Dangerous Allies (The Ruby Danger Series Book 1) (13 page)

T
he Cessna bumped
as it touched down, jolting Ruby away from a dream of a fragrant bubble bath and a glass of chilled white wine. She sighed, furtively scratching her itchy scalp under the wig, and gave Bogdan a sidelong glance as the plane taxied to a stop on the sandy runway. Had he recognized her? She bent over to tug her tote bag out from under the seat in front. It was stuck. She tugged again.

Bogdan stood up and leaned over her.

“Let me,” he said, his tattooed arm brushing her legs as he reached for the bag.

She shrank back with her hand on the window and turned her face away, her heart thudding.

Bogdan yanked the tote bag out and placed it on her lap with a smile.

“That’s a heavy bag. Did you win big in the casino?”

She clutched the bag to her chest and shook her head, trying not to look at him.

“Are you headed for Miami? We could share a ride.”

“No, sorry.” Ruby squeezed past him into the narrow aisle and hurried down the Cessna’s steps, desperate to get away. Stepping away from the plane, she looked around. Sawgrass and scrub bushes lined one side of the airstrip. On the other, a young woman with spiked purple hair leaned against a battered blue pickup truck, smoking a cigarette and squinting in the sunlight. Heavy black liner rimmed her eyes and tattooed sleeves covered both arms.

Ruby hustled over to her.

“How can I get to Boca?”

The girl exhaled a stream of smoke before replying.

“I can give you a ride. Hundred bucks.”

“I was hoping to rent a car.”

“Can’t do that here.”

Ruby took out her wallet.

“How about I buy this truck, then?” she asked, holding out a fistful of bills.

“That’s funny.” The girl took another drag.

“There’s five thousand dollars here. I think that’s more than it’s worth.”

The girl stared at the bills. Then she dropped her cigarette onto the ground, stubbing it out with her foot. Reaching for the cash, she riffled through it and squinted at Ruby.

“I seem to have left the ownership papers at home.”

“I don’t care.”

The girl pocketed the money and stepped away from the truck.

“Key’s inside.”

Ruby looked back at the plane, where Bogdan was talking to the pilot. She threw her tote bag onto the pickup’s bench seat and slid in beside it. As she turned over the engine, Bogdan looked up.

“Hey,” he yelled, running toward the truck with his arm in the air.

Ruby put the truck into gear and hit the gas.

I
t took
the rest of the day to coax the aging pickup the hundred miles to Boca Raton, and the sun had long since set by the time she parked near the house. Ruby flipped down the visor mirror to check her hair and glasses and then grabbed the tote bag.

She strolled along the deserted sidewalk, past the manicured gardens and soaring windows of their neighbors’ homes, and up the tumbled brick driveway. After sidling across the yard, she stopped to peek through the garage window. Antony’s Aston Martin was there, but not the Mercedes. That was a break, at least. Antony must still be on the ship.

Pulling a key from her pocket, she unlocked the side door of the garage and headed for the workbench at the back where she grabbed a screwdriver and pliers. She headed back to the house, leaving the garage door unlocked.

As she passed the garbage bin, something caught her eye. Ruby swiveled her head and stared. Charlie’s wooden chalet, which should have been in the master bedroom, was shoved up against the bin. Crouching, she reached an arm inside. Something furry brushed against her hand and she pulled out a battered stuffed bunny, Charlie’s favorite toy. She reached in again, feeling along the chalet’s ceiling until her fingers touched a small bundle wrapped in aluminum foil taped into a corner. She peeled it off and put it in her pocket.

Hurrying along the walkway that led to the pool, she veered left at the back of the house and peered through a kitchen window. Zelda had gone home for the night. With any luck she could grab Charlie and some clothes and be out in ten minutes.

Not that their housekeeper would give her away, but Ruby didn’t want her to be involved. She cupped a hand over her mouth with a grimace. Zelda, too, must think she was dead.

At the kitchen door, she bashed the lock with the screwdriver, scraped the paint, and scratched the triple-glazed glass in the window to make it look like a burglary. Then she punched in the security code. Later, she could erase the video recordings in Antony’s high-priced home security system and pull out the wires in the door lock to alert the security company. But she had a few things to do first.

Walking into the kitchen, she closed the door behind her.

“Charlie?” she called. “Where are you, Charlie?”

The swish-swish-swish of the three enormous fans in the great room was the only sound. Ruby stared at the stacked folders on the dining room table. That was odd. She turned and crept down the hall to the master bedroom, her running shoes silent on the thick carpeting.

