The Past Came Hunting (16 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Drake settled in with the ex-cons. Well, about as well as he’d settled in with anyone. When you’ve been in prison you make do. As he’d suspected would happen, Ramirez was kicking his ass. From the moment Drake joined the team, he’d been surrounded by nonstop planning and bullshitting. Early mornings, late evenings, Ramirez concentrated on dividing these men who thought they were bad-asses into teams. From there, he trained them to disorient, strike fast and hit the least suspecting.

With the exception of Ramirez, Drake didn’t see one he couldn’t take. And after seeing the gang leader’s smarts, and what he had planned for the future, Drake wanted in on this deal. In a few short months, this crew had raked in some serious bread.

There was one small problem. Ramirez watched everybody―especially Drake. Maybe it was because the gang leader had bought Drake’s lie that he was flat-assed broke, or maybe it was simply because, in or out of the joint, cons don’t trust easily. Whatever the reasons, he had found himself
invited
to camp out in Ramirez’s sister’s basement―which might have worked for Ramirez, but not necessarily for his younger sister.

Not much shocked Drake anymore, but that’s what occurred the moment he met her. She’d entered her eastside Colorado Springs home two nights ago, taken one look at the diverse group of thugs sitting around her dining room table, said something to her brother in Spanish, and the chill factor in the room had plummeted to sub-zero.

Ramirez shrugged, said something back to her in Spanish, to which she’d grabbed her suitcase, glared at them all and disappeared into the back of the house.

Unless you crossed him, Ramirez was very good at keeping his cool. That night, however, he’d met every con’s gaze with a snarl and a warning look. And who could blame him? Maria Ramirez was a sweet piece of meat, with a gorgeous face, long legs and shimmering black hair down her back.

From that time on, the house had been filled with her perfume and the smell of her spicy cooking, which to a con who’d spent fifteen years in the joint, was like tossing a single piece of prime rib to a pack of wild dogs.

This morning, however, Drake had other business on his mind. Ramirez had left early, and Drake saw it as the perfect opportunity to take advantage. He’d had the stolen Pueblo phone book in his possession for several days now, and he’d managed to work his way through the Ks. So far, the people he’d talked to at the floral shops were either morons or crazy suspicious. But the end result was still the same―no one had ever heard of Melanie Norris.

Now that he was on the outside, he realized another thing the bitch had cost him. Namely, he couldn’t keep up. Just like the GPS device he considered totally worthless and alien, he felt the same about computers. He’d go crazy if he ever had to spend any length of time behind one.

So if he was going to find her, he needed someone with a grasp of technology.

Tucking the phone directory inside his coat, he slipped on gloves and walked out the front door. Outside, the sky was blue, but the day was brisk and he could see his breath as he strode to the apartment complex where he parked his Jeep. Next to the complex was a coffee house where the cons met up, and there was one team member he was anxious to see.

Ramirez called the guy “Breakneck,” when his name was actually something unoriginal like Mike Brown. Breakneck had something to do with the guy’s typing speed and accessing of information. From what Drake had learned, Brown had been in and out of the pen since he was eighteen years old. Now in his late thirties, he’d been convicted of everything from dope dealing to grand theft auto. But the last time Brown had gone back to prison, he’d said he was done. He’d then enrolled in the slammer’s vocational training program to learn computers. Now he fixed them part-time for a struggling electronics shop, and when he wasn’t there, Ramirez gave
Breakneck
a cut for researching the hits.

Sure enough, the moment Drake entered the cafe, he saw the dude, fingers flying, in one of the booths near the johns. Drake ordered two cups of coffee, sauntered through the semi-crowded restaurant, placed the extra coffee in front of Brown and slid into a seat across from him.

Brown’s stubby fingers paused on the keyboard. The man with a really
bad
goatee eyed the coffee, stared back through black-rimmed glasses, with an obvious look of suspicion.

Drake took no offense. It was an expression most men in the pen wore when they wanted to stay alive.

“What’s up, Max?” he said.

“How’d you like to make some money?”

Brown started typing again. “You know the rules. No business outside of our hits.”

“Nothing crooked about it,” Drake said. “There’s five-hundred now, and five-hundred when you finish the deal.”

“Where’d you get a grand? You haven’t helped us with a job yet.”

