According To Plan Part 7

3. He'd been camped outside Harrison's apartment.

I looked again at the list and a harsh realization floored me. They must have told him I was going to L.A. Why would they hire me when they could have hired Tank? And why would Tank be talking to them if he suspected Harrison murdered a girl in L.A.?

I needed some uninterrupted time to figure this out and the best place would be my office, alone. I grabbed the list, ran down the stairs and yelled out, "See you later." I thought I heard Tank call out, "Wait!" but ignored him and couldn't help but feel like a guilty husband ducking out on the loving wife, slaving over breakfast.

My drive to work would normally take anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes. This morning however, there was a detour on the main road. I followed the temporary road signs while listening to my favorite country music station. Consumed with thoughts of the phone records, the Grants and what possible link they could have to Tank, I didn't notice that over time and a few right turns, the only car traveling down this narrow side road was mine.

Merde.

In certain situations, I'm bilingual.

The fact that I was the only car on the street wasn't my main concern. No. What really had my belly in a free-fall was that this bit of paved real estate was deserted. My last turn had brought me into a long ally bordered by empty warehouses with broken windows and lost dreams. The sinking feeling intensified when a huge tractor-trailer with a ramp attached to the back, loomed ahead.

Actually, the truck itself hadn't given me the lead gut feeling. The big gorilla in a suit with a gun, directing me into the back of said truck, made me realize I was in a bunch of doo doo.

I had to stop my car and I couldn't back up because my transmission was shot. I hadn't been able to go into reverse for months and kept forgetting to take it in to be fixed. So, I turned off the engine and pocketed the keys.

After my little scare in L.A., I'd made the decision I wouldn't willingly go anywhere. I'd also seen enough Oprah to know-don't ever go to the secondary place. Reaching over my left shoulder I locked the door, which gave me a perceived sense of safety. The knuckle dragger could shoot me, but someone would report the gunshot.

Right?

Looking around the area I realized maybe not, but a girl could always hope.

I crouched down a bit lower in an attempt to make myself a smaller target and groped for my purse. Dread washed over me. Instead of my usual knock off designer bag, I still had the tacky hooker purse from L.A. and didn't have the little gun I usually carried. My only weapon was pepper spray.

Double Merde.

I had less than thirty seconds to think about this because the goon approached my car, and I had to cover my head as he smashed in the driver's window. Then, with apparent ease, he ripped the door off my hatchback.

I gaped in disbelief. This car had been my mother's and I'd inherited it when she died. The Blue Bomb was my last physical link to her and this rusted piece of tin may have been an oil guzzling, exhaust-belching piece of c.r.a.p, but it was my piece of c.r.a.p.

Jaw clenched, my blood began to boil. Anger might have been out of place, given the circ.u.mstances, but I felt no guilt as once again, in less than twenty-four hours, I curled my fingers around the tiny little canister hidden in my purse and waited.

When my attacker turned to come at me through the door, I held my arm out stiff and squeezed. This time mist spewed from the nozzle and hit his face full on. Howling, grabbing at his eyes, he backed away. Not a second to lose, I pretty much fell out of the car, scrambled to my feet, and took off as fast as my still stiff legs would let me.

I found I limbered up pretty quick. Being faced with death will do that for you. I heard him shout and figured he'd be fumbling for his gun, but I wasn't looking back to check. My eyes were on the prize of freedom at the end of the alley. The Olympic record for the one hundred yard dash was about to be broken when I heard bodies collide and a familiar voice cursing behind me.

Tank? What was he doing here?

I skidded to a stop and against my better judgement turned around. Tank and Gorilla Boy fought beside my car. A movement at the front of the truck caught my eye and I spotted a second person jumping down from the big rig.

Now what? I couldn't leave Tank alone with two guys, he'd be outnumbered. I looked around the alley for a weapon and at first couldn't find anything. Over by a dumpster I spotted a piece of wood about the length of a small baseball bat.

That would work.