“Charlie?” She glanced around with a ripple of apprehension and then shook her head and strode into the master bedroom. Pulling out the night table drawers, she upended them onto the carpeted floor. Then she did the same with her jewelry case and the top drawers of Antony’s dresser, stooping occasionally to stuff items into her pocket.

Still no sign of Zelda. Or Charlie.

She walked back to the kitchen and checked for the terrier’s leash in the closet by the door. It was gone, along with the dog food and Charlie’s water dish. Ruby paused, staring at the empty shelves. Had Zelda taken him somewhere? Maybe she left a note in Antony’s home office. Slinging her tote bag over her shoulder, Ruby marched down the hall and opened the door at the end.

She froze.

‘Wall Street wizard’ Antony Carver was tied to a wooden chair, facing the door. Shiny gray duct tape covered his mouth, one eye was swollen shut, and blood trickled from his nose.

Before she could take a step closer, a voice behind her made her jump.

“Hello, Ruby.”

She whirled around. A thin man in his mid-sixties aimed a gun at her chest.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “your husband is not in any danger. But he’s much quieter this way.”

Dyed black hair was slicked back from the gunman’s forehead and two massive gold rings shone on the hand that held the weapon. Ruby stared at the gun, unable to move.

“Sit down,” the man said with a chuckle, pointing to a chair beside Antony and inclining his head at the security video monitors on the wall. “Your activities have been very amusing.”

The leather tote bag slipped from Ruby’s slack fingers and fell onto the floor. She sat, her heart thumping. Her mouth was so dry it was hard to form words.

“W-who are you?” she said, her voice cracking. “What do you want?”

“Did I not introduce myself? Viktor.” He inclined his head at the man who stepped out from behind the door. “And Bogdan I think you have met.”

Bogdan leered at her. Her skin crawled and she turned her head away.

“And you know what I want.” Viktor’s voice was cold. “My money.”

Ruby drew a ragged breath before replying.

“There’s cash in my purse. Several thousand dollars. You can have that.”

Viktor nodded at Bogdan, who leaned in and slapped her.

Her face stung and she blinked rapidly.

“What the—?”

Bogdan slapped her again, much harder.

Ruby’s head jerked to one side and she gasped. Her face burned and blood pooled in her mouth. She looked up, straight into Antony’s widened eyes. He shook his head.

Ruby turned to face Viktor and Bogdan, swallowed a mouthful of blood, and wiped the back of a trembling hand across her lips.

“Please, just tell me what you want,” she whispered.

Bogdan picked up her tote bag and handed it to Viktor, who rummaged through it and dropped it on the floor.

“They’re not here. Check her car.”

Bogdan nodded and left.

Viktor leveled the gun again. “The bonds. Where are they?”

“I don’t … I don’t know what you mean.”

He slammed the gun against her cheek. Ruby toppled sideways off the chair and lay on the floor, gasping.

“Get up.”

She struggled to her feet. The room was spinning so she grabbed the chair to keep from falling, pulled herself up and sat down. Once she caught her breath, she bent over to pick up her tote bag. She put it on her lap and looked up at Viktor.

“Please … there’s a lot of money here. Take it.”

“Screw your money,” he roared, “where are my bonds? You took them from the ship, which your husband,” he glared at Antony, “should not have allowed.”

Antony rocked from side to side and gurgled under the duct tape. Viktor pointed the gun at him and he stopped moving.

Viktor stepped closer to Ruby and leaned over her, placing the gun’s muzzle to her temple. She gripped the chair seat with both hands, her arms shaking, and stared straight ahead. He drew the muzzle down her face, along her neck, and over her chest until it pointed straight at her heart. Viktor poked her with the gun and she gasped.

“Where are the bonds?”

“I had them for a while. I did. But it was a mistake. I swear, I didn’t mean to take them.”

Viktor drew back and tilted the gun up, away from her.

“I meant to put them back. And then,” she took a deep breath, “someone took them while I was asleep.”

His eyes flashed and he lowered the weapon.

“You think I am stupid?” His voice rose. “Now I am stupid?”

Flinching, Ruby turned away and tried not to look at the gun.

“No, no. It’s the truth. Someone on the ship took them.”

“And where are they now?”

“I don’t know,” she wailed, turning to Viktor. “I don’t know where they are. I don’t—”

Cursing in Russian, he grabbed a handful of her hair to pull her from the chair. But when he yanked, her auburn wig came off in his hand and he staggered backward, stumbling. As he struggled to regain his footing, Ruby saw her chance.

Turning to her right, she darted to the door that led to the terrace and wrenched it open. The security alarm blared.
Whoop, whoop, whoop.
She raced down the walkway between the house and the garage while Bogdan came up the same walkway from the street. For a split second, they stopped and stared at each other.