Brown grilling Drake about where he got his money pissed the hell out of him, but with forty or so witnesses, he unclamped his jaw and tamped down his temper. “Where I got it is my business. Look, my old lady disappeared.” He forced the next words. “I’m still hung up on her. Someone said she had my kid. I gotta know for sure, one way or the other. Nothing illegal about it.”

Brown folded his arms and his eyebrows shot up. “She live here?”

“Pueblo.” Drake pulled out the rolled up phone book from the lining of his jacket. She works with flowers, so I was trying the floral shops. I’ve scratched off how far I got.” He shrugged. “With all we’ve got going on with Ramirez, I’m not getting very far.”

When Brown picked up his coffee, Drake took it as a good sign. “There’s probably a faster way to do it,” Brown said. “Does Ramirez know what you’re doing?”

“No.”

“Good. Let’s keep it between us.”

Why didn’t I think of that?
Drake extracted the bills from his pocket.

“I don’t hack government agencies, Max. I got enough problems with my IP address, and hacking those places carries a sentence of five to ten. I’ll do my best, but I ain’t going back on the inside.” Brown paused. “By the way, say I don’t find her, do I... I mean, there’s some work involved... keep the five hundred?”

Drake leaned back, looked the dude in the eye and resisted laughing out loud. Under the table, he tightened his grip, imagining the feel of the spindle that he’d used to crush Rope’s windpipe. But Brown could do what Drake couldn’t, so slowly he uncurled his fingers. Covering the money with his palm, he slid it across the table. “Tell you what. Ramirez wants to leave the Springs by New Year’s. If you find my chick by Christmas, I’ll include a bonus.”

Brown’s eyes narrowed and made with the familiar suspicion again. “Seriously?”

Drake forced something he hoped was a smile. “Absolutely.” And if Brown kept Drake’s money without results, his nickname of Breakneck would be Broken Neck.

“Okay, Max. You got yourself a deal. Here’s what I need...”

Ten minutes later, Drake wiped the grin off his face as he rounded the corner toward the hideout. Good thing he did, too, because Ramirez sat in his low-rider in the driveway with the motor running. “Where you been, Max?”

Who was this guy, his mother? In that instant, it didn’t matter how good the highfalutin spic was with a blade, Drake had his fists, which he was about to use on the gang leader’s face. “I went for coffee.”

“Dressed like that?”

He glanced down. He wore jeans and a jacket over a flannel shirt, almost identical to what Ramirez wore. Returning a what-the-fuck look, Drake replied, “Yeah
.”

“Get in, Max.”

Warily, he did what he was told, then for the first time considered that Brown might have pocketed the money and ratted Drake out anyway.

He’d kill the son of a bitch. Holding his breath, Drake said, “Want to tell me where we’re going?”

Ramirez backed into the street and put the car into drive. “You look like shit,
amigo
. You need some new clothes.”

Later that afternoon,
when they sat in Maria’s kitchen again, Drake ran his hand over the back of his neck and winced at the noticeable lack of hair. Turned out Brown wasn’t doomed to die anytime soon after all.

Ramirez joined Drake at the table and plopped down a heavy binder. “Why are you frowning,
amigo
? I did you a favor. You no longer look like shit. As a matter of fact, you clean up real nice.”

Nice?
He frigging looked great.

When he’d walked into the swanky men’s clothing store with a pocketful of Ramirez’ cash, the store manager had eyed Drake like a bum. But then he plopped down two grand on a suit, and a couple of dress pants and shirts later, the stiff dick had found religion and treated him like a god.

Dressed in his new threads, he’d left the store. People on the street had said excuse me, actually met his gaze and smiled. Not that he’d smiled back. For a moment, he’d glanced over his shoulder to see if there was somebody else behind him. Nope, they’d been looking at him.
Respect. It was about fucking time
.

Now Ramirez opened a binder full of Brown’s research. “Based on what I’ve gone over here, I’ve nixed some of the previous plans. Take a look at the ones I’ve highlighted in yellow.”

Drake pulled the papers close, but he was like a boy stuck in a wet dream. This couldn’t have turned out better if he’d written the script. If the cops were on to him for Ropes’ murder, they were matching his description to the long-haired dude who’d left prison, not some guy dressed like a model for
GQ
.

