Authors: Suzanne Ferrell
Opening the door halfway, he found a tall kid in a baseball cap, black Ohio State jersey, and low-riding jeans standing on the porch, a ten-speed bike leaning against the side of the house. The kid took a step back at the sight of the Glock in Frank’s hand, holding the keys up in a defensive, I-mean-you-no-harm way.
“Thanks,” Frank said, lowering the weapon and holding his hand out for the keys.
The kid dropped them in his hand and took another step backward. “Mac said you can deposit the payment to the usual account. Plates are clean and I made sure the tank was full, just like he said.”
“Do me a favor—” Frank started to say, only to have the kid raise his hand.
“Don’t know you. Don’t know this place. Never even saw the Caddy.” The kid whirled and sprinted down the steps. He climbed on the bike, and by the time Frank closed and locked the door once more, the guy was a ghost.
A moment later the basement door opened.
“Is it safe to come out?” Sydney asked, standing on the top step.
“Yes. He’s gone.” Frank holstered his weapon once more.
“Who was that?” she asked, as both women stepped into the kitchen.
He shrugged. “Don’t know.”
“What did he want?”
“Dropped off our ride.”
“Someone you don’t know just drops off…” Jontae said, coming to peek out her kitchen window, “…a really nice Cadillac, and you don’t know who they are?”
“No.”
The little brunette gave Sydney an exasperated look. “Is it always like this to get information from him?”
She laughed, that dusky, sexy laugh that warmed him from the inside out. “Pretty much. He can convey a lot with just a syllable.”
“We need to leave,” he said, not interested in hearing the two women dissect him like some ancient artifact they didn’t understand. “All of us.”
“Why?” Sydney asked.
“Too close to where you turned off your GPS.” He nodded to Jontae. “Do you have some place to stay for a few days, close the store for a vacation?”
Her eyes grew big once more, and she swiveled her gaze to Sydney and back again to him. “I need to go lay low?”
“Just for a few days. In case anyone comes snooping around.”
“I can go to Glenn’s place down in Cincinnati. Is that far enough out of town for you?”
“Should be. Go throw a travel bag together. We’ll all leave at the same time, so I can be sure you’re safely on the road.”
“Yes, sir!” She gave him a salute, and sauntered into the other part of the house.
“Sassy,” he muttered once more.
Sydney chuckled again. “Yes, but she trusts your instinct.”
He drew his brows down to stare at her curiously. “Why do you say that?”
“Glenn is her old boyfriend. He’s big, works construction, and will keep her safe from anyone. She wouldn’t go stay with him if she didn’t believe you about being in danger.”
“Why’d they break up?”
“He was a little too overprotective when they were together. She felt claustrophobic. Then there’s the other thing,” she said, as she slipped her laptop into her tote.
“Other thing?”
Glancing toward the dark part of the house where her friend had disappeared, she leaned in closer to whisper. “Turns out Glenn realized he bats for the other team.”
“Oh. Didn’t sit too well with Little Miss Sassy?”
“It wasn’t so much that he was gay. It was more how she found out.”
Castello didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue.
“She caught them together at one of her fashion shows in New York. She was new on the scene, and the whole incident made a magazine or two. Kind of humiliated her, and she hasn’t really forgiven him for that, more than his choice of partners.”
“Aha.”
What else could he say? Humiliation was probably tougher for most people to get over than anything.
Once more, he took up his position by the window to watch the street for any movement or traffic. Nothing. Good thing about small towns. They tended to shut down after dark, even on a weekend.
A few minutes later, Jontae came in carrying a floral-patterned duffle bag. “All set.”
“Got a mobile phone?” he asked, leaving his post with his hand held out.
“Doesn’t everyone?” She pulled it out of her back pocket, handing it to him. “Why?”
“When you get to Glenn’s house, you text this number and leave the message, the hummingbird is caged. We’ll know you made it safe and sound.” He plugged his number into her phone.
“The hummingbird is caged? I’m the hummingbird, right?”
“Right.”
She grinned at Sydney. “I’m kinda liking this spy stuff.”
