Prey for Us Page 8

  He answered on the first ring. “Dammit, Mo, would you tell me what’s going on?”

  “I’m calling to remind you that the reward for turning me in is nothing, and I mean nothing, compared to the profit we will make from what Thane can do.”

  “What do I have to do to convince you that I’m not turning you in!”

  “You’re not winning any Oscars, Clay. I ditched your leeches, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

  “Wait a minute— if someone followed you to my place, I didn’t set that up. Oh, God, we’re screwed.”

  “They were amateur, Clay.”

  “Mo, you have to tell me what you saw.”

  “They were driving a Camry. I didn’t wait around to ask for ID. Your balcony made a more comfortable exit.”

  “That was my brother,” Clay said. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming to your place? You knew that if he cornered me, he’d be dead.”

  “I didn’t know he was going to show up. He’s been trying to fix our strained relationship. He lives over in Coral Gables and found out I was in town on business. I made the mistake of telling them where I’m staying. He said he might stop by. It’s just like him not to call first. If you had answered the phone I gave you, I could have cleared this up sooner.”

  “I’m not carrying that phone anymore. It was too fancy.”

  “Fancy?”

  “By fancy, I mean bugged.”

  “Tracking is not bugging. Practically all phones have built-in tracking with the ‘lost phone’ function.”

  “So, you were tracking me.”

  “Mo, I didn’t look until you wouldn’t take my calls. I needed to see if you were okay.”

  “Why don’t you check the video feed from your living room?”

  “What?”

  “I found your cameras, and I have to admit, some of your placements were clever.”

  “So what? You saw some cameras! Those are strictly for security.”

  “In the bathroom?”

  “I hide valuables everywhere.”

  Morana laughed. “The fact that you are an atrocious liar is probably my best reason to trust you.”

  Clay was quiet and then said, “Listen, I’m sorry. I haven’t reviewed any of the footage. Let’s put this behind us. I give you my word that I won’t record or track you.”

  “I don’t need your word. I’m finished with your place.”

  “Is this why my car is parked so far from the apartment?”

  “I figured you were watching that, too.”

  “That GPS tracking is built-in, not my doing. Mo, whether you believe me or not, I’m not trying to turn you in.”

  “Drop it, Clay.”

  “Fine. Did you visit Thane?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why won’t you wait until I get back!”

  “What are you so worried about?”

  “I’m the one who brought you in and introduced you to Thane. This is supposed to be a joint venture. Going on without me ruins the ‘jointness’ of it.”

  “Listen, if I wanted to cut you out of this deal, you’d be dead. I’m honoring the fact that you introduced me to Thane. Your technical proficiency is useful, and I’m gambling on the fact that you’re smart enough to keep our business quiet. So, if you’re so worried about me learning the secret and hoarding it from you, you can rest easy. Why don’t you just come back?”

  “If getting Thane’s secret was a hundred percent certain, I’d quit my job this minute. But if getting the scoop about how he moves these blocks doesn’t pan out, and I screw up this tour account, my boss will fire me for sure.”

  “Then it looks like you need to trust me on this. I’m reaching out to Everett Paige tomorrow.”

  “Could you do me a favor and not kill him?”

  “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  †

  As a safety precaution, Morana spent the night in the back of her Explorer. The next morning, she parked behind a bookstore and connected to its Wi-Fi. She used her Tor browser to log into Everett’s webmail. She scanned his historic email messages and found several names that he corresponded with frequently. With little effort, she discovered several plans made by Everett that would take him to public places. One email message was from his assistant, confirming his lunch the following day at the Sa Bon Restaurant in the city of Bayfield. She scrolled through a few more pages of information Clay had gathered until she found his vehicle registration. He drove a black Maserati Ghibli. She noted the license plate.

  After having gathered the information she needed, she put on heavy makeup, a shoulder-length blonde wig and drove to Sa Bon Restaurant. After driving past the entrance twice to scope it out, she parked a safe distance away and walked back. She noticed that the restaurant had valet parking next door in a parking garage shared by a business center. She went into the parking garage and scouted it out, noting the vehicle and pedestrian entrances and exits.

