Tymber Dalton - It’s a Sweet Life

It’s a Sweet Life

219

“Yeah.”

“She’s not there yet?”

Ben felt his guts ice over at the frantic tone in Grover’s voice.

“What do you mean she’s not here yet? What are you talking about?”

“She left here late yesterday. Should have been there last night.

Said she was heading to…ah…Charles’ place.”

Fear gripped Ben as he turned to Allan. “We’re not there.”

“What? I tried calling her cell this morning and it’s going to voice mail.”

“What’s going on?” Allan asked. “Is Libbie okay?”

Ben waved at him to shut up. “I’ll try her regular cell phone.

Look, take my work number. Do you have something to write with?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

He rattled off his county-issued cell phone number. “Call me immediately if you hear from her.”

Grover repeated the number back. “Will do.”

He hung up and looked at Allan. “Change of plans. I need the keys to your house.”

“What? Why? What the hell’s going on?”

“Apparently Libbie decided to come to Miami to see us. We need to get you to work—”

“Fuck that. I want to help find her.”

“Listen. I need you to get to the office. I can’t find her if I’m worried about keeping you safe. We’ve managed to keep you under the radar and out of Bianco’s line of fire—”

“Fuck. That. I love her, and I’m going to help find her. Try calling her regular cell phone.”

Ben dialed it from memory on the New York phone, swearing as it, too, went immediately to voice mail. “Listen, honey, we just talked to Grover and found out you’re traveling. You need to call me immediately.” He left the New York cell number.

Allan looked as grim as he felt. “So we start at my house? I know she has that address.”

220 Tymber

Dalton

“Give me a minute to think.” He stared at the cell phone in his hand and willed it to ring.

“Can’t we issue a BOLO on her car or something?”

“No!” Ben turned and stared at Allan in shocked disbelief. “You want to paint a target on her back? And you cannot show up at your house. They see you and realize who you are, the whole charade’s busted. They need to keep thinking I’m you.”

“This is stupid,” Allan insisted. “This is Libbie we’re talking about. Fuck your damn paranoid procedures. We need to find her.”

“Shut up!” He paced a circle around the hotel room, finally stopping midway through his third circuit. “We’ll go pick up your car, but you have to stay down in the backseat.” He pulled on the suit coat, which completed the look and made him look like Allan the assistant state’s attorney, as well as helped conceal his bulletproof vest. Allan, dressed in khakis and a button-up Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up his forearms, looked like a paralegal or office assistant. His now-shaggy dyed-blond hair hung past his shoulders and was pulled back with a ponytail band. Allan grabbed his battered canvas messenger bag, which housed his laptop and looked like it belonged in a Dumpster, before following Ben out the door.

The next morning, even though Libbie awoke at eight, it took her nearly twenty minutes to flex and stretch enough she could force her arms and legs into obeying her commands to get out of bed. Then back to the shower, where she stood under the spray, as hot as she could stand it, for twenty minutes. Not to mention her stomach was upset, feeling queasy, likely due to her pain. She’d noticed it happening more often over the past couple of weeks, usually disappearing once she got some food into her. She’d stopped taking her pain medication to see if that helped, thinking maybe the medicine was causing it, and that seemed to alleviate some of it.

It’s a Sweet Life

221

No way I’m driving back today, regardless of whether I find them or not.

Just the thought of going downstairs to the hotel’s restaurant almost felt like more than she could take.

Ben refused to give her details of their work days, deftly stepping around her questions to guide the conversation in other directions. She loved him for his concern, but it irritated her that she had no idea where he lived, or where they were staying since they obviously weren’t staying at Allan’s house, much less where he worked now that he wasn’t on the street any longer. And the thought of visiting every sheriff’s station in the county filled her with dread.

Or was he with Miami-Dade police?

She couldn’t remember for sure now, the foggy fuzziness refusing to release its tenacious hold on her mind.

Allan, however, would be easier to find. She’d already looked up his office information. Remembering his admonishments to never call him at work from a traceable phone unless it was an absolute emergency, she hadn’t bothered phoning him.

