Chapter 35
I had my hand on the car door, wondering about Chandler. Margaret Halliwell and Sabrina Devin had painted quite a different picture of the dutiful fixer who stood behind Allen, taking orders, handling the details, while “the boss” worked the room. What if she was actually running the show, the one holding the strings? She was as close to Allen as anyone. She knew everything that went on in the office. She knew the Peetses and Dontell Adkins. Had she known Allen’s mother, too? She must have. Allen didn’t like problems. Chandler was her problem solver. Was it that simple? I needed to know what Tanaka had turned up on that gun from the park. Maybe it held the key to this whole thing. I sensed someone behind me and turned to find a man and a woman in dark suits standing too close.
“Cassandra Raines?” the man said. He was white, stocky, solidly built. I stared at him, then at the white, stocky, solidly built white woman standing next to him. They both wore sunglasses, Men in Black–style.
I slid a glance toward the playground. Empty now. Minutes ago, it had been swarming with happy kids tossing letter tiles around, and now, when I might need a witness, zilch.
“Absolutely not.” Cocky right to the end, that was me. They’d likely allude to my cockiness on my tombstone. HERE LIES WISEASS. SHE SHOULD HAVE SHUT UP, BUT SHE JUST DIDN’T HAVE IT IN HER. RIP.
“That’s her car you were about to get into,” he said.
I noted the use of the past tense, a little worried about what that might be leading to. “Borrowed it. Mine’s in the shop.”
The stocky twins smiled.
“Relax,” she said. “Ms. Allen would like to see you.”
These jokers were Titan Security hacks? I exhaled. I’d been accosted on the street before, and none of those encounters had been pleasant, but knowing this one was some of Allen’s diva mess, and not the start of a one-way trip to Dead Town, put my startled mind at ease. Then it pissed me off.
I looked up and down the street, and my eyes landed finally on the black SUV parked two cars down from mine. “Were you two following me?”
Neither answered, which meant yes.
“And for how long?”
“Ms. Allen doesn’t have all day,” Mr. Stocky said. “Mind coming with us?”
“Very much,” I said. “I’m working, and not at Allen’s beck and call. If she wants to meet with me, she knows where to find my office, or she can call me herself, and I’ll consider coming to her. This little . . . whatever this is . . . doesn’t work for me. Now, if the two of you will excuse me?”
“This doesn’t have to get ugly.” Ms. Stocky said it with a tone. Like she had just stepped out of a Mafia movie and she was Al Pacino, if Al Pacino had sixty extra pounds, a bad perm, and hit five-nine in flats.
I looked up at her, my brows lifted, and I let go of the car door. “What exactly doesn’t have to get ugly?”
He sighed. “Ms. Allen doesn’t like waiting. Let’s go.”
I didn’t move. They didn’t, either.
“You deaf?” he muttered.
I glared at him, at his partner, then back at him. “I heard you. My answer’s no.” I said it as bold as you please, then stood there waiting for them to challenge me on it. “Do I really have to say the words ‘buzz off’?”
The woman grinned. “You’re getting in the car.”
I pursed my lips, pretended to think it over. “Nope. I don’t think I am.”
“Yeah you are,” he said.
I shook my head. “Um, nope, and I’m done talking to—”
That was as far as I got. Swift as anything, they grabbed me up off my feet and shifted me horizontally, one holding me at the chest and arms, the other at my knees and ankles, and hauled me along. For a second, it was almost like flying. I was in the backseat of the SUV before I knew it, and all I had seen during the brief—and it was surprisingly brief—lift and carry was snatches of black polyester blend and hands. Hadn’t had time to yelp or cuss, not that it would have made a difference. Under different circumstances, I might have marveled at the speed of the grab. Not today. I was in the backseat of a strange car, bookended by two wannabe tough guys. Trapped. Squeezed. On my way to Allen’s, like she’d ordered out for PI pizza and I had fifteen minutes to get there. There was a driver up front, not Elliott, but he acted like he didn’t see me.
Mr. Stocky chuckled. “Told you.”
“Unlawful restraint,” I said. “The minute my feet left the sidewalk. Illinois Criminal Code, Article ten, section ten-three, ‘A person commits the offense of unlawful restraint when he or she’—that’s you two ninnies—‘knowingly without legal authority detains—’ ”
Mr. Stocky shoved me into Ms. Stocky; Ms. Stocky shoved me back. “Can it,” he said. “What are you worried about? It’s a meeting. You got the round-trip ticket, so settle the fuck down.”
Nobody talked as the SUV pulled away from the curb and drove away. There was no use fighting about it, so I sat back, folded my arms across my chest, and fumed.
“Exactly how long were you following me?” I hadn’t noticed a tail, but frankly, I hadn’t been looking for one. I had had business to take care of.
“Does it matter?” Ms. Stocky asked.
“I’ll need it for the police report.”
“Then just put down too damn long for you not to notice,” she said. “What kind of private dick are you, anyway?”
I clenched my fists, closed my eyes, praying for calm. Allen had now officially worked my last nerve. She’d tried before and failed, but she’d finally gotten to the last one. I inhaled deep, exhaled deep, then settled in for the ride, which took about forty minutes in pre–rush-hour traffic. When we got to Allen’s condo building and turned into the garage, everybody piled out, and I got pushed along toward the private elevator.
“The kidnapping charge kicked in the second we pulled away from the curb,” I announced. The elevator doors opened, and we got on.
Ms. Stocky turned toward me. “Did anybody ever tell you, you were a pain in the ass?”
I gritted my teeth. “You bozos came looking for me.” The doors closed. The elevator started up. “And, as you know, kidnapping’s a federal offense. You do every day of federal time. You get twenty years, you do twenty years.”
Neither said anything.
“And if somebody steals my car while I’m held up here, I’m holding you two idiots personally responsible.”
They snickered.
I glared at them. “Yeah, keep it up.”
The doors opened on Allen’s place, and I was shoved off into her spectacular entryway. “I hear the federal penitentiary is lovely this time of year. You will remember me fondly when you’re bumming smokes in the yard, won’t you?”
Isabella stood there in her crisp uniform. She looked surprised to see me.
“Package delivered,” Mr. Stocky told Isabella. “See ya, motormouth.”
“You’ll see me, all right. This isn’t over.”
They both chuckled, then Ms. Stocky said, “Yeah, it is.”
It took a lot to rile me. It took even more for me to forget myself, but Allen’s wild ride had propelled me dangerously close to my breaking point. Isabella gestured for me to follow her, and I tucked in behind her as we walked down the hall toward my meet with the great lady.
The hall was lined with all kinds of expensive doodads and artwork. Allen was such a pretentious woman. With every step, I fought the childish impulse to take my shoe off and hurl it at the most expensive-looking thing. I could feel heat rise under my collar, but I kept my eyes on Isabella’s back, using it as my focal point, until we stopped at a door that was slightly ajar. Isabella turned, smiled, and then politely knocked, and Allen’s voice called back.
“I’ll let you know when I’m ready for her, Isabella. Have her wait in the great room.”
I wasn’t sure I’d heard right, so I asked, “What’d she say?”
Isabella looked like she didn’t want to answer. I gave the door a death stare you wouldn’t believe. If I’d had lasers for eyeballs, there would have been a burned hole in the middle of the door, outlined by a ring of desperate fire. I breathed. I bargained with Jesus. I then turned calmly to Isabella.
“Would you mind stepping back, Isabella?”
She gulped, her eyes wide, and then moved slowly away from the door. I squared my shoulders, counted to five, and then kicked Allen’s door in.