Lost But Not Forgotten (16 page)

Gillian’s first instinct was to wake Mitch.
And say what?
Her story was so wild that even if he
was
trustworthy, those men would show up before she could make Mitch understand.
If
she could make him understand. They might well shoot him first and ask questions later.
No, they wouldn’t.
They were thick as thieves, all three of them. She didn’t want to believe it but she had to.

She stood looking down on his sleeping form, loving the boyish way he curled around his pillow. A yearning for everything that might have been billowed around her. Deliberately, she turned away, steeling herself against what she felt for the man she doubted she could trust. Who was she kidding? Of course she couldn’t trust him!
He had her suitcase. And she’d seen the blue car exit his ranch.

Her blood running cold with fear, Gillian took a jacket from the closet and collected her boots. Quietly she made her way to the living room, where she stopped and stepped into them. If she left now, she’d have a decent head start.

Oh, no! Her car. Mitch had driven her home.
She threw up her hands and paced. Those goons wouldn’t argue forever. And since Trooper had begun to whine louder, Gillian reacted without taking time to think matters through. She snatched Mitch’s keys off the coffee table, hissed at Trooper to stay and let herself out of the apartment.

The men would probably come in the main entrance and take the clunky old elevator to her floor. She tugged silently at the fire door and ran headlong down three flights of stairs. Not until she reached Mitch’s pickup and sorted through his keys to find the one that fit the ignition did she realize she also had the key to his house. Nothing stood between her and retrieving Katie’s urn except the time it’d take to detour past Mitch’s ranch.

Whispering a shaky prayer that her plan would work, she started his vehicle and drove out into the black of night, leaving Mitch to explain her absence to his pals.

M
ITCH JERKED AWAKE
to a noise that sounded like someone kicking a wall. He threw his legs over the edge of the bed, reaching simultaneously for his pants and the lock box that held his service revolver. Coming up empty on both counts, he grasped his head in both hands, attempting to rid himself of disorientation.

The sounds grew louder. Brusque male voices now accompanied the pounding. Beyond, in the blackness, Trooper growled menacingly. A warning, low and insistent, in the back of his throat.

Fighting free of the last covering, a tangled sheet wrapped around his waist, he inhaled the faint scent of an appealing perfume.
Gillian. He was in her apartment. In her bed.
Smiling, he patted the spot where he’d last seen her. Pillow and sheet were stone-cold.

More confused than ever, he finally located a lamp. In the subsequent flood of light, he saw a heap of denim, which luckily turned out to be his jeans. He pulled them on, yelling, “Pipe down!”

“Boy, apartments suck,” he grumbled, hoping Gillian wasn’t getting mixed up in some drunken neighbor’s brawl. Whoever was making the racket was outside in the hall. Zipping his pants one-handed, Mitch jammed sockless feet into cold, stiff boots.

“Gilly?” Hobbling down the hall, listening to doors slamming and people grumbling, he called for her. The
bathroom was empty. Likewise the living room and kitchen. By now, he’d determined the pounding was someone trying to cave in her front door. Snapping on the one pathetic pole lamp, Mitch cursed the fact that her door didn’t have a peephole.

He’d left his watch on the bedroom night stand so he hadn’t a clue as to the time. Where the hell was Gillian? But before he solved the mystery of her disappearance, he needed to stop the fools outside from doing serious damage to her door. He didn’t know how early or late it was; perhaps she’d already gone to work. He knew Flo’s breakfast shift started at an indecent hour.

Bringing Trooper to heel with a word, Mitch released the first lock. He left the chain on when he opened the door. “Whaddya want?” he growled. To his shock, a well-placed foot splintered the casing that held the chain. Two men in wrinkled suits, both holding automatic weapons, burst through the opening, forcing Mitch to leap back. Only his quick thinking let him stop Trooper from doing what he’d been trained for—saving his master.

“Who are you?” demanded one of the men. “We’re looking for Noelle McGrath.”

Although Mitch clutched the dog’s collar, Trooper barked ferociously and strained toward the strangers.

“Shut the pooch up,” the tallest of the two ordered.

Mitch again told Trooper to cease and desist. “You’ve obviously got the wrong apartment.” He tried to keep his voice calm and his tone even. Not easy, since he kept seeing the fiery bullets that had belched from Tony DeSalvo’s gun—a weapon similar to those aimed at him now.

“Search the place,” the tall man commanded his stockier pal.

“Hey!” Mitch barely let his eyes move as he watched
the heavier man waddle down the hall. A few minutes later, he came back, carrying the suitcase Mitch had seen in Gilly’s closet. The skinny dude opened the case, then swore and tossed it to the floor. The silky lining of the bag appeared to have been hacked to pieces with a carving knife. Mitch grimaced, wondering if that was fatso’s work.

“She’s been here all right. Little Noelle has found the key and flown the coop. If you know what’s good for you, pretty boy, you’ll tell us where she went.”

