Lauren, I prayed for guidance earlier, when I didn’t know whether to believe you or not, and I think the Lord wanted me to trust in your innocence. I wish I was hearing a firm direction right now, but I’m not. Still, something is telling me to wait.” He glanced at his watch. After nine o’clock. “Look, we’re in a safe place. We have some breathing space here. It’s midnight back east. In eight hours the FBI office in Washington D.C. will open. We’ll be able to call them and get directly in touch with whomever is in charge of cracking down on Mafia activity nationally.” He rose and crossed the room to stand in front of her. “I really feel that we should wait until then.”

  He forced her to hold his gaze, to see how strongly he felt about this decision. Behind her tears, he saw fear in the green eyes, and his heart twisted in his rib cage. His arms itched to gather her in an embrace. He ached to whisper in her ear that he would protect her, that he would die before he let anything happen to her.

  But then she blinked away the tears and jerked her face away from him.

  “Fine. Do whatever you want. Whatever you feel guided to do.”

  Before he could stop her, she stormed out of the room. The sound of the bedroom door closing echoed down the hallway. Within seconds, another sound followed, the muffled sound of heartrending sobs.

  Wordlessly, he looked at Caleb.

  The big man shook his head. “Let her cry it out, brother. She can’t hear anything clearly with all those emotions clogging her ears. The Lord will get through to her eventually.”

  With a sense of draining helplessness, Brent returned to his chair. He hoped so.

  TWENTY-ONE

  The words on the computer monitor wavered. Brent rocked back in the chair and rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Over the past few hours his admiration for Frank’s technical abilities had grown as he analyzed the entire program. It was a complicated system, with dozens of intricate calculations and no less than five layers of security. This database held enough information to blow the lid off of the Cicalos’ illegal gambling ring and shut it down for good. But the data was also very clean. There were codes in use everywhere in order to conceal the identities of anyone within the Cicalo organization. Apparently Frank, or maybe his Cicalo bosses, didn’t want to risk having their employees identified. The only names in the system were those of the gamblers who placed illegal bets through the internet, thousands of them. The amount of money that went through this system totaled in the millions.

  Still, in the hands of the FBI, this information could probably incriminate a bunch of Mafia bad guys. Combined with other resources they no doubt possessed, maybe they could identify the people involved and put them away for a long, long time.

  A loud snore vibrated down the hall from the second bedroom. A laugh huffed through Brent’s lips. Caleb. He’d nodded off in the chair watching Brent work, until an hour ago when he announced he was calling it a night and stumbled sleepily down the hall.

  Not a bad idea. I’m not covering any new ground here.

  Tomorrow promised to be an eventful day, though hopefully not as eventful as the one just past. They all needed to get some rest so they could face it with clear heads.

  He shut down the computer, flipped the living-room light switch and made his way down the hallway. The door on his left formed a forbidding barrier behind which Lauren slept. At least, he hoped she’d fallen asleep. He placed an ear against the wood and heard nothing but silence from the other side.

  The sound of her wrenching sobs earlier had just about torn him apart. It had been all he could do not to break though that door and gather her in his arms to hold her while the emotional storm ran its course.

  His sister’s voice spoke clearly in his mind. Charging in on your white horse again, eh, Knight-in-Shining-Armor? He couldn’t stop a grin at the memory of the sassy tone she always used on him.

  Was that what he was doing, reacting to his own tendency to protect a damsel in distress? Lauren’s image loomed in his mind’s eye, so beautiful and sweet and, well, innocent. How could he not lend a hand to rescue someone charged with a crime she didn’t commit?

  Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew he was lying to himself. Yes, it might have started that way, offering help to someone falsely accused. But the catch in his chest when he thought of Lauren, the longing to hold her and comfort her, the way she invaded every thought—all those things proved that sometime during the horror of the day, something wonderful had happened. He’d fallen in love with her.

  Oh, Lord, what have I done? I can’t fall in love with someone who works for me. I’ll lose my job, and she’ll lose hers.

  A laugh at the ridiculous thought forced its way from his lungs. They had run afoul of a vicious Mafia gang and a crooked cop, and he was worried about losing his job?

  Show us how to get out of this mess, God. I’ll worry about the job later, when I’m sure we’re not going to both end up dead.

  He placed a palm flat against the door and whispered a prayer for her safety, then headed for the room he was to share with Caleb for what was left of the night.

  Lauren lay across the top of the bedspread in the darkness, listening to Caleb snore. Her violent tears had cried themselves out hours ago but their source, the deep, yawning fear that fed them, refused to leave. She couldn’t bear to think about tomorrow, because so many of the outcomes she could envision ended badly. Which would be worse—to be caught by the crooked Detective Gaines or to fall into the hands of the Mafia? Or even to be apprehended by honest police officers who couldn’t see past the tangle of fake evidence that identified her as a murderer?