Then he pulled a gun from his belt and ran at her. Ruby pivoted and headed for the six-foot cedar fence behind the garage. She grabbed the top of the fence with her hands, her feet scrabbling for the top. As she straddled the fence and dropped to the ground on the other side, a blow struck her left arm. Blood sprouted on her sleeve as she dove into dense bushes to her right.

“Go around,” Viktor shouted at Bogdan.

With only seconds to spare, Ruby took a deep breath and leapt for the top of the fence again. As her fingers grabbed the edge, her arm spasmed in pain and she bit her lip to keep from screaming. She hoisted her leg up, climbed over and dropped to the ground, then dashed for the side door of the garage.

She turned to her left. Bogdan and Viktor, visible under the streetlights, were running to the house next door.

Blood dripped down Ruby’s arm as she darted into the garage and closed the door.

The alarm still blared.
Whoop, whoop, whoop.
She plunged her hand into her pocket and pawed through the items she had taken from Antony’s dresser, tightening her grip on a set of car keys.

As the garage door opened, Viktor’s and Bogdan’s legs appeared in the driveway. Ruby hit the gas and the Aston Martin shot ahead, smashing through the rising garage door, and clipped Viktor before he could get out of the way. The car fishtailed onto the road, gears grinding, as she struggled to gain control.

Viktor hobbled out onto the road, firing his gun at her, but she was away.

A
few blocks
later Ruby slowed down and pulled the Aston Martin over. She leaned her head on the steering wheel until her jagged breathing had slowed. Once she was calmer, she reached into her bag for a T-shirt and used it to gently probe the angry red furrow on her left arm. A purple bruise had blossomed, and there was blood, but no sign of a bullet. Wincing, she wrapped the T-shirt around her arm and tied it as best she could.

She should wait for the police and tell them the whole story, consequences be damned. But as she rummaged through the glove box for Antony’s baseball cap, her fingers tangled in a leather dog leash. Ruby pulled it from the glove box and ran her fingers along its edge, recognizing the tiny bite marks Charlie had inflicted on it as a puppy.

What had Antony done with her dog? Narrowing her lips, Ruby slammed the glove box shut and jammed the baseball cap over her filthy hair. The flashing lights of a security company patrol car raced past, followed by two police cruisers, sirens blaring. She pulled onto the road and headed north. Screw Antony. He was on his own.

A
Miami police detective
, dressed in a blue suit and running shoes, held out a hand to clear a path through the throng of reporters and news vans camped outside the Antony Carver home in Boca Raton. Sliding into the back seat of an unmarked cruiser, he nodded to the officer at the wheel. As the cruiser pulled away from the curb, the detective turned to a tall black man in his late fifties sitting beside him and held out his hand.

“Thanks for coming, Pete. We’re hoping you can shed some light on this since you met the Carvers on that cruise ship.” The detective looked back at the house and shook his head. “It wasn’t a random home invasion, that’s for sure.”

“Happy to help,” Pete Osler said, following his gaze. “What do the feds think happened to the wife?”

“No idea. They haven’t filled us in, not completely. But I get the feeling they’ve written it off as a suicide. Carver ain’t exactly broken up about it. You’d think his wife taking a header off a cruise ship might put a dent in his mood, but not so much. He was screaming at our guys to get out of the house and leave him alone.”

“Yeah, I saw that on CNN. The screaming part, I mean.” Pete turned back to face the detective as the car swerved onto a street leading to the interstate. “But why is Miami pd involved in a home invasion in Boca?”

“It’s complicated. We picked up a husband-and-wife team, con artists, and booked them for fraud. The husband had over a thou in cash on him. But get this. They were on that boat, too, and the husband claims Delaney isn’t dead. He says she got off the boat alive.”

“He’s angling for a deal?”

The detective nodded, scratching his chin.

“It’s likely bullshit, but we have to check it. And since you were on the boat, I thought maybe you could verify his story. Assuming there’s any truth to it.” He sighed and leaned back against the seat, running his hands down his thighs. “And even if the wife is alive, it doesn’t explain why two goons roughed up her husband.”

“There were two?”

“Yeah, that’s a little info we’re not sharing with CNN. Everybody’s interested in this one. I even got a call from the SEC. What do I know about the damn stock market? Other than my kid’s college fund went into the crapper a few years back.” Shaking his head, he gave a thumbs down. “So, Pete, what can you tell me?”

“Well, I can supply one piece of the puzzle. The
vor v zakonye.
”

The detective stared at him.

“You’re shittin’ me.”

Pete shook his head. “Sorry.”

