Thieves Like Us (19 page)

“Hello, Bill. I need to meet with Banner as soon as possible.”

She knew calling him by his first name followed by a demand would get her a flat denial. She did it just for the satisfaction of making him reverse his decision a minute later.

“Considering Banner’s upcoming trial and your part in it, I don’t think that’s a wise decision, Miss Aims.”

“Actually, it is, Bill. And I need to do it right away. This afternoon would be perfect.” The sooner she could find out what he did with the diamonds and the Pellinni Jewels, the sooner people would stop targeting her.

She heard a derisive snort from Bill’s end. “That’s impossible. There’s a waiting list, and visiting days are in alphabetical rotation, as I’m sure you know. Banner’s isn’t until next Wednesday.”

Examining a chip in her fingernail, she rubbed it on her jeans to smooth out the rough spot. “But you’re such an influential man, Bill, I’m sure they’d make an exception if you asked.” They had before, when Banner had met with his lawyers on an almost daily basis. Infamy had its privileges.

Janet could hear him grinding his teeth on the other end of the line. “Would you care to tell me what you find so important?”

Faking disappointment, she said, “I’m afraid I can’t.” Bill was good at down and dirty verbal battles, but she suspected nice people threw him off balance.

“Then
I’m
afraid the answer is no.” Actually, like his secretary, he sounded quite pleased that the answer was no.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “But if Banner cares to tell you, he can pass the information on. I suspect he’ll be in need of legal advice anyway. Or—” she drew it out, emphasizing the choice he had here “—I suppose you could advise him not to see me. I’m sure he’ll trust whatever you say. Of course, when this little problem blows up . . .” She clicked her tongue in sympathy. “I’m afraid he’ll fire you.”

“Miss Aims, I don’t take kindly to threats. Nor does my client.”

“I know exactly how you feel, Bill.” Thanks to all the threats from Banner and his slavering pack of lawyers.

He was quiet for several seconds. “As you know, Banner has expressed a desire to never see you again.” That would refer to her ex-husband’s warning to “Stay the fuck out of his life” at their divorce proceedings.

“I remember.” And she couldn’t afford to waste time with repeated requests to talk with him. “Perhaps I could be a touch more specific. Tell him it involves diamonds.
Lots
of diamonds. I’m afraid anything else is confidential.”

“Whose diamonds?” Bill’s question was sharp with curiosity.

“You can reach me at this number to confirm the visit for this afternoon.” She rattled off her cell number. “Good-bye, Bill.” She hung up, feeling an unexpected sense of exhilaration. Power. Control. She wasn’t used to experiencing them in relation to Banner, and it felt good.

It wouldn’t last, though. She was certain she’d feel the familiar creepy shivers he always gave her when she was face-to-face with Banner. It would be nice to take Rocky along for support, but Banner would only be allowed one visitor. She’d have to face him alone.

Rocky wasn’t sure if the silver Mercedes was following him. He’d noticed one yesterday evening outside his apartment when he’d picked up his mail, and he was pretty sure he’d seen one cruise by the Westfield place when he’d dropped Janet off from the ER. But the city was full of expensive foreign cars, and he’d probably seen a dozen Mercedes already today. Still, those smoke gray windows raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he’d come to trust that intuition. He cut off Woodward onto a shaded side street, following a winding route. The Mercedes didn’t follow.

So it was just a case of paranoia. Knowing that Janet had been stalked spooked him. If they were still after her, it would make sense that they’d switch their attention to him. The only time she left the Westfield residence was with Rocky. And today would be no different.

On top of it all, Rocky was exhausted. He’d spent several fitful hours trying to sleep, but thoughts of Janet naked on his couch kept his mind—and his groin—fully alert. He hadn’t been so persistently hard since he was a teenager.

But he wasn’t a kid anymore, and he wouldn’t rush Janet into bed as if she were an easy lay. He had a nice evening planned.
Then
bed. Or the kitchen counter, or the floor. Any one of those fantasies was enough to drive him mad with desire.

Damn. There was the Mercedes again. At least it was the same silver E-Class, coming toward him from the other direction as he pulled into Elizabeth’s drive. He took his time at the gates, watching as it passed behind him. Two men were visible in the front seats before the car disappeared around a curve. This time Rocky didn’t fool himself into believing that they were really gone.

