Loving Again

chapter Thirteen


Amanda stared at the second handgun pointed at her that day. “I don’t believe this. You’re involved, too?”

“Sorry to disappoint you, my dear, but involved I am. Now, down we go and let’s get this settled. Matthews tells me you can show us where the safe is.”

“Matthews is wrong.”

“But you told him … ”

“I told him I’d give him what he wanted, which I thought was money. I arranged to take money out of my trust fund accounts to bribe him to leave me and Sam alone.”

“The man is an idiot.” He waved her toward the kitchen. “However, that doesn’t change the fact that Webster put a safe someplace. In the restaurant I found a combination that doesn’t work anything there and Matthews had that letter. We’ve been through your studio, the restaurant, and most of your house. The basement is the most likely place. So, if you will accompany me … ”

He motioned her to the door and, once again, reluctantly, she descended to the basement. When Matthews saw them, the anger on his face turned to a sneer.

“So much for trying to outthink us, bitch. Now get over here and show me where the f*cking safe is.”

“She doesn’t know where it is,” Vos said.

“Of course she does. She took the money and put it in her account. She told me.”

“You fool,” Vos said. “She’s using money from her trust accounts to bribe you. We still don’t know where the safe is.”

Matthews slapped Amanda. “You little bitch.” He raised his hand to hit her again.

Vos intervened. “Enough. We’re going to be civilized about this. Amanda, sit on that chair over there. Matthews, watch her. I’m going to finish looking down here.”

“She said she thought it was behind the furnace. I started back there but then she ran.”

Vos looked at Amanda, now seated on an old plastic garden chair. “If you don’t know where it is, Amanda, why did you tell him that?”

“I thought he’d be trapped back there and I could go get help.”

Gesturing to the clutter around them, Vos said, “It’s obvious most of the place has been searched. Did anyone look behind the furnace?”

Silence gave him the answer.

“All right, then I’ll start there. If I come up empty, we can all resume the search elsewhere.” He squeezed behind the furnace and began to rap on the wallboard. As he continued along the wall, he seemed to get more interested. He’d apparently seen or heard something Amanda couldn’t figure out from where she was sitting.

But as he moved back and forth from one panel to another, comparing sounds, inspecting the surfaces, Amanda began to hear the difference between most of the panels of drywall and one particular panel, a panel that wasn’t as dingy as the rest.

“Your instincts were good after all, Amanda. I need a hammer.” Vos said. He nodded to Matthews to let her find one for him.

She dug her toolbox out of the mess on the floor, found a hammer, and handed it to him. He began to rip at the panel of odd-looking wallboard.

“I don’t believe it,” Amanda said when she saw the safe mounted between the studs he uncovered. She was sure the shock she felt showed on her face.

“Unless you are a considerably better actor than I think you are, I would say it’s a surprise to you,” Vos said. Glancing at a piece of paper he dug from his pocket, he began to dial in the combination. When the door of the safe opened, he grabbed a plastic bag from inside and tossed it to the floor. Bundles of bills tumbled out.

“That’s it,” Matthews said, his eyes bright with greed.

“That’s only part of it.” Digging further back Vos brought out a second bag. He looked in and smiled. “Ah, here’s what I was looking for.”

“Not money?” Amanda asked.

“No, Webster was not only stealing money from us but skimming drugs, too.” A third bag came out, and a fourth. “Until Mr. Matthews showed me that letter, I thought the cops had found it all. But here it is and it’s all ours.” Vos reached into the back of the safe, checking to make sure he had everything. “That should do it. We’re out of here, Beal.”

• • •

Sam had started looking for Amanda at her studio but she wasn’t there. Before heading for her house, he stopped at a Starbucks to brood over a cup of coffee. He really didn’t like this assignment. Tracking her down to her house was probably the worst thing he could do. Something was wrong and he didn’t know what. All he knew was it related to the two murders. But he didn’t know how. He knew she was no more guilty of murdering two people than he was. He also knew she was hiding something. Lying to him.

