Worst Week Ever (A Long Road to Love) (28 page)

Sam really
didn’t want to die yet, and certainly not for bars of chocolate, but that
outcome seemed all too likely. Some serious firepower stared at him down a
well-used, battle scarred silencer.

“With your
left hand, slowly remove the gun you carry under your left arm.”

“I’m not
terribly flexible.”

“Do it or I
shoot you in the kneecap.”

Sam twisted
his left hand to reach underneath his left armpit and, other than a bit of
discomfort, found nothing. He’d left his gun at Dawn’s house. “I forgot my gun.
I had a fight with my girlfriend and stormed out of her apartment.”

Ivan didn’t
believe him until Sam stripped down naked. The bastard wouldn’t even let him
keep his briefs on.

Once convinced
Sam was truly unarmed, Ivan nudged him with his gun to the main room. Two U.S.
army duffle bags, stuffed to the brim, one his, one Mars’, sat on the floor

“Am I going
somewhere?” Sam asked.

“No, but
they’ll get me through customs and out of the country faster.”

Ivan’s plan to
take the duffle bag Sam had earned with four years of hard service in Iraq
pissed him off more than threats of death or forced nakedness.

“Mars and I are
kind of attached to those bags.”

“Cut the
bullshit and tell me where my chocolate bars are.”

Sam decided to
play dumb. “I’ve heard of people addicted to chocolate, but Ivan, you’ve gone
way overboard, man. You need professional help.”

The next
moment, Ivan slammed him against one of the foursquare pillars in Trent’s excessively
large living room.

Sam flinched
from the pain of the silencer pressing into the skin beneath his chin. “You should
file the end of your silencer better. It’s cutting my neck.”

“That’s the
least of your worries,” Ivan growled.

“Ivan, this is
crazy. I didn’t take your chocolate. What are you really mad about?”

He pressed the
gun harder, his crazy glare suggesting he was seconds from pulling the trigger.

Sam closed his
eyes. He really didn’t want Ivan’s ugly face as his last memory. Instead, he thought
of Dawn and their last moments together. Beautiful Dawn, dodging his kiss and
rolling to her side, away from him. He moved to a memory of Carrie yelling at
him. God, didn’t he have any good memories?

Finally, one came
to him: He, Joey, and Mars, hunkered down in an abandoned Iraqi hut, exhausted
to near-death, laughing over a letter from Joey’s sister, complaining about her
day. They couldn’t stop laughing over the girl’s silly complaints. Even their
best day in Iraq was a hundred times worse. It reminded them of why they fought—so
Bethie could have such a ridiculously bad day.

Someone
pounded on the door.

Ivan placed
his finger to his thick, pale lips as he moved to the door, all the while
aiming his gun at Sam. He glanced through the peephole and frowned.

Sam knew
precisely who stood on the other side. While he wouldn’t mind a rescue, Joey
wouldn’t expect enemy fire the moment he walked through the door. Sam refused
to let his friend die over this.

Ivan yanked
him into the servants’ section. “One word and you’re dead.”

“Okay,” he
whispered then hoped to God Ivan hadn’t meant his warning literally. “A cop’s
out there, right?”

Ivan’s eyes
narrowed. “How do you know that?”

“Because he
asked me to come back here to let him in.”

“Why?”

“You remember
Trent’s latest toy?”

“The bitch who
wouldn’t eat my Russian dumplings for breakfast?”

Sam nodded,
not mentioning he hated the mystery-meat dumplings himself. “Well, she got
herself into trouble yelling out bomb today. Shut down half the city.”

Ivan frowned.
“I saw that on TV.”

“The cops want
to search her belongings.”

“So do I. She
probably stole my chocolate.”

Sam cringed.
He didn’t want the Russian mafia after Carrie. “I don’t think so. The cops have
had her in lock-up since this morning.”

“Still take me
to her room.”

“Sure. Mind if
I put my clothes back on? I’m not really comfortable walking about naked unless
I’m with a woman.”