This was bad. They’d known where he was going, and instead of falling for his ruse, they just waited for him to show up.

They wouldn’t go far; they’d probably pull over up the street and wait for him to leave. He should call Ben, have him send out a squad car to hassle them a bit and get some ID. But Rocky couldn’t prove the guys had done anything, and he was fairly certain the IDs would be phony and the car rented. All he’d be doing was showing them Janet had a layer of protection around her, something they already knew. He just needed to know why they were after her. Either they were early opportunists looking for the rest of the Pellinni Jewels, or they were with the Colombian cartel that had dealt with Banner. Based strictly on potential danger to Janet, he was rooting for the former. And he didn’t need the cops to find out for sure.

He searched through the console between the seats, selecting a four-inch-long nail. It wouldn’t work as well as a knife, but he wasn’t going to chance some aggressive cop charging him with carrying a concealed weapon. One brush with the legal system had been more than enough. Nails weren’t weapons—not technically.

Cutting across Elizabeth’s yard, he pulled out his cell phone and hit four on his speed dial. The call was answered after two rings.

“Westfield residence.”

“Hey, Mr. Peters, it’s Rocky. Did Mrs. Westfield have you arrange for security patrols around the property?”

“Yes, sir. Chief Thatcher did.”

“Well, I’m about to cut through the hedges on the west side, and I’d appreciate it if they didn’t shoot me.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll let them know. Do you need assistance?”

“No, thanks. Just tell them the Hispanic man in the blue-and-green Hawaiian shirt isn’t a prowler.”

He pocketed the phone as he neared the dense hedge of rhododendrons and lilacs that screened the property from the street. From behind the house female voices floated on the humid breeze, punctuated by laughter and squeals. And splashing. Janet and Libby were obviously in the pool.

A peek over the low fieldstone wall confirmed his suspicions—the Mercedes was parked a few dozen feet into the neighbor’s long driveway, out of sight of the house and inconspicuous from the street. From there they could wait for him to drive by without fear of arousing anyone’s suspicion. If the homeowner showed up, they’d just claim to have the wrong address, apologize, and drive on.

He needed a stone. Searching beneath the lilacs, he cursed Elizabeth’s dedicated lawn service for removing all the rocks from the area. After a couple of fruitless minutes, he gave up on the immaculate ground and used the nail to pry and wiggle a stone loose from the mortar of the old wall. Perfect.

The Mercedes had backed in, waiting for him to pass by on the street. He probably didn’t even need the dense cover of spruce, maples, and oaks in the neighbor’s yard that sheltered his approach from behind; the occupants were looking straight ahead. Both men jumped when Rocky tapped on the driver’s door beneath the open window.

He leaned down to take a close look at the two startled faces. Black hair, white skin—he was betting on Spanish extraction, similar to his own.
Colombians. Shit.

“Morning, gentlemen. Sorry to bother you, but I thought you might not be aware you have a flat tire.”

Both men had stiffened, then looked confused when the information registered. “Flat tire?” the driver said.

Decent English, but a slight accent. He tried not to jump to conclusions, even though he already had. “Yeah, back here.” As the driver stepped out of the car to examine the tire, Rocky pulled the nail from his pocket, held it against the tire, and rapped it with the stone. It drove in nearly to the head.

“See, that’s not gonna last long. Especially if I do this.” Wrapping his fingers under the head, he pulled the nail out. A sharp hiss of air followed.

The man released a string of angry Spanish and lunged toward Rocky. He blocked the outstretched arm and whirled with one strategically placed kick, slamming the man just below the rib cage. He fell to the ground, clutching his midsection and gasping.

“Be glad I’m a nice guy and hit your diaphragm instead of your cojones,” Rocky muttered.

The passenger had watched through the window, hesitating for the two seconds it took to dispatch the driver. Finally realizing what was happening, he jerked the door open. Through the tinted back window, Rocky saw him open the glove compartment. In another two seconds, he’d be facing a gun.

Dashing around the back of the car would take too long; he’d round the trunk just in time to meet a bullet head-on. Better to use the shortest distance between two points: a straight line over the roof. Using both hands, he vaulted himself onto the trunk. The second man opened the passenger door and stood, turning toward the rear of the car looking for Rocky. But the man never completed his turn. Rocky slammed into the back of his head, carrying them both into the open car door. The man’s skull broke the impact.