Digging the two by four out from under garbage I picked it up and tested its weight in my hand. Good and hefty. It was time to join the fight. The second guy, focused on Tank, didn't even see me approach. Feet spread shoulder width apart I wound up my makes.h.i.+ft bat and cracked him on the back of the head. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, out cold on the pavement. My arms reverberated from the hit.

Ow! Mama Mia... I let go of the two by four and grabbed my hand.

A huge splinter lay lodged in my palm and although I pulled at it with my teeth, the sliver wouldn't budge. I kicked the second person in the leg, to make sure he was really out cold and not playing possum.

Tank continued to go toe to toe with the big guy. My would-be kidnapper had blood trickling from a cut lip, his breathing labored. Although muscle bound, he wasn't in good shape.

Sometime during the fight the gun had dropped to the ground, so I pounced on it and pointed the barrel at the two men. They continued to punch and grunt, taking no notice of me. I shouted out the only phrase I could think of to make them stop, "Freeze, Police!"

Tank kept going but the ma.s.sive Neanderthal, caught off guard, paused, which allowed Tank to take advantage of his break in concentration. With a swift upper cut, Tank laid him out flat. Gorilla Boy crumpled to the ground and probably saw little birds tweeting around his head.

Not even breathing heavy Tank looked over his shoulder and grinned. With a dangerous glint in his eye he approached and pulled me against his chest. His head lowered and my lips parted, waiting for a kiss. Instead he whispered in my ear.

"Thanks, Shelby. Now find some rope and tie up the little guy." He slipped the gun from my hand. "I'll take care of Tony here."

"You know these guys?" How did he know this goon's name and why did I think he'd kiss me?

Tank didn't answer and returned to where Tony lay. I guess I'd find out later, when we had that much needed long talk. I opened the trunk of my car where I kept emergency supplies-a length of rope handily being one of them. It took a few minutes, but I hog-tied the still unconscious man, snagging the splinter several times with the rough rope. The little guy had a cool tattoo on the back of his hand. It was a serpent, inked to look like it was a part of his body, slithering around his bones. Any movement of his hand made the snake 'come to life'.

Tank sat on an overturned crate and kept the gun pointed at our big burly friend while we waited for him to wake up. I watched the entire thing from the side of the Blue Bomb, holding the stick of wood within kicking distance of Tony's partner. When Tony finally came around he didn't look too pleased to see us in control of their roadside diversion. He semi-sat, but went no further when Tank waved the gun at him.

"Anthony. Long time no see. What are you doing in my back yard?"

"I don't got nuthin' to say to youse guys." Tony mumbled.

My eyes rolled heavenward at the cla.s.sic 'bad guy' line. Tony obviously didn't have many conversation skills.

"Well Tony, here's how I see it. I've got the gun, you don't. This makes me think you'll have a lot to say." Tank scratched his jaw with the barrel of the gun, "Now we can do this easy, or it can go down like our last little meet and greet. You decide."

Tony's eyes, red and irritated from the spray, became huge like saucers. He clearly panicked and blubbered, "Come on man, take it easy. Don't be shooting me again."

Shoot him? Tank shot him?

"Then spill. I'm getting testy and that's my wife you were roughing up."

"Your wife?" Tony paled even more, if that were possible.

Little dude started to wake and, in my humble opinion, move too much, so I gave him a swift kick in the backside, adding a visual reminder by thumping the wooden stick in the palm of my hand. He settled back down with a sullen look on his narrow face.

I'd jammed the sliver deeper and the stupid thing was driving me crazy, so once more I gnawed at my palm, stopping when I heard Tony say, "...so we was to get the girl in the truck and meet up at the warehouse."

That didn't sound too good for me.

"Tony, turn over so I can cuff you and don't even think about running." Tony rolled over and let Tank slap some handcuffs on him. Then Tony struggled back into a sitting position. Tank came over beside my desecrated car and pulled out his phone.

"Yeah, it's me. Tell Neil we have a situation and I need cleaners at..." He looked around. "...the alley at First and Delaware. Bring a flat-bed tow truck." Tank looked down at weasel lying at my feet. He took the two by four from me and propped it against the car.