Ivan grunted
and shoved him with the gun. When they passed Sam’s discarded clothes, he
stopped and put them on, even though Ivan had never actually agreed. Sam went
by the philosophy ‘do what you want and ask permission later.’ Mars had almost
broken him of the behavior in Iraq, but he’d regressed under Master Trent’s
reign.

After he dressed,
Sam slipped his hand into his pocket, planning to send Joey an SOS. Unfortunately,
the phone rang the moment he opened it.

He answered it
even as the gun pressed to his skull.

“Where are
you?” Joey barked. “I’ve been standing out here twenty minutes.”

“I’m sorry,
officer. Master Trent’s in a terrible mood, what with Carrie arrested and all.”

Ivan leaned in
and listened as Sam continued talking.

“He’s demanded
I drive him out to Long Island to see Father Johnson and we’re stuck in traffic.
It’ll be at least five hours before I can return to the city. Could we do this
tomorrow?” He prayed to God Joey caught the ‘Father Johnson’ comment, which was
code for ‘I need saved’. Otherwise, he’d be dead in about five seconds.

“I’m not happy
about having my time wasted. Why didn’t you call and let me know?”

“I apologize,
officer. I need to go. Master Trent is getting testy. Thank God he doesn’t own
a gun, or I’d be a dead man tonight.”

Ivan’s eyes
narrowed at the last comment. He forcibly slammed the phone shut. “You think
you’re a funny guy, but I’m not laughing.”

“Sorry, it’s
how I handle stress. Working for Master Trent results in a great deal of
aggravation. I’m thinking you know that. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be at risk of
dying over some stupid chocolate.”

Ivan shoved
Sam down the hall. “Which room is hers?”

“She stays in
Master Trent’s room.” Sam pointed them back to the living room. The master
bedroom opened directly into the living room. He frowned when he didn’t see the
suitcases he’d brought her. Joey said she was in the hospital. He hoped she
hadn’t taken her luggage with her, because Ivan needed to sort through it.

“Well?”

Delaying his
death, he suggested she must have moved to a guest bedroom. If he was lucky, he
might get a chance to disarm Ivan before the lunatic lost patience and killed
him.

In the first
guest room, Sam breathed a sigh of relief as he spotted Carrie’s stuff. He had
no idea why she moved or how she got Trent to agree, but he thanked God the lethal
chef had something other than himself to abuse.

The phone rang
and he picked it up with a curt “What?”

Ivan returned
to his side and listened to the call.

“It’s Dawn.
I’m standing outside your door. Let me in.”

His heart
jumped into his throat. Why would Joey involve a civilian in this situation?

“Dawn, I’m not
at the penthouse. I’m stuck in traffic.”

“Traffic my
ass! Your limo’s in the parking lot. And all these lies are pissing me off. You’re
with Carrie. Aren’t you?”

“No! Carrie’s
in jail.”

“You just lied
to me about being in traffic. Why should I believe a word you say? I know you
like her.”

“I don’t.
Dawn, you’re the only one. I promise you. Just go home and I’ll see you
tomorrow.”

“I’m not going
anywhere until you open the door and prove to me you aren’t with Carrie…and
make things right between us.”

Sam groaned
and stared up at the ceiling, praying for divine intervention. What was Joey
thinking? Using his angry girlfriend in this situation could go wrong so
easily.

He looked at
Ivan, unable to hide his fear now. “Give me five minutes and I’ll get rid of
her. She’s a nice girl. I don’t want her involved in this.”

To his shock,
Ivan agreed. Upon returning to the living room, he stared through the peephole,
moved to the wall, and nodded for Sam to open the door.

Sam considered
crushing the bastard with the steel door when he opened it but, as if reading
his mind, Ivan stepped further away.

Pressing his
forehead to the door, Sam sent up yet another prayer. God had to be really
confused. Sam hadn’t spoken to him through four years of Iraq. Why the
bombardment of calls now?