“So, Max, what do you think?”

What did he think? He’d turned into a natural born delegator, that’s what. In California, with Rander panting to earn drug money, Adam was as good as dead. And in Colorado, Brown was working to find Melanie. Now that he’d handed off his dirty work, Drake could relax into the plan.

Ramirez’s notes looked promising, but without seeing them in real life, it was still too big a risk. “Looks good on paper,” Drake said. “But we’d be crazy not to scope these out in person.”

Ramirez gave Drake a sly look. “You see any of my other men wearing fancy threads? I told you when you signed up for this gig, you’d work alone.”

Drake didn’t think this day could get any better. But it did, including a finale he never saw coming. Maria walked over to the table set a beer in front of her brother and handed one to Drake. His gaze traveled from her breasts to her pouting lips and finally to her eyes. Dark, curious... interested.

Guess I do clean up real nice.

Before her brother noticed and slit him from ear to ear, Drake returned his attention to the hits. At last, things were going his way. As for little sister, he’d get him some of that.
Later
.

Chapter Twenty

“Mel, there’s someone out front to see you.”

Mel lifted a brow and paused in her work on an alstroemeria arrangement. Taking a quick whiff of the fragrant orange and yellow petals, she tucked a flyaway strand behind her ear, then followed Aaron through the connecting doorway.

An attractive older woman stood at the counter bedecked in a mid-length mink and very authentic-looking jewelry. Perplexed, Mel glanced from the visitor to Aaron.

The store owner beamed. “Melanie Norris, this is Elaine Preston. She’s the customer you made the wreaths for.”

Mel joined in Aaron’s excitement. “Oh, hi.”

“Hello, Melanie.” Elaine extended a gloved hand. “I had to stop by to tell you how pleased my husband was with your work. His clients are raving. Last year I gave them fruitcakes.” The woman rolled her eyes. “Let’s just say I’m
still
the butt of all jokes at our parties.”

The three broke out in laughter.

“When Aaron told me a member of his staff had made the wreaths, and each one so unique, I wanted to stop by and thank you personally.”

Mel felt herself blush. “I loved doing them, Mrs. Preston. It was a new experience. Thank
you
.”

Elaine removed an envelope from her mink coat pocket. “I hope you’ll let me show my appreciation by giving you a little something extra.”

“Oh, no, ma’am. I couldn’t. Aaron paid me, I assure you.”

The older woman’s smile faded, indicating not many said no to her.

Aaron intervened. “You worked hard on a tight deadline, Mel. I have no objection.”

“Wonderful. It’s settled then.” Aaron’s customer pressed the envelope into Mel’s hand. “Enjoy your holidays,” she said, and left through the chiming front door.

Staring after her, Mel asked, “Was she wearing tennis shoes with that mink?”

“I believe she was,” Aaron supplied. “Well, girlfriend, aren’t you going to open it?”

“Should I?”

“No. Keep me standing here, dying of suspense.”

She grinned, retrieved a letter opener near the cash register and ripped through the seal. A hundred dollar bill lay inside. Her eyes widened, and she turned to her boss. “Technically, Aaron, this money belongs to you. After all, I was working for you when I made those wreaths.”

“I made a comfortable profit. The money’s yours, Mel. It’s Christmas. Have fun with it.”

Wow, she loved this job.

“There’s something else I want to discuss with you,” he said. “It looks like I’ll need a new manager here in the near future.”

“Oh?” Mel made no effort to hide her disappointment. Karlee Stanfield had been an ally as well as a good manager. “Is Karlee okay?”

“The Air Force has transferred her husband to Japan. Can you believe it?” Aaron sighed dramatically. “After all I’ve done for her, she wants to join him. So, as a heads up, I’ll be starting the interview process as soon as possible.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” How could Aaron sound so upbeat? Karlee was one of those rare finds who maintained authority, but still managed to create fun. Who knew what her replacement would be like?

Up until now, Mel’s work environment had been ideal. Her personal life might be a cesspool, but she loved coming to work every day.

“Unless I could get someone like you to interview for the position,” Aaron said.

She’d been so wrapped up in her dismal thoughts it took a moment for his comment to register. She looked up to find the blue-eyed blond smiling. “Me?” Mel gasped. “Aaron, really?”