  She returned to the street and sat on a bus bench opposite the entrance to the restaurant, and spent a few minutes watching the uniformed parking attendants valeting cars for the lunch crowd at Sa Bon.

  After observing for almost a half hour, she entered the restaurant. A gentleman in a suit stood just inside the entrance, resting his hand on a podium. When he saw her, he smiled and said, “Welcome! And how many will be dining for lunch today?” He reached for a stack of menus.

  “I’m not here for lunch,” Morana replied. “I’m shopping for venues to host an important event. Do you mind if I take a look around?”

  “By all means, ma’am,” the man said, coming out from behind the podium. He made a sweeping motion with his arm toward the main dining room. “Shall I call someone to give you a tour?”

  “That won’t be necessary. I know what I need,” Morana said as she passed by him.

  “Very well, then,” the host said, smiling as he returned to his podium.

  Morana wound her way between the tables in the main dining room until she reached the rear of the restaurant where she noted the restrooms, kitchen entrance and a hallway to a rear exit through which she left. From the back alley, she saw a door to a stairwell for the parking garage next door.

  She returned to her car and drove to a nearby shopping mall where she used cash at several stores to purchase a dinner outfit, elastic bandaging, gauze, a pair of black gloves, a new wig, and more makeup. She stopped at a Post Office where she took some blank peel-and-stick mailing labels from a wall tray. She now had everything she needed except a good night’s rest. Tomorrow morning she’d have a little chit chat with a special person before joining Everett for lunch.

  Chapter 9

  THE PAIGE HOME sat in the exclusive Arborcliffe Estates only steps from the beach. The 8,000 square foot mansion was part of a sprawling estate that included a tennis court and an infinity pool that glistened in the morning sun.

  Morana parked on the street and walked up the curved driveway, briefly pausing to take in the spectacular view of the ocean. She carried a leather binder, a tape measure, and a pen. She rang the bell at the front door.

  A thin woman in her mid-40’s wearing business attire and with a mobile phone pressed to her ear, opened the door. “Yes?”

  “Are you Mrs. Everett Paige?” Morana said.

  “Who’s asking?” She looked at Morana suspiciously.

  “I’m sorry. I’m from Ashwell Interiors, and we wanted to take some measurements.”

  The woman frowned and turned away. “Let me call you back,” she said, ending her phone call. When she turned back to Morana, she said, “But you said you weren’t available until next week.”

  “Your husband…” Morana opened her binder and scrolled a tablet with her finger, “Everett?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, he called us this morning and asked if we could start sooner. Under-promising and over-delivering is the
philosophy that’s given us a waiting list. Usually, our clients are thrilled, but if this is a bad time, we’ll be happy to reschedule.”

  “No, no, it’s fine. I’m just surprised, that’s all. That’s unlike Everett.”

  Morana covered her mouth and said, “I hope I haven’t ruined a surprise.”

  “No, we’ve discussed this project. You haven’t ruined anything.”

  “Still, I apologize for arriving unannounced. I will arrange a nominal credit on the order for the inconvenience.”

  “Amazing,” Mrs. Paige said, staring at the binder Morana held.

  “May I?” Morana said, pointing inside.

  “Oh, of course—I’m sorry,” Mrs. Paige said. She stepped back and held the door wider for Morana to enter.

  They entered, and Morana stopped, looking around a grand foyer bathed with sunshine that poured through a skylight. Morana clutched her chest as she pivoted, said, “I love your choices, Mrs. Paige.”

  “Please—call me Rachel. And thank you, but I must give credit to our designers.” As Rachel led Morana down the hallway toward the back of the house. They entered the lounge. “Here we are. So how long have you been with Ashwell Interiors?” Rachel asked.

  Morana reached back and pulled the door closed. “Today’s my first day!” she replied, grinning.