"Good job." Tank draped an arm around me and squeezed. He flipped the Glock and handed it to me, handle first. "Take this and watch Tony. If he moves, shoot him."

The whole situation was beyond anything I'd ever encountered and I could only stare. I felt like I'd wandered onto a bad movie set and at any moment a skinny, balding man in a beret would jump out from behind a dumpster yelling, "Cut!"

Tank placed both hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to face Tony. With a firm hand he lifted my elbow, so that it was almost shoulder high and away from my body. "Point the gun that way, darlin'."

I racked the slide, popped out the magazine and reloaded the gun. "Thanks. I got it." Tank nodded in appreciation, ducked his head and kissed me quick. The gun laid a little heavy in my hand. My own handgun was a Glock 23 Sub-compact or 'Baby Glock' as others liked to call it. For me it was the perfect size and when I added the mag extension, gave me a fantastic grip. Confidence returning, I held the gun on Tony, who looked panic-stricken.

I decided it was payback time and shrugged, levelling a bored look at Tony. "Don't make me use this. I might shoot off something you think is important."

The words hung between us and I heard Tank choke back a laugh. Tony didn't know I was a crack shot. My range instructor called me a freak of nature.

Tank s.h.i.+fted his attention to the smaller man lying on the ground to my left. He'd rolled over onto his back and Tank could now see his face. "Vinnie Malone, what are you doing with Anthony again? Keeping company with him is hazardous to your health."

Vinnie's eyes bulged and sweat poured down his face. Standing near the car, I kept the gun trained on Tony. I wondered again how Tank knew these two guys. My attention pivoted to Tank and Vinnie, but they were talking in low tones.

"...this information does not make me happy Vincent." Tank's voice had risen in anger. "You need to give me a name 'cause when the cleaners get here it won't go good for you, if y'all catch my drift."

I thought Vinnie was going to puke. Fear rolled off him in waves. At least I wanted to think it was fear. I was not going to be the one to check if it was something else.

Eeeww.

"Aw Tank. I can't. He'd cut off my b.a.l.l.s if I ratted."

"Vinnie, he can only cut off what's left after Shelby's shoots 'em." Tank said.

Vinnie turned as grey as the concrete he lay against and looked at me. I waved a salute with the gun. I could almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he weighed his options. Decision made, he took a deep breath and began. "I only talked to this guy on the phone. I never met him. We was to take the girl and her car to this warehouse on Industrial Road. That's all I know. I'm just the driver."

"So, who gave him your names?"

"I don't know, honest."

Tank shook his head. "That's not good business, Vinnie. You should always know who gives your name as referrals. So you can reciprocate." He looked over at Tony. "That means return the favor. Vinnie should always get a name, right Tony?" Tony nodded unenthusiastically, his eyes never leaving the gun.

Tank squatted down beside Vincent, grim-faced. I didn't recognize this man looming over Vinnie. He'd grown bigger, if that was possible and menacing. His face turned hard, like granite and his voice dropped to a deadly whisper. "Vinnie, you could find yourself in a lot of trouble. In fact, you could end up hog-tied in an alley waiting for someone to take you away." He leaned closer. "Take you away somewhere quiet, where no one will hear you. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

A bead of sweat slowly made its way down the side of Vinnie's face and disappeared under his collar. Visibly shaking, he nodded yes. Tank straightened, but not before he patted Vinnie's cheek, hard. "That's good. We're going to get to the bottom of this."

Just then two nondescript black SUV's pulled into the alley. Four beefy men in matching dark suits and shades piled out followed by a lean, angular man. My first thought was, this is so Men In Black. With quiet efficiency they brought Tony and Vincent to their feet and escorted them to the waiting SUVs.

Tank took the Glock from me and brought it to the man I a.s.sumed was Neil, who said, "You did it this time, Steele. You blew your cover. I hope she was worth it."

I didn't hear what Tank said, but Neil gave a physical start, then turned and stalked off. I had a strong suspicion Tank hadn't been too polite with the man. Wrong move, if he's your boss.