“If you need anything, or anyone suspicious approaches you, call this number,” he said, getting her attention once more. “Only call it in an emergency, or if you feel threatened. Say the words Go Blue, nothing else. I’ll know it’s you and get help to your location. Got it?” he asked, before handing her phone back to her.
“Got it. Go Blue because it’s not something most Ohio residents would say?”
“No respecting OSU fan would mention a Michigan cheer. Your code for you’re in trouble.”
“She could just call me,” Sydney said. She’d gathered up her laptop, tote and purse.
“No, she can’t. Give me yours.” He held out his hand.
“Why?” she asked, even as she slipped the phone onto his palm.
He took off the case, flipped it over and opened the back.
“Wait! What are you doing?” she said, trying to grab it from him.
He shifted sideways to block her efforts. “Taking out the battery,” he said as he did so.
“Why?”
“Because, even if you turn off the GPS and turn off the phone, the authorities can turn the phone back on through your provider, and the GPS as well. They can even listen to what you’re talking about, if the phone is in the room.” He closed the phone and handed it back to her, pocketing the battery in his jacket.
“That’s scary,” Jontae said, staring at him with big, brown eyes.
“That the government can use your phone to track you or listen to you covertly?” he asked.
“That, too, but what’s really scary is that you know all that.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Why are we stopping here?” Sydney asked quietly, as they walked into the drug store. They’d followed Jontae out of her neighborhood, then stayed on the regular roads while her friend headed onto the outer belt. Once she found the interstate heading south, she’d be safe and away from this whole mess. “I thought you said we had to get somewhere safe in case we’re being followed or tracked?”
“We need something,” Frank said, not waiting for her. A man on a mission.
“Such as?” She grabbed a little basket and hurried her stride to keep up with his. Damn, the man had long legs.
“This.”
He stopped in front of the wall near the photo processing center. Turning, she saw a section of pre-paid cell phones.
“Thought you might want to try and contact your brother again. A burner phone is the safest way to do that. No one can trace it back to you.”
Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back. Damn the man. Even though he’d made it perfectly clear that he didn’t like how her brother treated her, he also knew it was important to her to try and find him. Here he was making it possible.
“Thank you.” She reached for one, then paused. “Which one should I get?”
“Any of these three,” he said, pointing them out. “Whichever one you want. They’re all about the same in function and price.”
She leaned closer to him, so no one close by could hear her. Jeez, she was becoming just as paranoid as him. “You’re sure no one can trace my location with it?”
He moved so he was whispering in her ear, the heat of his breath sending shivers coursing over her skin. “None of these have GPS tracking on them. They just function as phones.”
For a moment, she stared at her choices, but in the end picked the one that resembled her old phone a little. At least, she’d be looking for the same rectangular black object when she needed to find it.
Once she made her decision, he selected a car charger made for that phone. Grasping her by the elbow, he steered her away from the front checkout down an aisle of vitamins and over-the-counter meds, instead. This time his stride was slower, with a slight limp, and she no longer felt like she had to run to keep up with him.
“What are we getting now?” she asked.
“Ibuprophen.”
Instinctively, she glanced down at his thigh. “Oh, for your leg. I didn’t even think to get any pain killers from Jontae.” Snatching a hundred-count bottle, she added it to her basket with the phone. Then she saw some antibiotic cream and large bandages at the end of the aisle. “Let’s get some of this, too.”
“Good idea,” he said, as his gaze went to the ceiling.
Following his line of sight, she saw the rounded mirror reflecting the aisle behind them. He was checking to see if anyone was stalking them. She leaned in close. “See anyone?”
“Nothing obvious.” Grasping her free hand, he led her into the next aisle, stopping and looking into the mirror once more.
She glanced around where they’d stopped and snorted a laugh.
“What?” he asked, drawing his brows down in complete puzzlement.
“Really? The senior incontinence aisle?”
He scanned the products lining both sides of the aisle, shook his head, and grabbed her hand again. “I think it’s safe to go to the checkout,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting slightly and his cheeks a little bit pink.