  †

  Three hours later, lunch service was busy at Sa Bon Restaurant when Morana returned. She had completely transformed her appearance, having wrapped her arms, thighs, and torso with a layer of gauze wrapped in an elastic bandage. The padding straightened the curve of her waist, adding what looked like 25 to 30 pounds of weight. She wore a large, light green blouse, long skirt, and wedge sandals that complemented an auburn wig.

  She took a large black purse and went next door to the parking garage elevator. While she waited for it to open, she pulled one of the large mailing labels from the purse. She smiled at the photograph of Everett’s children she had printed on it. When the elevator door opened, she stepped out and held the door, scanning for any spectators. She was alone—for the moment. She peeled the adhesive from the back of the photo, then reached into the elevator to avoid being seen or recorded by its security camera. She swept her hand around the button panel. She felt the smooth glass, about the size of a book, above it and stuck the photo onto the glass, rubbing it firmly in place. She leaned in and verified that the sticker covered the interior security camera. The placement was perfect.

  She went back out to the street and waited on a bus bench to watch the valets at work. She didn’t have to wait long before Everett’s black Maserati pulled to the curb. He got out wearing a navy suit, opened the trunk and laid his jacket inside before handing the key over to the valet. Morana noted his dark, slicked-back hair, white cuff-linked shirt, and yellow tie. She waited ten minutes before crossing the street to enter the restaurant.

  “Welcome,” the host said, greeting her with a smile. “How many for lunch?”

  “I’m meeting a guest who had a reservation. Can you tell me if Everett Paige has arrived?”

  The host scanned the names. His finger stopped midway down the list. “Yes, ma’am, as a matter of fact, he has. Please follow me. I’ll take you to him.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m an old friend, and I’m here to surprise him.”

  The host grinned and said, “Absolutely, ma’am, enjoy.” He bowed slightly and held his arm toward the dining room.

  Morana entered, scanning the tables as she walked. She quickly spotted Everett. He sat engaged in conversation with another man at a table in the center of the dining room. A waiter was leaving their table after having delivered appetizers to them.

  Morana pulled a tablet from her purse and approached them. “Hello, gentlemen, is everything to your satisfaction this evening?”

  The men paused their conversation to look at her.

  “Yes, fine,” Everett’s guest said, dismissively.

  Morana came around to Everett’s side of the table and said, “Are you Mr. Paige?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  She leaned closer, “Forgive my intrusion… If I could have a moment with you—there may be an issue with your vehicle, sir.”

  “Do you mean an accident?”

  “An accident is a stronger word than I’d use for what has happened,” Morana said. She turned to Everett’s guest. “My apologies.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me what the hell happened?”

  “Sir, it would be best to show you. I assure you we can resolve this situation to your satisfaction. Please follow me.”

  Everett stood up, wadded his napkin and threw it on the table. He followed Morana to the rear of the restaurant where she opened the back door and held it for him.

  When Everett turned toward the wrong parking lot, Morana said, “This way, sir. It’s a busy day. We lease spaces for overflow from the secure garage next door. It’s only a few steps.”

  Everett followed her. “How much damage is there?”

  “Frankly, the damage is difficult to see, but the policy of our restaurant is to immediately inform our guests of valet incidents.” She led him into the small elevator foyer of the parking garage.

  When the elevator door opened, Morana held the door for him. When he stepped in, she pressed an index card that read Out of Order over the call buttons before joining him inside.

  The elevator closed them in. Morana pulled black gloves from her bag and, behind her back, wiggled her fingers into them. She slipped her hand back into the bag and squeezed the grip of a pistol. “And, of course, your dinner will be on the house tonight,” she said.

  Everett rolled his eyes. “If I find any damage on my car, more than my dinner will be ‘on the house,’ I can promise you that.”

  Morana pulled the emergency stop button. The elevator car jerked to a stop between P1 and P2.

