It felt like an alien crawled into her stomach and now fought to climb its way out through her throat. Camilla swallowed and stared at the front door of her townhouse, wondering if she’d lost her mind. Maybe this was all a nightmare and she’d wake up and find she’d dreamed the whole thing. Nobody got shot. A gangster slash murderer wasn’t her next-door neighbor. And Heath Boudreau hadn’t told her he loved her. Well, she kind of hoped that part wasn’t a dream, but the rest of it?
The police arranged for one of their undercover officers to drive her home, making it appear she’d caught a ride from the airport. Heath’s rental followed discreetly behind, in case Grimaldi spotted her arrival. She couldn’t picture him standing at his front window, peering through the blinds, but why take the chance? Gator Boudreau remained close by, but she didn’t try to spot him. No reason to draw unwanted attention to somebody who was helping her out, and she didn’t want him any more involved than he already was.
Climbing from the backseat, she grabbed her bag, and thanked the driver, who pulled away. Camilla was sure he’d circle back and park in the lot at a discreet distance, ready to provide support. Pulling out her keys, she unlocked her front door and walked inside. She stopped, taking in the destruction. Chairs were overturned, drawers pulled out and emptied on the floor. Though she’d been expecting it, since Gator told Heath about finding it like this, her body still rocked with shock.
Dropping her bag by the front door, she tossed her purse onto the console table and stepped back outside. The undercover police officers were positioned, having been sent to set up by the captain before she ever left the police station. The only thing left to do was test the mic taped to her body, and the tiny earpiece in her right ear.
“Testing. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Ms. Stewart,” came through the earpiece. “You’re good to go.”
“Great,” she mumbled. Squaring her shoulders, she braced herself, and walked up the pathway leading to Grimaldi’s front door. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the doorbell and hesitated.
This is it. Time to put on my big girl panties and catch a killer. Oh, good night, what am I doing? I can’t do this. What was I thinking? I’m a writer, not a detective. I’m insane. That’s it, I’ve gone crazy. That’s the only excuse I’ve got. Stark raving, round the bend, lost my mind crazy.
“Camilla, dear, are you alright?”
Holy hotdogs, she wasn’t ready. Except she didn’t have a choice now, it was too late.
“Mr. Davis, I…I’m so glad you’re home. Can I come in?”
“Of course, of course. Is something wrong?”
Camilla found her eyes trying to take in everything in his townhouse. The place was spotless. Oscar raced to her, yipping and dancing around her feet, standing on his hind legs, overflowing with excitement. Squatting, she petted the cute pup, though she never lost sight of where Grimaldi stood. He seemed cordial enough, she thought, considering the monster tried to kill me.
“I don’t know what to do. After I got hurt, a friend of mine came and we went out of town for a bit. I got home, and my place is a wreck. I think somebody broke in while I was gone.” Still playing with the dog, she cut her gaze to his face, wanting to watch his expression.
“I didn’t realize you’d gone away. How are you doing? All healed up?” He motioned toward the living room when she stood. “I wish I’d known you were out of town. I’d have kept a better eye on your place. It’s the neighborly thing to do.”
Sitting on the edge of the sofa, her body shuddered with tension. Hopefully, he’d rack it up to the alleged break in at her place, and not the fact she was setting him up to spill the beans. Relax, you need to get him talking. You’re not alone, remember? There are a dozen cops outside. Heath’s listening and waiting. Let’s get this done, and then we’ll be together.
“I’m healing up nicely according to the doctors. I’ve been poked and prodded enough to last a lifetime, to say nothing of all the brain scans and MRIs. I think losing my memory was the worst part. Can you imagine somebody taking a shot at you, and not knowing who did it?”
She noticed the tic at the corner of his mouth at her words. The iciness of his stare hardened, and she knew she’d hit a nerve. Time to dig a little deeper.
“I can’t imagine not being able to remember something so important.”
“That’s true. I had amnesia surrounding the shooting.”
“Had? Does that mean you remember what happened?”
She deliberately leaned back, crossing her legs, and letting her expression harden. “I remember…everything.”
A long moment passed, the air rife with unexpressed tension before he finally sighed. “I see. I presume this means we have a problem.”
“A bit of an understatement, Mr. Davis.” She deliberately crossed her arms over her chest, before adding, “Or should I call you Mr. Grimaldi?”