“Mel,
really
.” He laughed. “Karlee and I discussed it this morning. No one knows plants the way you do. The other employees love you, and you’re quickly learning the business. Why would I hire someone who might not work out when I already have you?”

She didn’t want to squelch her chances, but she had to be honest. Her boss had given her a chance when others might not. “I’ve never managed a store, Aaron. Not only do I not have a degree, I have no college credits.”
None.
Damn. What was she doing, trying to talk him out of a promotion?

“I reviewed your application, remember? You may not be college educated, but you’re no Neanderthal either. Heck, I’ve seen the stuff you bring to work. You read books with titles I can’t pronounce.”

Mel stared at him speechless.

“And about college,” he continued. “Don’t you think it’s time you remedied that?”

Recalling her conversation with Luke a few nights ago, her heart sank. He’d mentioned the same thing.
What’s stopping you now?
“I suppose the main issue is money,” she said.

“Managing the shop requires hard work, longer hours. With me running between two stores, I can’t be everywhere. You’ll supervise, schedule the staff and deliveries, and close much of the time. In exchange, I’ll increase your salary and add benefits, including tuition assistance.”

Mel couldn’t take her eyes off of Aaron. “You’ll help pay for my college?”

“For As and Bs, of course.”

Oh my God
. With Luke playing sports, she didn’t pick him up until after eight anyway, and in a few months he’d be driving. She could do this.

With all of the “do this, Melanie” and “don’t do this, Melanie’s” she’d heard for years, Aaron was offering her nothing short of a lifeline.

Returning his goofy, lopsided grin, she said, “You are the most generous man I know. I think I love you.”

“Well, I
know
I love you.” Then tilting his head, he seemed to think about it. “In the most-platonic employer/employee-related non-sexual harassing fashion, of course. So, what do you say? Do you accept?”

“Are you kidding me?” She flew into his arms, and he swung her around. “I accept, I accept.”

The bell over the door chimed. Beaming, Mel glanced over her shoulder. Aaron cleared his throat and set her down.

Joe stood in the doorway, unsmiling. “Don’t let me interrupt.”

Seeing Melanie wrapped
in a stranger’s embrace, Joe had obviously intruded on a happy moment. Whatever she’d accepted was clearly a big deal, and of her own volition. After Simon’s phone call, his
I asked Melanie to marry me
had resonated through Joe’s brain the rest of the day. All he could hope for was that she wouldn’t rush into anything.

Now this.

Who was
this
guy?

The man with short spiked blond hair eased her to the floor and quickly approached. “Happy holidays, sir. Aaron Meyers, owner of Pinnacle Creations. How may we help you?”

Joe was known to have a firm grip, but this guy had one of iron. Odd in contrast to his rail thin countenance and long tapered fingers.

“We’re not always so demonstrative. We’re celebrating. Melanie’s agreed to become my store manager.”

The words
store manager
took seconds too long. The words a
greed to become
felt like a defendant awaiting a not guilty verdict.

Store manager. Joe blinked, then moved farther into the store. “Is that right?” His gaze traveled from Aaron’s face to his beautiful next door neighbor. Melanie stood behind the cash register, pretending to be skimming paperwork when Joe knew damned well she was hanging on every word. “Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks,” she replied. She didn’t look up.

“Is there something we can help you find?” Aaron asked.

As Joe directed his attention to the store owner, Joe caught her sneaking a peek. He hadn’t seen her in two days. Forty-eight hours. By giving her space, whatever Simon had said to discourage their relationship, had taken root and was working.

Appreciating the long blue sweater that outlined her curves, he could also see she’d put in a long day. Her auburn hair fell free of her barrette. Joe wanted to take her in his arms, explain that he’d acted in her best interest. As if the independent Melanie Norris would tolerate or appreciate that. Instead of giving her space, why hadn’t he picked up the goddamned phone?

“I’m looking for something for a friend. Something in the way of an apology,” Joe explained.

“Ah, I see,” Aaron said. “I take it this gift is for a
lady
friend? Roses perhaps?”

“Yes, she’s a lady, and I hope we’re still friends. But roses?” Joe shook his head. “Knowing this particular woman, she probably grows her own.”