Because he
really, really liked this woman.

A flicker of
Ivan’s gun warned him the chef grew tired of marinating and wanted to move
matters along.

God, please
don’t let me get Dawn killed. I might want to marry her one day. And kick
Joey’s ass for me if we both die during his stupid plan.

Swallowing
hard, he opened the door, and stared at a tall redhead with high cheekbones and
piercing green eyes, wearing baggy sweats and running shoes. Before he could
even speak, she slammed her hands into his chest, pushing him backwards into
the room and onto his ass.

“Bastard!
Where is she?” Not-Dawn screamed.

Sam watched in
horror as Ivan moved quickly from his wall toward her.

“I know she’s
here.” With the frightening speed of a jealous woman, she moved toward the
servants’ section. Ivan rushed after her.

Not-Dawn
turned and shot him six times in the chest. A second later, men in blue poured
in from all sides, like a turn-on-the-light-cock-roach-run in reverse.

Joey pulled
him to his feet and patted his back. “You okay?”

Sam nodded and
rubbed his bruised chest. “Did I just meet Jensen?”

Joey smiled.

The pain in
his chest made him worry she might have cracked a rib or two. “Don’t ever fight
with her. You’ll lose.”

Jensen
sauntered up, looking proud as hell. “Sorry, sir, but I couldn’t talk the
suspect into surrendering.”

Joey patted
her back. “Don’t worry about it. We saved the un-armed civilian being held at
gun point.”

Sam glared at
his smirking friend for calling him an un-armed civilian. Before he could voice
a complaint, the real Dawn burst through the door and wrapped herself around
him. “Sam, I’m so sorry for being a bitch tonight.”

He looked at
Joey to make sense of her arrival.

“I knew you
left her place in a hurry. I, better than anyone, know how apt you are to
forget your gun. So I called Dawn and asked if it was sleeping over.”

Dawn
unbuttoned Sam’s shirt. While he appreciated her forgiving enthusiasm and was
all for ‘makeup sex’, he preferred a smaller audience than forty police
officers.

He kissed her
temple. “Later, sweetheart. Okay?”

She hit his
pre-tenderized chest. “I’m looking for the source of blood, you idiot.”

Joey pushed Sam's
chin up and studied the nickel- sized ring cut beneath his chin. “Bet that
hurt.” He pulled out a camera and took several shots. “Any other place he
marked you with his gun?”

Sam brushed
back his fallen locks and pointed to his forehead. Joey smiled as if Christmas
had come early and dragged Sam to better lighting so he could take more shots.

“Are you
done?” Sam growled.

“Not even
close. I need to take your statement, starting from the moment you entered the
apartment.”

“Can this wait
until Dawn and I…You know.”

“Sorry, the
after-near-death sex will have to wait. However, if you don’t argue further,
I’ll let her cuddle with you while you tell me exactly what happened.”

Sam thought it
a sorry reward for getting his friend yet another gold star, but he sat in the
section of the couch Master Trent preferred and pulled Dawn to his side. Grudgingly,
he walked Joey through his night of almost-death by chocolate.

When he got to
suggesting Ivan needed professional help for his chocolate addiction, Joey
stopped writing. “You actually said that?”

“Yeah. Turns
out I’m a funny guy in the face of death.”

“You’re
incredibly brave,” Dawn added and kissed him on his cheek.

“Don’t touch
his face. They still haven’t processed it,” Joey warned.

Sam growled
again and continued his story. One thing he knew. Hell would freeze over before
he became a cop. Otherwise, until the day he died he’d hear, ‘Hey Sam, do you
remember the day we processed your face?’

Somewhere a
phone purred. Trent woke and squinted at his unfamiliar surroundings.
Where
am I?

He scanned the
narrow room bearing only a square chair in the corner, a stand, and a narrow
bed that he and Carrie shared. Finally, he remembered. Lenard had decided to
keep Carrie in the hospital so she could get more rest.