  Mingled with her fear was guilt. Those men sleeping across the hallway were good people who were trying to help her, and how had she responded? She’d shouted at them for their beliefs. She’d been furious with them for praying. What was the matter with her?

  She rolled to the other side of the mattress, her gaze fixed on the cracks of cool moonlight filtering through the mini-blinds.

  The whole thing about praying for guidance had rubbed sandpaper against a raw place in her soul. A reminder of her failure. Here she was, trying to learn how to stand on her own two feet, how not to rely on anyone else to decide the course of her life, and what had she done? She’d put herself in the hands of not just one strong, capable man, but two. Was she incapabl
e of making a decision on her own?

  The one big decision she’d made lately, the step of independence of which she’d been so proud, had ended in disaster. It turned out landing that job at Sterling Foods hadn’t even been her decision. She had been manipulated the whole time, a clueless pawn without skills. And now David was dead because of her, just as surely as if she’d pulled the trigger that had taken his life. The knowledge made her cringe, and she tossed fitfully back to the other side of the bed.

  What of Caleb and Brent? Would they, too, end up dead because of her? Caleb, the strong man with a soft heart for drug users and prostitutes, the ones most people would rather ignore. And Brent…

  Her heart wrenched at the thought of him. She’d done it again, she knew that now. Fallen for her boss. But to compare the feelings she held for Brent with those of her relationship to David was like comparing a bowling ball with a ping-pong ball. The bowling ball was solid and heavy, but a ping-pong ball could be blown away with a breath.

  I can’t drag Brent any further into this mess. If anything happened to him because of me, I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  Her decision was made in an instant. The only reason Brent and Caleb were hesitant to call the FBI was because of her. They were being overly cautious for her sake, but they were letting caution override good sense. The FBI needed to be called, and waiting until morning wouldn’t gain anything. Surely they had a national hotline or something. A twenty-four hour emergency line.

  And once she was gone, Brent would be safe. The Cicalo gang would have no reason to bother him any further.

  Moving as quietly as possible, Lauren rolled off the mattress and crept around the edge of the bed to the dresser. The bag of money lay on the floor where she’d put it, beside Caleb’s tool belt. She slipped the strap over her shoulder and the weight dragged against her muscles. Her shoes and purse lay on the floor where she’d kicked them off. She picked them up and held them in her hand. Better go barefoot until she got outside or risk waking the men with the tapping of heels against the linoleum in the kitchen.

  Caleb’s snores grew louder when she edged the bedroom door open. Brent’s slow, even breathing was barely discernable beneath the loud rumble. Lauren pulled the door closed behind her and crept down the hallway at a snail’s pace, careful not to make a sound.

  Only when she pulled the back door closed behind her did she allow herself to breathe. Glancing around the yard, she dropped her shoes and stepped into them. The moon shone brightly in the sky and illuminated the sandy backyard with cold, white light. The porch smelled faintly of stale cigarette smoke. A full ashtray sat in the center of the plastic table, a disposable lighter beside it.

  Lauren dug in her purse and pulled out her cell phone. Would information have a listing of a national hotline number for the FBI? She hoped so. Brent’s warning about corruption in local law enforcement weighed heavily on her mind. What if she placed a call to the FBI and got in touch with someone like Detective Gaines?

  Though fear threatened to swallow her, that was a risk she’d have to take.

  When she started to key in 4-1-1, a shuffling sound nearby seemed to split the silence like an alarm. She jumped nearly out of her skin, and then immediately saw the source. A cat had rounded the corner of the house and was rubbing against the peeling stucco.

  If the noise from a cat was that audible in the silence, she might as well shout into a megaphone. She needed to put some distance between herself and the house.

  And not only for that reason. When the FBI sent someone to get her, she needed to be as far from this house as she could. Images from their drive through the neighborhood surfaced in her mind, especially the rough-looking young men drinking beer a couple of streets from here. Why hadn’t she grabbed Caleb’s car keys off the dresser?

  What am I thinking? She couldn’t steal his car. And even if she could justify the theft in her mind, it was too late now. She couldn’t risk going back in there and waking them. She’d just have to keep her eyes open and find someplace that looked safe to make her call. Surely there was a gas station or convenience store nearby.

  Swallowing her fear, she scanned the surrounding area. Music and voices carried down the street from a house halfway up the block. She edged to the corner and looked. Lights illuminated every window, and the front door stood open. Two figures leaned against a car parked at the curb in front of the house, apparently talking. Somebody must be having a party. So she couldn’t go that way.