She almost laughed at his indrawn gasp. He really had no clue she knew his secret identity. How’s he going to handle it?
“I’m sorry, who?”
Smoothing a hand down her skirt, she studied the hem, letting him stew a bit before she answered.
“Do you really want to play this game? I’m a writer. I’m exceptionally good at doing research, especially when I sense a puzzle. And you’re an interesting puzzle. It didn’t take long to figure out you were hiding something. Now, imagine my surprise when I connected the dots that led me straight to Johnny ‘The Chain’ Grimaldi. A little more digging and I found out there’s quite a substantial reward for information regarding you, Mr. Grimaldi.”
Grimaldi’s expression hardened until it looked like it was carved in stone. His eyes, though, those weren’t expressionless. Far from it. A shiver raced down Camilla’s spine at the hatred and coldness within their depths. Along with a healthy dose of fear. Inside, she was shaking to pieces, though outwardly she struggled at keeping her expression serene and calm. She couldn’t afford to blow this. Too much was riding on getting him to admit to shooting her.
“How long have you known?”
She sighed, feigning an exasperated demeanor. “Does it matter? I want to know why you took a shot at me.”
“You witch! You really do remember everything.”
Camilla reached down to pet Oscar’s head. He’d settled at her feet, licking her ankle and trying to get her attention. The pup’s desperate need for affection had her wondering how much he got from Grimaldi. Poor baby.
She quirked a brow and chuckled. “I believe I already told you I got my memory back. It was risky, taking a potshot at me, wasn’t it? Especially since you had to talk to the cops who came to investigate my shooting. You were smart to play things vague, no specific details. Coming forward and showing sympathy for your poor neighbor. Such a standup citizen. Weren’t you worried somebody’d figure out your disguise, recognize you on sight? I’ll admit, it’s good, by the way. Old man, retired, lives alone, disabled and with a cane. Of course, keeping up with dying your hair gray is probably a pain in the backside.”
Grimaldi lowered himself on a chair, wincing when his knee bent. “I’m curious. What gave me away?”
Oops, she hadn’t been expecting that question. She wracked her brain, trying to come up with something plausible. “Your paranoia about having your picture taken was my first clue. Remember when I took the pic of you and Oscar? You overreacted to a simple photo, demanding I delete it. Which I did, but it made me wonder.”
“And you couldn’t resist digging your nose into my business.”
She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m naturally curious.”
Grimaldi sat across from her, his back to the sliding glass doors leading to his outside patio. She noticed movement, somebody moving close and sidling around the fence separating her tiny patch of yard from his.
“How much?”
Camilla blinked at his words. “What?”
“How much will it take for you to look the other way while I quietly slip away?”
“I’ve got a better question, Mr. Grimaldi. What guarantee do I have you aren’t going to have me killed the minute you walk away?” When he feigned shock, she shot back, “Don’t try and play innocent. After your first attempt failed, you tried again. Did you put the rattlesnake in my bed yourself, or did one of your henchmen do it?”
“Should I pretend to know what you’re talking about?” Grimaldi winced again when he straightened his leg, his hand rubbing the kneecap.
Camilla stood, giving Oscar a final pat. Time to finish, because she was tired. Tired of running. Tired of hiding. Sick and tired of having her life controlled by everyone—except her.
“Mr. Grimaldi, I’m not going to spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, knowing you’re free and you’ve put a target on my back. Do you seriously believe I’m going to simply look the other way while you quietly slip out of the country, never paying for all the people you’ve killed, or had killed? I’m going to the police and telling them everything I know.”
Grimaldi shook his head slowly, before struggling to his feet. Camilla drew in a long breath, noticing a second man poised outside, knew she was protected. Except she didn’t expect Grimaldi to move so fast. Before she took a single step, he was on her, his hands wrapped around her throat, squeezing.
She struggled, clawing at his hands, choking with every breath before all air was cut off. Black spots appeared before her eyes and breathing grew harder and harder. Why weren’t the people outside crashing through the glass to save her?
“You’re not going to tell anybody anything, you stupid girl. And if you’re waiting for the two men outside to come riding to your rescue, think again. They work for me. I’m never without men guarding my back.” He squeezed tighter, his fingers digging into her throat.