  Everett said, “What the hell are you—”

  Morana grabbed Everett’s throat and slammed him back against the wall at the same time raising the gun, pressing the suppressor to his forehead.

  Everett started to raise his arms.

  “Don’t, or your end will be quick and quiet.” She slipped the purse strap from her shoulder. It dropped to the floor, and she kicked it into the corner.

  Everett slowly lowered his arms, holding them out from his sides. His eyes were wide, and his mouth locked open. “My wallet is in my back pocket,” he said. “Please, take whatever you want—”

  “Shh, shh, shh, the first thing I want is to have a chit-chat with you.”

  Everett nodded.

  Morana pulled the pistol from his forehead. A white ring on his skin from the suppressor filled to red and then faded. She held the gun steady while grabbing a handful of his collar. “How much money did you make last year?”

  Everett paused, and then said, “I don’t know… I did well.”

  Morana squeezed his collar tighter and slammed him against the wall again. “Vague answers that aren’t really answers agitate me. I’ll ask again. How much money did you make last year?”

  Everett raised his chin, his face turning red. “Somewhere around 2 and a half.”

  “You’re telling me you made $2.5 million?”

  Everett strained to nod.

  Morana whistled. “And what is your sweet car worth?”

  “Around 75K.”

  “I saw you arrive. I like that car. It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s yours,” Everett said, a twinge of hope appeared on his face at the possibility of a deal.

  “That was easy, wasn’t it?”

  Everett nodded.

  “Has your Maserati been in an accident before tonight?”

  Everett hesitated. “Of course not.”

  “The damage to your vehicle didn’t happen tonight. It happened a few weeks ago.”

  “I—I don’t understand.”

  “Thane Sykes. Do you know him?”

 
“No.”

  “You’re demanding $10,000 from him for an accident you just told me never happened.”

  Everett looked confused.

  “Let me help you remember,” Morana said. “He drives a truck. Short, adorable, young, black man. He allegedly caused $10,000 worth of damage to your Maserati, and you can’t remember his name or the accident?”

  Recognition spread on Everett’s face. “I can explain that…” He started to raise his hand, but Morana pressed the gun to his forehead again.

  He squeezed his eyes closed and through clenched teeth said, “I swear that was my lawyer, not me.”

  “The demand came from you.”

  “I’ll return the money!”

  Morana hesitated. “Wait, he paid you?”

  “Yes, but I can make it right. Let me go and I’ll—”

  “Shut up! When did you receive this money?” she said, squeezing his neck harder.

  Everett’s face reddened. He grunted, “Wire transfer. Can’t breathe.”

  Morana loosened her grip.

  Everett gasped and coughed. “I got a notification a couple of hours ago. It’s on my phone.”

  Morana lowered the gun to his chest as she reached around to his pocket. She removed his phone and backed to the opposite side of the elevator, keeping the gun aimed at him. Everett told her the unlock code and said, “Open the email, you’ll see the confirmation message.”

  Morana scrolled Everett’s inbox and found the wire transfer message. The sender’s name was listed as C. Thorner. When she recognized Clay’s name, she masked her surprise. The only reason why Clay would put up ten grand would be to gain a trust advantage over her with Thane.

  “There’s another email,” Everett said. It came a minute after the wire.

  Morana opened the message.

  As per our conversation, I need a letter from you stating that you are releasing Thane Sykes from all liability in the accident referenced in your demand letter. You are to send the signed letter to my PO Box listed above.

  Morana clenched her teeth and pocketed the phone. She moved closer to Everett, raising the gun to his head. When she had come within reach, Everett swung his arm upward, landing a blow to her arm. The pistol fired into the ceiling. He head-butted Morana. When she fell back, he dove onto her, but she raised her feet and caught him in the gut, deflecting so that he slammed into the wall before crashing to the floor. They both struggled to their feet. Morana dropped the gun and grabbed his wrists, kneeing him in the groin. When he bent forward, she sidestepped, took hold of his forearm and used her leg to sweep his feet from under him. He fell to his back, and she mounted him.