If he had any chance of getting them back to where they were before this all blew up, it depended on finding out what the f*ck was going on. He figured he had a fifty-fifty chance of getting her to talk to him so he could figure it out. Same odds for pissing her off so badly, she’d never see him again. He gulped down the remains of his lukewarm coffee and headed out to see which way luck was breaking for him.

When he arrived at her house he was relieved to see her SUV in the driveway. Until he saw what was parked next to it — an old brown Toyota hatchback like the car they thought Beal Matthews drove. And parked at the curb in front was a black Mercedes. Drake Vos’s car, if he remembered right. What the hell was going on? Both Vos and the killer inside with Amanda?

He parked down the hill, out of sight of the house, and after calling for backup walked up to her side yard gate. Quietly, gun drawn, he went round to the back, hoping he could get the door to the basement open without any problem. He’d wait in the basement until backup arrived.

But as soon as he turned the corner into the yard, he was met with a bigger problem — Chihuly, so happy to see his friend, he barked and barked and barked to let Sam know he was ready to play.

• • •

Amanda heard the noise. “Something’s wrong. Chihuly never barks like that.”

“The hell with the dog,” Matthews said. “We’re out of here.”

Chihuly kept barking, coming closer to the door to the basement.

“Matthews, go outside and see what’s going on,” Vos said. “We can’t afford to get the neighbors curious. One of them already recognized me when I got out of my car.”

Reluctantly, Matthews went to the back door. Amanda’s dog was standing on the other side of the wall of rhododendrons, apparently intimidated by the thorns on the wildly growing rose bushes. The object of his attention hadn’t been afraid of the thorns but his gun hand had gotten caught on a rose cane when he worked his way behind the bushes. Matthews took advantage of Sam’s predicament, chopped at his hand to disarm him and, ripping him free of the thorns, dragged him into the basement.

“Look who was lurking in the yard, Drake,” he said.

“Detective Richardson. To what do we owe this honor?” Vos said.

“Amanda, are you all right?” Sam asked, walking to her and circling her shoulders with an arm.

“I’m okay,” she answered. “Did he hurt you?”

“Aww. This is so touching,” Matthews said. He pulled Amanda away from Sam by grabbing her hair and twisting it. Hard. She yelped. Matthews did it again, seeming to enjoy the pain he was causing. Sam took a swipe at him, connecting with his shoulder but without enough force him drop him.

Regaining his balance, Matthews hit Sam across the face with the gun. “Touch me again, cop, and you’re dead.”

“Touch her again and you’ll be singing soprano for your new friends in the pen. I imagine some of them will like that,” Sam responded.

Vos stepped between the two men. “That’s enough. Focus on what’s important, Matthews — getting out of here.” He grabbed Sam’s arm and pushed him onto another plastic chair.

“Which one are we going to take with us?” Matthews asked, waving the gun at Sam and Amanda. “We need insurance.”

“No hostages,” Vos said. “It looks too suspicious leaving the house that way.” Before Matthews could object he said, “We take them upstairs, restrain them some way and then we leave one at a time. You take the money; I’ll take the other bags. We meet at the rendezvous spot in an hour and then take off from there.”

It was apparent that Matthews didn’t agree but he gave in reluctantly, handed the bag with the money in it to Amanda, stuck his gun in her back and pushed her up the stairs. Vos followed with Sam carrying the bags of drugs, Vos’s gun against his side.

When they got to the kitchen, Vos rummaged through drawers looking for something to use to restrain the two hostages. He found a plastic tie with which he secured one of Amanda’s arms to a bar stool while he kept looking. Finally he found a small roll of duct tape.

“Here,” he said to Matthews. “This will do for a start. Get Richardson taped to a chair and then look for something more secure for Amanda. I’ll leave now; you get them tied up and leave in fifteen minutes.”

“What’s the damn hurry?” Matthews said. “Help me with this.” He had pulled out a length of duct tape but was having trouble keeping it from sticking to itself.