The cell phone,
resting on the faux wood nightstand, purred again. He reached over Carrie and
picked it up before it woke her.

“What?” he softly
barked into the phone.

“It’s your
driver,” Sam said.

“Do you know
what time it is?” Trent yelled in his fake whisper.

“Four thirteen
in the morning. I thought you might like to know you’ll need a new chef. The
cops killed Ivan. Oh, and you can’t use your penthouse. It’s a crime scene.”

Trent sat up,
finally realizing what irritated him most about this call. “This is Carrie’s
phone. Why are you calling her? Why do you even have her number?

Sam sighed
heavily. “I first called your number. A guy named Diggy answered and promised
me the best cocaine I’ve ever had.”

“Did you get
his number? I want my phone back!”

Sam laughed.
“I’m your driver. This sounds like a challenge for your EA.”

“Are you insane?
I’m not sending Carrie to get my phone from a pusher named Diggle!”

“Yeah, that’s
a bad idea. But not to worry. I’m sure she’ll just call your provider and stop
service to the phone. Otherwise, your customers are going to fly too high to
require chairs.”

“Of course.”
Trent hated it when anyone other than Carrie pointed out the obvious answer
that he’d missed. “Where are you?”

“I am about to
have passionate near-death-sex with a beautiful young woman so before you ask
me to drive you to Long Island, I am firmly off duty, so don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Ask.”

“For your
information, it’s not possible to drive out to Long Island and back in two
hours. I only wanted you to go to the penthouse and get us clothes.”

“I just told
you the penthouse is a crime scene.”

“Which is why
you have to go. I’m certain you can get in without notice. If you can’t, I’ll
have my lawyer get you released.”

“Thanks, but
I’m off duty. Also, don’t let Carrie charge anything else on her credit cards.
They’re maxed out and if you don’t reimburse her for her expenses from Taiwan,
she’ll be swamped with collection calls.”

Before Trent
could respond, Sam hung up. Once his driver’s warning settled into his brain,
Trent shook Carrie awake. She rolled onto her back and stared up at him. “Do
you need reimbursed for your Taiwan expenses?”

Worry filled
her eyes. “Yes.”

“And are your
credit cards maxed out?” He vaguely remembered her telling him this before.

Now her brow
furrowed and her mouth puckered.

“Are you in
financial trouble?”

She turned away
from him and curled up into a fetal position.

He stroked her
hair. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this.”

After dressing
in yesterday’s clothes, Trent stepped into the hospital hallway. First, he
called Mars…the other one, who managed his Long Island Estate.

“Lancaster
Estate, Mars speaking.”

“Mars, grab my
gray pinstripe suit and deliver it to the Presbyterian Hospital by five this
morning.” He had to be clear or the suit wouldn’t arrive until this evening.

The butler
didn’t complain about the time constraint. A one-way trip from Long Island to
the city took less time at four in the morning. “And give me the name of the
investigator I used five years ago to prove I had a crooked accountant.”

He stayed on
the phone while Mars sent a servant off with his gray suit along with a shirt,
tie, fresh underwear, socks, and shoes. While Trent had found the additional
‘do you also want’ questions annoying, he appreciated Mars asking, or he would
have felt well-dressed on the outside, but more like an unclean homeless person
on the inside.

With his
clothes headed into the city, he huffed and hummed until Mars found the receipt
for the investigator’s bill.

Now armed with
name and number he called the man.

“Darren Troy,”
replied a low gruff voice.

“This is Trent
Lancaster. You did a job for me five years ago.”

“Four year
limit on refunds,” the man growled and the line went dead.

Trent hit
redial and spoke the moment the line activated. “I don’t want a refund. I want
to hire you to acquire a person’s bank account number.”

“Who’s this
again?”

“Trent
Lancaster.”

“Lancaster…oh…I
remember you. Master Trent.”

“You don’t
have to call me Master. You aren’t one of my servants.”

“Thank God for
small favors.”

Trent glared
at the phone. He didn’t remember the guy being so annoying the last time he
hired him. “Are you interested in doing your job or not?”