“I don’t know any Noelle,” Mitch said carefully. By now they could all hear the wail of sirens moving closer to the building.

The fat guy gave an ugly laugh. “Trying to tell us those are your panty hose hanging over the shower stall?”

“No, they belong to Gillian. This is her apartment.”

“Gillian?” The tall man glanced nervously toward the window. He clearly wanted to flee the approaching sirens. “Maybe that’s why she’s been so tough to find. After she doubled back at the border, I told the boss she was smarter than he gave her credit for.”

“This Gillian, is she a blue-eyed blonde looker?” asked fatso, jamming his gun barrel in Mitch’s midriff.

“Redhead,” Mitch grunted, still unable to piece together what the hell was going on. “She’s a waitress I met recently. So, what’s this Noelle woman done, anyway? And who are you guys? Feds?” he asked, knowing full well they weren’t part of any law enforcement. Mitch hoped they’d fall for his dumb boyfriend routine and provide some information as well as breathing space.

“None of your beeswax who we are,” snarled the obvious leader. At the same time his partner sneered in Mitch’s face, “Whatever she calls herself now, bud, or
however she’s changed her looks, I wouldn’t get too chummy with the little lady. Cops in New Orleans have a warrant out for her—for murdering her husband.”

“Shut up!” The man who’d been giving the orders motioned to the door. “Let’s get the hell out of here, Lenny. And you—” he stabbed the gun at Mitch “—had better conveniently forget you saw us. We’ve got long memories, and we’ll come looking for you.”

They melted into the hall shadows. Mitch heard them clattering down the back fire stairs as two cop cars squealed to a stop in front of the building. He knew there were two because one of them was slower in turning off the high-pitched scream of his siren.

He also knew it’d be a while before the teams made their way upstairs. He used the interlude to grab his watch, slip into his shirt and decide whether or not, like the toads with the guns, he was going to take a powder. About the time he’d decided to leave, he discovered his car keys were missing.

“Dammit!” he shouted, doubling a fist to strike the coffee table where he distinctly remembered Gillian putting them. “Gilly stole my pickup.”

He stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the drawer to see if she had, in her haste, remembered to take the cell phone.

It was still there. He quickly punched in Ethan’s home number. “Damn, damn, damn,” he muttered, pacing the small kitchen along with his pup. “I’m really gonna hate swallowing all of Ethan’s I-told-you-sos.”

Regan’s sleepy voice whispered a groggy hello. “Regan, Mitch here. Sorry to disturb you at this hour, but I need to talk to Ethan fast.” He listened a moment, thanked her, then hung up and punched in another string of numbers. Maybe luck was in his corner after all. Ethan
had gone out on a call. He’d checked in with Regan ten minutes ago, promising he’d be home as soon as he’d tied up a couple of loose ends.

Mitch connected with his former partner fully five minutes before the uniforms finished taking statements from residents on the floors below and finally made it up to his level.

“Well, well, Valetti. If you’re involved in this nuisance call, you’d better have damned good cause.” The not-so-rookie cop of the two glared at Mitch from eyes that had seen a long night.

Mitch invited them inside and fed them the trumped-up story he and Ethan had quickly concocted. “Look, Mike. This is what happened. Trooper and I dropped by here last night to have pizza with a friend. We talked late into the night. I had a couple of beers. She offered her couch so I wouldn’t have to drive home.” He pointed to a blanket he’d had time to rip off the bed. It and a pillow lay crumpled on the couch. “My friend works an early shift. She must’ve tiptoed out and left me sleeping. Hey, you know how it is…” Mitch offered a lopsided, sheepish grin.

Mike asked for the woman’s name.

“Would you kiss and tell, old buddy? The jerks who caused the disturbance had nothing to do with her. They banged on the door and woke me up. I smelled booze the minute I cracked the door. They thought I was some dude horning in on their babe. One of ’em ripped the chain out of the wall. I convinced them they had the wrong building, then I phoned the station to report the incident.” Mitch raked a hand through already mussed hair. “Out of habit, I rang my old line. Ethan was there. He took my report.”

“Ethan did do that,” came a deep voice from the door.

Mitch glanced up and met his friend’s cool smile. The other two cops had arrived—Ron Glendenning and Brian Fitzgerald from his old precinct. Taz barked, which meant Ethan was here, too. Trooper bounded over to greet the older dog.

“Hey, Ethan. If you’re picking up this call, much obliged,” Brian said. “It’s been a crazy night. The complaint came in as we were heading off duty.”

Ethan clapped one of the officers on the back. He walked them to the door and accepted the notes from Ron’s clipboard. He didn’t turn and look at Mitch until the others had gone.

“Don’t say it.” Mitch held up his hands.

Ethan’s eyes were dark and sympathetic. “You ought to know me better. Doesn’t mean I understand why you’re protecting her when I offered to put out an APB on your truck. You know it’s the best, maybe the only chance we have of nabbing her.”