“The hurry is the business I have to take care of before we leave. Take care of this yourself.”

“Why the f*ck didn’t you take care of it before you came here?” Matthews asked.

“You dragged me away from home saying it was an emergency. So you get what you get. Shut up and take care of them.” And he left.

When Amanda heard the door slam behind Vos, she shivered. He may have been a bad guy but he had some regard for her. Matthews was another matter. She was sure both she and Sam were in more danger now than they’d been a minute ago. Who knew what his idea of taking care of them would be?

As if to confirm her fears, Matthews grabbed her around the neck and pulled her against him. “So, cop, I have your girlfriend. You want her in one piece, find me some more tape or some rope.”

“Leave her out of this, Matthews. She can’t go anyplace tied to that bar stool. Just deal with me and I’ll keep her from doing anything foolish.”

“Yeah, you’re a real white hat, aren’t you? Do as I tell you or you’ll be the reason she gets hurt.”

Sam took a step toward Matthews who tightened his hold on Amanda’s throat. Sam backed off, the expression on his face anguished. “Amanda, I … ”

Amanda coughed to clear her airway before saying, “There’s more duct tape over there, Sam. Where the string is.” She hitched her chin toward the cabinet, hoping he remembered the evening he’d gone looking for string so she could tie up a roast. In the same cabinet he’d discovered miscellaneous strange travel souvenirs from her brother including a big, nasty Indonesian tribal knife and an Alaskan Ulu knife. Matthews started to follow Sam to the cabinet, giving Amanda the chance she wanted. She slid off the bar stool and took steps toward the back door, dragging the heavy seat with her.

“Don’t move, bitch. I want you where I can see you,” Matthews pointed the gun first at Sam, then at Amanda, seeming to be nervous about watching both of them.

“Chihuly’s barking again. I want to let him in. If I don’t he’ll be scratching at the door.”

“Leave it. I don’t want a dog in here.”

“But he’ll annoy the neighbors. And damage the door.”

“I said, leave it.”

“I can’t. I have to let the dog in.”

As Amanda had hoped, the argument she’d incited forced Matthews to pay more attention to her than to what Sam was doing. She saw him palm the Ulu knife under the role of duct tape and approach Beal Matthews from behind.

But he didn’t get to him fast enough. Matthews turned to see what he was doing before Sam could reach him. He might not have seen the Ulu knife but he surely saw the look on Sam’s face, which was anything but compliant. He raised the gun, aiming directly at him.

Dropping the tape, Sam lunged at Matthews, catching his arm with the sharp blade of the knife. Matthews swore, knocked the weapon out of Sam’s hand and grabbed for him. As the two men wrestled for control of the gun, Amanda picked up the knife, cut the plastic tie, opened the door and let Chihuly in. He joined the melee in the kitchen, barking and nipping at Matthews.

Amanda ran to the dining room for her phone. But before she could call nine-one-one, the sound of two gunshots came from the kitchen, followed by a loud thud and Chihuly yelping. Before she could yell for Sam, Matthews appeared in the doorway, bleeding from his arm and hands. He held the gun with a shaky grip.

“You bitch. I got shot because of you.” He raised the gun, but before he could pull the trigger, Chihuly came from behind him and chomped on his hand. Matthews tried to shake off the dog. Amanda picked up the nearest thing heavy enough to do damage. She took two steps toward Matthews, swung and hit him right above the ear. The large glass plate she’d used broke; he crumbled. Cracking his head on the edge of the dining room table he fell to the floor, unconscious. Chihuly whimpered.

She saw blood on his fur, realized that Matthews might not have been the only one shot. And she hadn’t heard Sam. “Oh, my God. Sam? Are you okay?”

There was no answer. She ran to the kitchen. Sam was on the floor, bleeding from his left shoulder, his right arm at an odd angle. “Sam! Are you … ?”

He got out, “Use that duct tape on Matthews. Danny … out front,” before he passed out.