Throughout all of this, a tow truck backed in and an older male exited, calmly winching the Blue Bomb to the back of the truck. He then threw the door Tony ripped off onto the flat bed portion and I watched him take my baby away.

A loud backfire, followed by a series of clunks had me turn and peer down the alley. What was Regis doing here?

"Are you ready to go for a ride?" Startled, I turned to see that Tank had returned and he flashed me a c.o.c.ky grin. If he was in trouble with Neil, he didn't show it. He threw his arm around my shoulders and steered us toward his motorcycle.

I picked at the splinter again and asked, "Did you see Regis? I heard his car."

"No. Are you sure it was him?"

"Oh yeah. I'd recognize the sound of his old junker anywhere. It's the stuff my nightmares are made of."

That, and being sold into a slavery.

Tank shrugged. "Maybe he got side tracked by the detour signs like you. Come on, let's go home."

I checked over my shoulder to see what was happening, but Tank turned my head back and said, "Keep walking. Nothing you'd want to be a witness to."

I s.h.i.+vered and for the first time with Tank's arm around me, not from antic.i.p.ation.

Chapter Twelve.

"Ow, ow, ow!"

"Stop being a baby, it's just a splinter."

"No it's not. It's the size of an HB pencil and it hurts."

I sat at the kitchen table while Tank crouched before me and removed the offending sliver of wood with a pair of tweezers. With a satisfied sigh I looked up and found him watching me. Eyes smoldering, lower lip caught between his teeth, he scorched me with that one quick glance. Never taking his eyes off me, he slowly released his lower lip before raising my palm to his mouth.

Oh my.

Heat pooled low in my belly when he pursed his lips and softly blew on the tiny, open wound. The hairs on my arm stood on end and an electrical energy shot straight from my hand to the center of my feminine core. Fascinated by his lips, I couldn't take my eyes off them.

He leaned toward me. Would he kiss me? My lips parted in antic.i.p.ation. Flickers of disappointment stung my pride when all he did was reach around and grab the first-aid kit. He applied some ointment and a Blue Dinosaur Band-Aid. Had I finally pushed him completely away? Utterly embarra.s.sed, I tugged my hand, but he wouldn't let go.

His firm lips pressed above the Band-Aid and I closed my eyes. Kisses feathered the inside of my arm and my breath hitched when he paused at the nape of my neck. The warmth from his body was tangible, the scent of his aftershave and cologne tangy sweet with a hint of musk.

When I opened my eyes, Tank filled my vision. He was a hair's breadth away from my mouth. If I moved even an inch I'd touch his lips with mine. I started to sway forward then caught myself. Tank was not who he said he was, and I needed a lot of answers to a lot of questions.

I scrambled to collect my thoughts as I pushed at his chest. "Slow down, cowboy. We have to talk." I stood and eased around him, toward the kitchen island.

Tank remained in a crouched position for a few seconds more before rising to his feet. There was visible evidence he'd been affected by our closeness. Towering over me, he took up a lot of s.p.a.ce in my little kitchen and I was sorely tempted to drag him up to our bedroom. Instead, I busied myself putting away ointment, and Band-Aids and... stuff.

I hesitated when he came up beside me, but instead of hauling me into his arms, he started was.h.i.+ng the dishes, which had been left so abruptly this morning. I grabbed a towel and began drying. While we worked in companionable silence, my mind whirred into overtime.

I kept replaying what Neil said. "You blew your cover. I hope she was worth it."

Was cover had he blown, and was I worth it to him?

As I put away the last dish, I heard the fridge door open and turned to see him holding a beer. He grabbed a second bottle, silently asking me if I wanted one. I nodded and took it from him. Drink in hand, I followed him to the living room where I curled in the big easy chair and waited while he paced.

He took a long draw from his beer, pushed a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck. The last time I'd seen him this jumpy was right before he met my family. Finally he stopped pacing and faced me.

"You've obviously figured out I'm not a P.I." He chuckled when he saw me roll my eyes.