As she stood beside him at the counter and waited patiently for the older gentleman to check out their items, she stared out the plate-glass window at the neon sign advertising all the shops in the strip mall. The largest on top was for the pharmacy, but the one two levels down caught her eye. A camera store. Maybe she could replace her darkroom supplies and equipment?
“Do we have a few minutes before we have to leave?” she asked, leaning close to Castello.
“Why?”
She nodded at the sign.
He glanced up and shook his head. “We don’t have time,” he said, his mouth set in a thin line of determination. “Besides it probably isn’t still open this late.”
A spark of resentment shot through her. They’d had time to get a phone because he’d dismantled hers, but to let her go in the tiny camera shop for a few minutes was out of the question? She hadn’t let a man tell her what she could or couldn’t do since she dumped her overly-possessive, nerdy boyfriend her sophomore year of college. Usually, she’d just walk over whether he believed she should or not.
But this isn’t usual. Someone’s trying to kill us
.
She managed to hold her tongue until they were in the Cadillac and back on the road once more, with Castello still driving while checking every few seconds to see if anyone was following them.
“Why did you want to risk your life to go into the camera store?” he asked, beating her to the punch and deflating a little of her irritation with his question. After all, getting pissy about his refusal for a quick stop when he’d just mentioned the words
risk your life
sounded childish at this point.
She heaved a sigh. “It was a stupid suggestion considering all that’s happened in the last two days. You’re right.”
Without breaking his scanning process, he reached over, turned her hand palm upwards and laid his on top, holding it firmly. The warmth of his hand soothed her ire even more than his words had. “It’s not about me being right or you being wrong. I want to understand why you wanted to go there, at this time.”
How did she explain her love of camera stores, the process of photography—both in the taking of pictures and the creating the images afterwards?
“When I was about five years old, my dad took me to Kuznicki’s photography, a very quaint camera store in New York that had been in the same building since almost the turn of the twentieth century,” she said, drifting back to the wonder of entering the old brick building. “The shelves were lined with all these fancy thirty-five millimeter cameras and lenses, but what really caught my attention were the antique cameras locked inside these tall glass display cabinets. Behind each camera was a framed image made by that camera. They fascinated me.”
She searched through her bag and brought out a mint, unwrapped it with nervous fingers, slid it in her mouth, then settled her hand in his once more.
Frank squeezed her hand, encouraging her to continue her story.
“While Dad was busy talking with a repairman about the camera he’d brought in to be fixed, Mr. Kuznicki came over and explained to me the different cameras and how they worked. He gave me an entire history lesson of cameras, and how they were used in history.” She smiled at the memory. “Then he opened the case and took out this old Rollieflex. The kind you had to hold at your waist and look at the view finder from the top. He loaded it with film and showed me how to focus and snap a picture. He let me take pictures of the store, the people inside, whatever I wanted. It was magical.”
“I bet it was,” Frank said, no teasing in his voice, just understanding.
“When Dad went back to pick up his camera I begged to go along. When we arrived, Mr. Kuznicki was waiting for me with a little package. Inside, were all the black and white pictures I’d made. From that moment on, I was hooked. Not only in photography, but being inside camera equipment stores, the older the better. I know it sounds silly, but there’s something comforting in them for me.”
“Nope.”
“Nope, what?”
“It’s not silly. You sound just like Katie or Abigail when they talk about being inside a bookstore.” He gave her a quick smile, squeezed her hand again then released it to turn the corner. “Why don’t you open up that cell phone?”
And the cozy, past-life confession period was over.
Shaking her head, she pulled the phone out of the bag and tried to rip open the plastic packaging. “Crap. I know they’re worried about people stealing these things, but do they have to make them so freaking impossible to open?”
“Try this,” Frank said, pulling a Leatherman utility knife out of his jeans’ pocket and handing it to her.
“Thanks.” She found the scissors attachment and cut open the package. Repeating the effort on the charger package, she opened it and handed the tool back to him. Once she had the phone connected to the charger and the charger plugged into the car’s cigarette lighter, she activated it and selected the dial option. Then froze.