Her last thought as she slipped into the blackness turned to Heath and how much she loved him.
Heath stood inside the van, positioned behind the man running the surveillance equipment. It was driving him crazy, knowing Camilla was inside with a killer, and he was stuck in the back of a van, twiddling his thumbs. There were several cars parked throughout the parking lot, with eyes on Grimaldi’s townhouse.
“She’s inside.” Dandridge’s low voice came from beside him, but Heath tuned him out. The only thing he wanted was to hear Camilla’s voice, know she was okay, and then getting her out of Dodge.
Suddenly, the silence in the van was broken by the sound of Camilla’s voice. Nothing special, the normal chitchat you’d expect between neighbors. His breath tightened in his chest when he heard Grimaldi’s voice, remarking on Camilla’s amnesia. He sounded surprised that she’d gotten her memories back, which was the plan.
Camilla played her part perfectly, a little bit innocent, a little taunting, deliberately keeping Grimaldi off balance. Too bad they’d been unable to get video along with the audio.
There. Grimaldi admitted his identity. “Isn’t that enough? She’s got him to admit he’s Johnny Grimaldi. He didn’t deny taking the shot at her. What more do you want?”
“Calm down, Boudreau. Let Ms. Stewart keep talking. The more he admits, the more evidence we’ll have to prosecute. She’s surrounded by cops. Nobody’s going to hurt her.”
“You’d better pray you’re right.”
Heath kept listening, detecting the subtle hint of fear in her voice. His stomach clenched, and he fought the urge to jump from the van, break through Grimaldi’s door, and take him down. Camilla had to be safe. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—accept anything else.
“Boss, Grimaldi said he’s got two bodyguards around back. He’s made an active threat. Listen.”
Dandridge grabbed his arm when Heath lunged for the van’s door. “Stop. You can’t go off half-cocked.”
The sound of a struggle came through the mic. That was more than enough for Heath. Shaking off Dandridge’s grip, he flung open the van’s back door, and lunged out, hearing chaotic sounds behind him. He didn’t care what they did, he needed to get to Camilla. The sound of shouted commands and running footsteps echoed around him, but he ignored them. Camilla needed help. She needed him.
When the doorknob didn’t open beneath his hand, he backed up and rammed his foot against the door, which moved but didn’t open. At his second kick, the doorjamb splintered, and the door flew inward. Reaching into the back of his waistband, he pulled his gun, and rocketed to a stop when he saw Grimaldi, his hands wrapped around Camilla’s throat, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Camilla’s fingers clawed at Grimaldi, but she was clearly losing the battle, her breathing shallow, her face a mottled red. Heath let loose a roar, and Grimaldi caught Camilla’s body, which started to slump. He wrapped an arm around her waist, his other hand captured her throat, squeezing.
“Let her go.” Heath bit out the words, his jaw clamped tight, and pointed his gun, sighting right between Grimaldi’s eyes. An eerie calm centered deep inside, until all he saw was Camilla in Grimaldi’s arms. In the background he heard shouting, even heard the muffled cries of the bodyguards as they were taken out by the cops. Who cared? All he wanted was Camilla safe.
“Back off, Boudreau, or I’ll snap her neck.”
A red haze colored Heath’s vision, a boiling rage building deep in his gut. Grimaldi was a dead man. He might not be the one who pulled the trigger, but everything inside him screamed for Grimaldi to take his last breath. Though not until Camilla was free from his clutches.
“You know you’re never walking out of this townhouse. There’s a SWAT team outside your door. The bodyguards you had stationed in the back have been incapacitated. The Feds will be here any second. Give yourself up without hurting Camilla, and maybe they’ll be lenient.”
“Keep dreaming. We both know the only way I’m leaving this place is in a body bag. Might as well take her,” he shook Camilla’s limp body roughly, “with me, since she’s the busybody who’s ruined everything.”
“Camilla doesn’t have anything to do with the situation you find yourself in, Grimaldi. You’ve left a trail of bodies between here and New York. You should have left the country while you had the chance.”
Heath caught the slight rise and fall of Camilla’s chest, and gave silent thanks she was still breathing. Grimaldi’s hand around her throat had shifted when he’d caught her unconscious body against his. He was almost happy she’d passed out, not having to deal with the insanity gleaming in Grimaldi’s eyes. The man had gone round the bend, which made him even more dangerous.