“What’s the
job?”

“Discovering
someone’s bank account number.”

“And what do
you plan to do with it?”

“None of your
business.”

“It is if you
want me to do the job.”

“Then I’ll
find someone else.”

Trent hung up.
What was wrong with people these days?

His phone
rang…well, Carrie’s phone rang. “What?” he snapped.

“I’ll do it.
Cost you five grand.”

He didn’t mind
paying for his thoughtful gesture, but no way would he pay this guy five grand
just so he could wire Carrie’s expense reimbursement into her account. His fee
probably exceeded her reimbursement.

“One thousand
and not a dime more.”

After a long
pause, the man sighed. “All right, one thousand for acquiring an account number
which does not belong to you.”

Trent rolled
his eyes. “If it belonged to me, I wouldn’t have to pay you anything to get it,
now would I?”

“True enough.
Name of the person, name of bank and the address of both.”

“Her name is
Carrie Hanson and she lives in New Jersey. You figure out the rest.”

“There are
probably twenty Carrie Hansons in New Jersey. We’re going to need to narrow it
down a bit, unless you wish all twenty numbers.”

That would
cost him a fortune—paying all the accounts to ensure he got the right one. “Hold
on, let me think. She lives in a town beginning with the letter D.”

“Give me a
break here.”

Trent almost
yelled at the man, to just do his job, but stopped. The gardener he’d sent to
fix Carrie’s lawn would know her address. How else could the man have found it?
“I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up.

Calling
Mars…the other one…he asked for Carrie’s address.

He expected
the butler to claim he didn’t know. Instead, he requested a moment then
provided the information.

“Any chance
you know her bank account number?”

“None,
whatsoever, sir.”

Trent shrugged
and hung up on the man.

Armed with the
address, he hit redial, got Mars, hung up without speaking, and found the prior
call he’d made.

“You got it?”
the disgruntled investigator asked.

Trent gave him
the address.

“You do know
this illegal, right?”

“Just do your
job!”

“All right,
Mr. Lancaster. I will, under your direction, illegally obtain the bank account
number of Miss Carrie Hanson of Denville, New Jersey and provide it to you.”

God, what a
drama queen!

“Fine, just
make sure you get the route numbers and shit. I’ll be doing this
electronically.”

“Got it.”

Trent hung up,
wondering why he’d ever hired the guy the first time around.
What an ass!

Still, the man
seemed convinced he could get the number. Given the current state of Trent’s
business, hell might freeze before he could process an expense report through
normal channels, what with the head of accounting jailed and the only
functioning systems person coming down from a Europa Delight Vacation.

He could’ve
asked Carrie for the wiring instructions, but he knew his EA too well. She’d
refuse to take money directly from him. Just like when he tried to pay for her
dress. No, if he didn’t go around her, she’d go bankrupt while waiting for his
dysfunctional company to generate a check.

Flushed with
success, he called the other Mars back. “Call Sam and tell him to bring clean
clothes for Carrie to the hospital.”

Hanging up, he
chuckled at his cleverness. Not even Sam would ignore an order from Mars.

Remembering
one other outstanding issue, he called Dan Marshal. He expected to wake the man
up, but by the clarity of the guy’s voice when he answered, he hadn’t. “I want
the HR person you promised me at my office by six this morning. Otherwise, I’m
taking my business somewhere else.”

Hopefully,
this would get rid of the guy he still couldn’t remember, but didn’t like.

“I’ll call her
and let her know,” the man replied and hung up.

Trent stared
at his phone, softening his opinion of the fellow. Dan Marshal had been awake
and ready to work before 5 a.m. on a Saturday and he didn’t make a single objection
when given a time critical task. Maybe the reason Trent couldn’t remember him
from college was because Dan ran with the idiots who spent all their time
studying instead of enjoying their last years of youth.

No matter, he
was useful now.

Trent smiled.
Finally,
things are going my way.