Staggering and groaning, they both fell to the ground. Rocky rolled free, jumping to his feet. The other man didn’t. In fact, it looked like he wouldn’t be getting up for a while. Blood ran freely from his suddenly crooked nose, and a long “Ahhhh” died into a hoarse sob.

The gun lay several feet from the man’s outstretched hands. Rocky picked it up, checked the safety, and tucked it into the back of his waistband.

“Hijo de puta!”
The low, gravely words in Spanish made him look back. They matched the deadly look in the man’s eyes. Or one eye rather, since one side of the man’s face still lay against the cement.

“Yeah, yeah, tell it to the cops.” Not that any one of them was going to report this little scuffle.

“Mataré tú,”
the man snarled, his words a little more distinct this time.

The words weren’t even necessary; the hate in his narrowed eyes made the death threat perfectly clear. Rocky made sure to step on the man’s outstretched fingers as he walked away.

Cutting through the overgrown and upward-sloping backyard, Rocky listened eagerly for shouts and laughter from the pool. The yard was quiet save for the rushing sound of the fountain in the koi pond.

Mr. Peters met him at the front door. “Problem taken care of, sir?”

“Yes, thanks. Where can I find the ladies?”

“They’re waiting for you in the solarium.”

A loud meow came from the floor near his feet and he looked down to see Fluff arching her back and rubbing on his leg. “Hey, there’s my girl. How ya doin’, Fluff? You miss me?” He bent down to offer the expected scratches and pets.

“She’s adjusting quite well,” Mr. Peters said, answering for the cat.

Fluff’s purr turned into a hiss and Rocky followed her evil glare to where Jingles stalked behind a large potted fig tree.

Never one to back down, Fluff slunk forward, ears pinned and tail twitching. Before Rocky could scold her, Mr. Peters reached into his pocket, drew a small gun, and took aim at Fluff.

Rocky gave the gun a startled second glance but didn’t have time to speak.

A thin stream of water shot out, hitting Fluff on her furry butt. With a yelp, she ran for the stairs. Jingles split just as quickly toward the kitchen.

Mr. Peters pocketed the squirt gun. “Except for a few territorial disputes,” he amended.

Rocky lifted an eyebrow. “Nice shot,” he muttered. “They teach that in butler school?”

“No, sir. I queried a private loop for butlers on the Internet and received several tips about dealing with multiple cats in the household.”

He studied Mr. Peters’s implacable expression. “You’re kidding.”

The proper look never altered, but Rocky thought he noted amusement in the way Peters cocked his head. “No, sir.”

“Huh.” Rocky supposed that level of resourcefulness was expected, but the man never ceased to amaze him.

With cat control covered, his thoughts returned to Janet. “Solarium,” he repeated aloud, before he set off through the house.

Libby was nowhere to be found; she’d probably gone up to her bedroom. Janet greeted him as he approached the kitchen, hair toweled half dry and swimsuit concealed by a beach wrap covering her in a loose white material from neck to knees.

“You got out of the pool.”

Janet looked confused at his comment. “Of course. Mr. Peters told us you called and said there might be a security problem. We thought it would be safer to wait inside.”

Rocky started as Elizabeth got up from a chair. He hadn’t even noticed her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing, now. Here,” he said pulling the gun and holding it out to Elizabeth. “You can give this to Ben.”

She stared it as if it were a snake. “Where did you get that?”

“Off one of the men in the car that was following me. I’m sure they have others, but maybe Ben can trace this one.” Rocky held it out until she took it, two fingers gingerly gripping the barrel.

“Won’t there be prints?”

“Hopefully.” He doubted it mattered, though, and he cared even less. He had a good idea what the men wanted, and that was enough for him. No matter what he or Ben did to protect Janet, the thieves wouldn’t give up until they got what they were looking for.

Janet scrunched her eyebrows and shot Rocky a suspicious look. “What happened?”

“I had a little confrontation with my lemmings. Probably the same ones who chased you and trashed your place. They weren’t very friendly, and I think they’re even less inclined to be after our talk.”