His gaze cut to the sliding glass door, and he nearly laughed aloud at what, or rather who, stood silhouetted on the other side. Uncle Gator held a hunting knife in one hand, his other reaching for the door handle. The back patio area had been cleared of the bodyguards, and a sole SWAT officer stood beside the fence, weapon at the ready, though he deferred to Gator as lead. Gator raised a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. Heath nodded, barely moving his head.
“Leaving the country wasn’t an option before. Everything was laid out, going according to plan. I was lying low for another six months or so, waiting for the high-pressure search to die down. Then I was driving down to Florida and taking a charter boat to the Bahamas. From there, I’d fly to South America with nobody the wiser. Until this fool and her camera screwed everything up.”
Grimaldi’s face twisted up in a grimace of pain, and he gritted his teeth on his final words. Heath couldn’t help noticing how pale and sallow his complexion appeared. A bead of sweat peppered his forehead, and his eyes looked glassy. He struggled to keep Camilla upright in his arms, and Heath wondered how much longer the other man could hold out.
“What’s the big deal with the photo? It’s not like Camilla was going to show it to anybody. It was simply a picture of a dog; your face barely shows. Nobody would have seen it.”
“When I realized she’d taken my photo, I couldn’t take any chances. I needed that picture gone. That one photo could ruin all my plans for getting out of the country.”
“You figured if you shot her, it would be enough distraction for you to steal her phone with nobody the wiser. They’d assume whoever tried to carjack her stole her phone, right? Except you screwed up, because Camilla doesn’t own a car, which screwed up your whole Good Samaritan act, because there was no outside party to blame. You knew sooner or later the cops would be back around, asking more questions, and somebody would recognize you.”
“Who doesn’t own a car nowadays? Even I have a car. Not in my real name, but still…”
Grimaldi’s voice caught at the end of his sentence, and he drew in a ragged breath. Heath took a step forward and froze when Grimaldi’s hand tightened around Camilla’s throat again. From the corner of his eye, he saw the slider open a couple of inches, just enough for his Uncle Gator to squeeze through. Knew he had to create enough of a distraction for him to make his move.
“What now, Grimaldi? There’s no place to run. No place to hide. Give Camilla to me, and you have my word I’ll talk to the cops. I’ll tell them you cooperated, willingly released the hostage. Heck, I’ll even testify if you go to trial.”
Grimaldi shook his head. “Can’t take that chance, Boudreau. Tell the cops…” His words cut off abruptly, his eyes widening in shock. Heath spotted the light glittering off the shiny knife that appeared like a ghost pressed tight against Grimaldi’s throat. Gator stood behind him, his hand wrapped securely around the knife.
“Very gently give Ms. Stewart to Heath. No tricks. You even twitch and my hand might slip.” Gator’s voice was barely above a whisper as he leaned in close, speaking in Grimaldi’s ear. Heath doubted the mic Camilla wore would pick up the words. He hoped so; he really wanted to keep Gator out of this mess if possible.
Grimaldi swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing dangerously close to the knife’s edge. “Who are you?”
“I’m your worst nightmare, and I’ll haunt you forever if you hurt a single hair on Ms. Stewart’s head. Do what I said, give her to Heath.”
“Okay, okay. Boudreau, take her.”
Heath stepped forward, sliding his arms around Camilla, and lifting her up and away from Grimaldi, who seemed to collapse inwardly on himself. A quick tap on the temple from the butt end of Gator’s knife and he slid to the floor.
“She okay?”
Camilla gave a soft sigh, and turned her head into his shoulder, and Heath finally drew the first easy breath since he’d burst through the front door. “She’s going to be fine. You’d better go, before the cops come in, unless you want to get caught up in this.”
“I’ll be close. Call me.”
“I will.” Heath heard commotion heading up the front walk. “Go. I’ll handle the police.”
Without a word, Gator slipped out the back, pausing only long enough to talk to the officer stationed by the fence, who gave a sharp nod. He remained a silent sentry, even as Gator disappeared.
Chaos erupted, with cops and Feds swarming into the apartment, guns drawn. Heath left them to deal with the fallout, since Grimaldi wasn’t going anywhere. He had more important things to deal with. Like taking care of the woman he loved.