But maybe he’ll be there. Or have an office assistant who can find him for me.

With a deep sigh, she shut the water off and climbed out, slowly toweling herself dry with muscles that refused to loosen up.

When she went to get dressed, she realized not only was her regular cell phone dead, so was the disposable one.

“Crap.” She dug the chargers out of her overnight bag and finally settled on the outlet in the bathroom, since it was the easiest for her to get to.

With purse in hand, she headed downstairs for coffee and breakfast. The restaurant was moderately busy, being on the tail end of the morning rush. She patiently waited for her server to bring her coffee and take her order, then sat back to read a Miami Herald that had been left on a room divider next to her booth.

She kicked herself in the ass that she’d missed their calls the night 222 Tymber Dalton

before. Maybe this was a mistake. Except that Mandaline had been spot-on about a bunch of things.

Then again, she knew she shouldn’t be trying to shoulder blame for her decision onto her friend. Libbie had wanted to come find her men, wanted any excuse to do it. Mandaline just happened to provide exactly the justification she’d been looking for.

She took her time eating and perusing the paper. After her third cup of coffee and nearly finishing her mushroom and swiss omelet, she was ready to go hunt down one or both of her men. Not to mention her stomach had settled again.

Except that when she tried to stand after signing the credit card receipt the waitress brought her, she realized how sore and tired she still was.

“Crap.”

She quickly consulted the maps tucked in her purse. One of them a highway map she’d bought at her first gas stop east of the Alley, the others printouts from Google Maps after she looked up Allan’s office address.

I’m not that far away. She could call a cab to take her to his office. It meant she wouldn’t have to tax her already struggling brain, which didn’t seem to want to take the upper hand against her fibro fog that morning, or her achingly sore body with any more activities than she had to.

“That’s settled, then,” she mumbled to herself.

Her second attempt to stand proved successful. She made it to the front desk. The clerk called her a cab, which arrived in a few minutes.

It wasn’t until she was almost to Allan’s office building that she remembered both cell phones lying on the bathroom counter in her room, still plugged into the wall.

She laid her head back against her seat. Frak.

It’s a Sweet Life

223

Ben left Allan waiting for him in the stairwell of the parking garage while he retrieved the rental car. When he pulled up to the stairwell door, Allan dove into the backseat and kept his head down.

“We’ll go get your car,” Ben said. “Hopefully, no one’s found it yet. You stay down when we get there, and I’ll get into your car. Give me ten minutes before you get out of the backseat, and then you drive straight to the office.”

“Bullshit. I’m going to the house with you.”

Ben fought the urge to pound on the steering wheel. He’d quickly grown used to taking evasive maneuvers in busy Miami traffic and spent fifteen minutes weaving his way north before jumping on the Florida Turnpike to head south again toward the parking garage where he’d left Allan’s car the night before. They’d been using the garage for nearly two weeks, with no sign yet of any of Bianco’s men finding or following them there, but he’d felt the need to start using yet another one.

Paranoid, yes. But they were both still alive.

“Why the hell would she do this?” Allan asked from the backseat.

“We told her it wasn’t safe.”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to spank her ass for it when we find her.”

“If we find her.”

Ben’s fingers clamped tightly around the steering wheel. “When,”

he insisted.

Allan went silent for a few minutes. “It’s got to be rough on her. I don’t see why we can’t call her more often.”

224 Tymber

Dalton

“Look, this isn’t a perfect solution, I know, but it’s what’s safest for her.”

More accusatory silence from the backseat. Then, “I miss her.”

Ben tried to rein in his anger. “I miss her, too. Believe me.”

“I’m turning in my resignation this week.”

The announcement startled Ben so much he nearly missed his exit.

“What?”

“Yeah.” Allan’s voice sounded quiet.

“But what about the trial?”

“I’m done. I’m sick of Miami. I used to think it’s what I wanted. I know we haven’t talked about this a lot, and I don’t know for sure what your plans are, but I’ve been thinking a family law practice in Brooksville sounds like a good idea. Now, I’m sure it is.”