“That’s all I need.” He gazed out the window, shaking his head.

“I might be wrong,” Pete said with a slight shrug. “But I’m on the ship with my wife, on vacation, and I get a call from an old FBI pal. He says they’ve got a tip that Carver’s being blackmailed by the mob. Wouldn’t give me the source, but he asked if I would keep an eye out for anything, you know, unusual. And he faxed me a few photos.”

“A dead wife on a cruise ship is a bit unusual.”

“I agree. But before that happened, I showed the pictures to Carver—just a friendly warning—and he denied knowing any of them. Practically threw the pictures in my face.”

“So?”

“He was lying, I’m sure. One, even two, of those guys he’d seen before.”

“Do you think the mob did the wife?”

“No idea.”

“Well, it makes our pigeon in Miami’s story all the more unlikely, doesn’t it?”

“I won’t know until I hear it. But it could explain why Carver is being so uncooperative. What happens if this guy’s story is true, by the way?”

“We’ll pass it on to the FBI. Then it becomes their headache.”

The men sat in silence until the car pulled into the underground parking lot of an office building in west Miami.

“Downtown wanted our guy kept here instead of the main precinct,” the detective said, opening the car door. “The press is all over down there because of the Carver thing and they don’t want anybody taking pictures.”

On the tenth floor, he swiped his security card at a door with a wire-reinforced window. The two men walked down a corridor and into a small observation room. Two officers stood inside, looking through a one-way window into an interrogation room where a young man in an orange jumpsuit sat at a table. His vivid red hair was almost the same color as the lockup issued suit.

Pete bent his neck forward and stared through the window. He chuckled.

“Good Lord, that’s your fraud artist? That’s Ethan. We had dinner with him on the ship. I don’t remember his last name.”

“Wouldn’t matter anyway, since it’s fake. Let’s go in.”

Ethan looked up as the two men entered the room. He jumped to his feet when he saw Pete.

“See, I told you. He knows who I am,” he said, gesturing at Pete. “Tell these guys, Detective Osler. Tell them I was on the ship with you and Mr. Carver and Miss Delaney.”

“They know that, Ethan. If that’s your real name.”

“Chris Bradford is his name,” the detective said, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “And he’s from Arizona.”

Pete pulled out a chair and sat opposite Ethan.

“So, you think Miss Delaney is still alive. Can you tell me why?”

“I’ve already told these guys. It was on Pintado Island.”

“Tell me.”

“Emily and I—” he paused as the detective leaning against the wall cleared his throat, “
Helen
and I had gotten off the boat for a little sightseeing. She really is a fan of Ruby Delaney and she was pretty beat up about her being dead and all.”

Shaking his head, the Miami detective pulled out the other chair and sat down.

“Anyhow, we went into town and we bought a few things—”

The detective gave a snort of disgust.

“We did buy them,” Ethan said.

“Go on,” Pete urged.

“So then we turn a corner and the sun is in my eyes, but Helen says, ‘Look, isn’t that Ruby Delaney?’ and she points to a woman leaving a restaurant. It was a chicken place, I think. I said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, she’s dead,’ but Helen snapped a coupla pictures. ‘No,’ she says to me, ‘I’m positive it’s her.’ Course I thought she was crazy. But when I saw the pictures, I had to admit there was a resemblance. Helen’s real good at faces.”

Pete turned to the detective.

“Pictures?”

The detective stood up and tapped on the glass. A few seconds later the door opened, and an officer handed him an open laptop and left, closing the door behind him. The detective placed the laptop on the table and swiveled it to show Pete the photos on the screen.

“CID ran facial recognition software and says it could be Ruby Delaney. Could be.” He clicked on another photo, a head-and-shoulders publicity shot of Ruby, and aligned it with the two snapshots already on the screen.

Pete bent over the pictures. The young woman in the photos taken on Pintado Island wore sunglasses and a floppy sunhat over long auburn hair. A large tote bag was slung over her shoulder.

“The nose doesn’t look the same, does it?”

“Not to me, but forensics says she might have done something to it.”

Pete studied the pictures, looking from one to the other. He frowned.

“You see something?” the detective asked.

“I don’t know.” Still frowning, Pete gestured at the photos. “That purse,” he said, pointing to the tote bag. “Miss Delaney had a similar purse. I remember seeing it in their stateroom. It was leather, very large, sort of braided, and it looked expensive.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, absolutely. It was very unusual.”

“Bottega Veneta.”

Both men looked at Ethan.

“Italian. And it’s
intrecciato
, not braided. That bag would have cost at least four thousand.”

“Dollars?” both detectives said in unison.

He nodded. “At least.”