“Listen, those bastards who barged in here had mob written all over them. What if she’s accidentally mixed up with them? You know as well as I do that with their police contacts, she’s less safe in jail.”

“The woman steals your wheels and you want her kept safe? Aw, man, I thought when you phoned and asked for my help you’d learned your lesson.”

“First, I think she only stole my pickup as a way of getting out to the ranch to collect her car. I figure she must’ve gotten up to use the bathroom and maybe heard those fools. She probably got scared and took off.”

“I won’t even ask why you were sleeping here.”

“Don’t. Ethan, if we leave now and take the shortcut to my place, we may catch up with her.”

Ethan opened his mouth, then as quickly heaved a sigh and closed it again. Pulling out his keys, he jingled them
to gain Taz and Trooper’s attention. “I’ll phone Regan from the Suzuki. I’m due home right now. It’s coming up on four-thirty.”

Mitch followed him out, pausing only long enough to snap off the lamp and latch what was left of the door. “Wait up. Listen, Ethan, those jokers may have been blowing smoke to throw me off track. But after you touch base with Regan, I wonder if you’d log on to the station computer and run an NCIC search in Louisiana using the name Noelle McGrath.”

“That name sounds familiar.” Ethan’s brows knit. “Hot damn! Gillian Stevens is an alias. I should’ve figured. That explains why she came up totally blank when I ran her through the National Crime Information Center. Come on, Mitch. Are you thinking with something other than your brain here? I’ll phone Villareal over at the county and have him pick her up. He can ask the questions and keep us out of it altogether.”

“If I could handle this alone, Ethan, I’d never have called you. I can’t explain it, but I’ll stake my reputation—and my life—on Gilly being clean.”

Unlocking his dusty Suzuki SUV, Ethan shooed the dogs into the back seat. If he had anything else to say on the subject of his former partner’s stubbornness, he kept it to himself.

G
ILLIAN WAS SHAKING
so hard, she could barely open the door of Mitch’s pickup. She just prayed she’d be able to sneak out of the garage while the thugs from the blue car were entering her building via the front. The truck’s engine sounded so loud in the quiet of the early-morning hours, she was afraid she’d faint again. The air inside the cab grew close from her rising fear.

Gillian expected men with guns to jump into her path
from behind each shadowy car she passed. She made it to the garage entry without mishap, fully recognizing the dangers of driving onto the street without headlights. This was, after all, only two streets away from the police station. Cops were always out and about in this area, starting and ending their shifts. But if she could reach the intersection without using lights, there’d be less chance of the thugs seeing her drive away.

Maybe they wouldn’t connect her with this truck. Then again, maybe they would.

A half block more and she’d be at the intersection. Once she drove through it, she’d be home free. Up ahead she saw the traffic light turn yellow and then red. Damn, she hadn’t wanted to stop. As she drew closer to the stoplight, twin beams crested a rise in the next block. Sweat popped out on her forehead. In the unfamiliar pickup cab, she fumbled around until she found the switch for the lights. She turned them on just as the other vehicle, a taxi, pulled to a stop across from her, and the driver blinked his lights as a reminder.

Gillian bent over the steering wheel. She wished her hair was longer so she could hide her face behind it. During the interminable wait for the light to turn green, she noticed a low fuel light blinking at her from Mitch’s instrument panel.

Wasn’t it just her luck to steal a truck that needed gas?

What to do about it? She’d run off without money. Not only didn’t she have her phony driver’s license, she didn’t have a dime to her name.

Almost fortuitously, a streetlight illuminated the inside of the cab. From the corner of her eye, she caught the reflection of light off something silver in Mitch’s console. With a trembling hand, she scooped up a stack of change.
Quarters, nickels and dimes. Almost four dollars, if in her haste she’d counted correctly.

At today’s prices, how much gas did that buy? Two gallons, she decided dismally, passing a service station. It was closed. So, she could buy two gallons of gas, provided she found a station open at—she glanced at her watch—four-ten in the morning. That much gas would carry her to Mitch’s ranch. From there she’d switch to her own car. At least it had a full tank.

God, she needed to factor in the time it’d take to pump two lousy gallons. The fuel needle was sinking more into the
E
by the second. Really, she had no choice.

For once, luck rode on her shoulder. Halfway down the next block, at which point Gillian had already determined she’d have to abandon the pickup, she caught sight of a combination convenience store-service station. And it was open!

Nerve-racking though the flashing low-fuel sign was, the worry had served to take her mind off her larger problem. Like what to do once she reached the ranch and switched cars?

Careful as she’d been to keep ready cash on hand at her apartment—preparing for this very eventuality—Gillian found it hard to believe she’d left without any of the essentials she needed to disappear again. That showed how thoroughly Mitch Valetti had addled her brain.