  Light showed in the windows of several of the homes up and down the street, but most were dark. Lauren’s gaze fell on the residence across the street, one of the dark ones. The home of the two women she’d seen earlier. Caleb had said they were dancers and had been heading to work. That meant they worked at night. Their house would be empty.

  Not far enough away, but maybe their backyard will be a good place to make my phone call.

  With a cautious glance in each direction, Lauren clutched the duffel-bag strap and walked out of the shadows, heading across the street. Though her instincts were to run, she forced herself to maintain a normal pace. What had Brent said? Act like you belong here. If she were seen, she’d draw far less attention by walking than running. At least her slacks and blouse were dark.

  By the time she reached her destination, her heart threatened to pound through her rib cage. She slipped into the shadows in the women’s side yard and collapsed against the house. Gulping in huge draughts of air, she waited until her pulse returned to something resembling normal, then edged around back.

  Unlike Caleb’s, this porch had no awning. The twelve-by-twelve square of concrete held a couple of overflowing garbage cans and an old charcoal grill. A dilapidated half-full bag of charcoal lay on the cement beside the grill, its side split to let chunks of briquettes spill out. Nearby, an untidy pile of wooden slats that used to be a decorative bench had been kicked off the edge of the porch. The yard shared one feature in common with Caleb’s—a complete lack of cover. Moonlight washed every bare inch of the weed-strewn sand.

  At least my phone call won’t be overheard here. She fished her cell phone out of her purse and then set it and the duffel bag on the ground. Step one, to call information and get the hotline number. What a shame the women who lived here didn’t have chairs on their back porch.

  A sound reached her ears. The smooth purr of a car engine coming down the street. Headlights slashed through the shadows and moved across the side of the house as the car approached. Lauren shrank against the rough stucco, waiting for the vehicle to pass. A second set of lights flashed across the building as another car followed the first. Maybe they were partygoers heading for the house down the street. Only the engine sounds didn’t recede, as they would if the car had driven past. Instead, they went silent as the engine was cut off.

  Had the women who lived here returned home? Stomach tight, Lauren edged around the corner of the house and bent double to creep forward until she could get a peek at the driveway. What she saw chilled the blood in her veins.

  The women’s driveway was empty, but Caleb’s was not. A white Grand Am had parked behind his Toyota, and a dark sedan stopped along the curb out front. Two figures got out of each car. Moonlight gave her a clear view of the driver of the Grand Am, and she recognized him immediately. Revulsion twisted her insides. Detective Victor Gaines.

  He gestured toward the two men who emerged from the second car, and each of them drew weapons. They advanced toward Caleb’s front door, holding handguns straight out in front of them.

  But it was the sight of the fourth person that sent a shiver down Lauren’s spine. Nausea threatened to defeat her, and the bitter taste of acid burned the back of her throat.

  A slight figure lagged behind Gaines and the others. White moonlight shone on shoulder-length honey blond hair and illuminated a familiar profile.

  The fourth person was her.

  TWENTY-TWO

  A noise from the other room dragged Brent out of a deep, exhausted
sleep. He lay in the dark room, his groggy mind trying to identify the sound, when another noise reached him. The sound of clothing rustling, and the soft squeak of a shoe.

  Before he could react, a hard weight slammed into his chest and pressed him down into the mattress.

  “If you move, you’re dead.”

  Fear tingled along his nerve endings. He opened his eyes and saw the dark outline of a man hovering over him. He identified the weight as a knee planted in the middle of his chest, and a gun barrel hovered inches from his forehead. The faint odor of gun oil filled his nostrils. Though he didn’t dare turn his head, he could see in his peripheral vision that Caleb was in a similar predicament.

  Lauren! Oh, no. They’ve come to get her.

  “What is going on here?” Caleb bellowed. “This is my home. You have no right to be here.”

  “Shut up or I’ll shoot you just for getting on my nerves,” the gunman snarled.

  Then someone spoke from the doorway. “Where is the money, Mr. Emerson?”

  Brent knew that arrogant voice. Gaines. These must be crooked cops, then, not the Cicalo. A dubious relief took him. Maybe he could bluff his way out.

  “Detective, is that you? What’s happening?”

  A soft chuckle answered him. “Don’t play innocent. It’s too late for that. Now tell me what you’ve done with the money.”

  Brent’s mind grasped. The money was in the other room, with Lauren. He strained to hear a noise from the room across the hallway but failed. A wild hope galloped over him. It was only a matter of seconds before they kicked in that door and found her. But they didn’t have her yet. If she’d been awakened by the commotion, maybe seconds was all she’d needed. She could have escaped through the window.