Aaron frowned, and although Melanie wouldn’t acknowledge Joe, her mouth had begun a curve upward.

Progress, he thought. His iceberg was melting.

He moved to a display case containing odd-shaped, earth tone platters, bowls and vases. They didn’t do much for him, but Karen had come home with stuff like this many times. He pointed to one he actually liked, a ceramic vase with a rose pattern etched into its side. “This looks nice. How about something like this?”

“Very nice,” Aaron agreed. “I see you’re a gentleman with taste. These are very popular, and part of the Theresa Alder Collection. They’re handmade and hand-painted, and we import them from Italy. Shall I wrap it for you?”

Behind the counter, Melanie’s expression had taken on one of total amusement. Joe also noted the subtle shake of her head. What was she trying to say―she didn’t like it? “I don’t know. Maybe I should get a woman’s perspective. Excuse me, ma’am? Is this something you’d like to own?”

She stared back at him with wide-eyed innocence. “Me? Well, yes, sir. What woman wouldn’t love to own a Theresa Alder collector’s piece? I have to ask, though. Is the gentleman really experiencing three-hundred-dollars worth of remorse?”

Joe nearly choked on the price. For a vase? Careful not to drop it, he returned it to the shelf. He wanted to say he was sorry, not crazy.

Melanie laughed and finally took mercy on him. Coming from behind the cash register, she moved into the showroom. “Aaron, I apologize. This man’s not a serious customer. This is my next door neighbor, Joe Crandall.” Then to Joe, she said, “Pinnacle Creations, well, let’s just say, caters to people who never think twice about a water bill or putting their kids through college.”

Aaron’s confusion morphed into happy understanding. “I wondered what was going on here. So you’re Melanie’s cop?”

“Am I?” Joe turned to face her.

Her face the color of the nearby poinsettias, she fixed her boss with an incredulous look. “Aaron, when have I ever said that?”

“Okay, she’s never said that.”

“I can’t imagine getting that lucky,” Joe replied.

Melanie strode behind the counter again, shaking her head. Even embarrassed, she radiated the happiness of the moment. It was a great look on her. Joe planned to keep her that way.

“So,” she asked. “Why are you here?
Really.”

Ordinarily, he’d prefer to have this conversation out of anyone else’s earshot. But he couldn’t very well ask the shop owner to leave his own store. Plus, this Aaron guy seemed to be taking an inordinate interest in them. What’s more, he appeared to be rooting for Joe.

“I
really
came to apologize... and hopefully take you to dinner,” Joe said.

Aaron all but beamed, then fairly bounced to the front door and flipped the sign over. “Sounds good to me. Instead of standing around saying, ‘I’m sorry to each other,’ and as dead as the shop is for once, I think we should take it as a sign and close this place down.”

Melanie glanced at her watch. “Aaron, we’re open for another twenty minutes. It’s the holidays.”

“See why I promoted her?” he said to Joe. “She’s more conscientious than... well, me.” To Melanie, Aaron said, “When you assume your new responsibilities, free time will be a luxury. You’ll be
begging
me for time off. So tonight, go. Celebrate. You’ve earned it. Besides, will you look at the man?” Aaron fanned himself. “If you don’t say yes,
I
will.”

Mel reluctantly let Joe help
her on with her coat and left the shop with him. What had just happened here? She’d been promoted, then high-jacked. For days now she’d been taking Simon’s advice to lay low. But the truth was she missed Joe more than she thought possible.
He’s a walk away, Melanie.
The words simply wouldn’t let go. In the shop she’d almost whispered to Aaron, ‘stay out of this.’ But her boss had amazing intuition. Maybe in his own way, he knew what he was doing.

Joe put his hand on her elbow, she pulled away. She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him. Not yet. When Carl was alive she hadn’t known this topsy-turvy kind of emotion. Her days had been comfortable, predictable. A wave of guilt wound through her. Passionless. Joe Crandall had the opposite effect on her.
Damn him
. “Do you want to know what upset me the most on Saturday?”

“Do we have to talk about it here? I’m sure the list is pretty long.”

“That you would miss your son’s game,” she said, ignoring that he always had an answer for everything. “How could you do that?”

“What if I told you I didn’t?”