Getting out of the tub thirty minutes later proved problematic. Her body had revolted, turning traitorous and stealing her strength even as unrelenting pain assaulted her. She finally managed to get out. After drying off, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her.
Ben hung up, a frown on his face as he studied the phone.
“What?” Allan said.
He shook his head. “This isn’t right.”
“What do you mean?”
He looked at Allan. “Something’s wrong. No way she would miss our call. She never does.” Seven weeks away from Libbie, and his heart ached. He dreamed of her nearly every night and longed to hop in the car and just drive to Brooksville to see her.
He didn’t dare. He suspected Bianco had people trying to figure out “Allan’s” every move, waiting for a chance to strike.
Maybe it was overkill, as Allan had accused him on several occasions. He didn’t care. He couldn’t risk her safety, or Allan’s. Not to mention he had to stay in Miami to protect Allan. Several times he’d eluded people he discovered following him. It was why they moved from hotel to hotel, never staying in the same one more than a week.
218 Tymber
Dalton
They just couldn’t risk it.
Ben knew he could testify in full disguise, and Bianco would still never know what he looked like for sure. After the trial, he’d shave or dye his hair and disappear to Brooksville for good.
By then, it wouldn’t matter. Bianco would be in jail, and the least of the mobster’s problems would be hunting him or Allan down with the Feds crawling up his ass with their separate trial looming on the horizon.
Not to mention figuring out how to fend off takeovers from within his own ranks.
But until the trial was complete and a verdict rendered, Ben knew he had to bide his time.
He found himself unable to sleep, and was still mulling it over the next morning as they were preparing for their usual routine. He tried calling Libbie again and silently swore when it went immediately to voice mail.
“Call Grover,” Allan suggested.
Ben nodded. But instead of using the phone they used to call Libbie, he retrieved another disposable cell phone he’d yet to use, one registered to a New York State number, and called from that.
A paranoid abundance of caution, granted, but he wouldn’t put his friends at risk, either.
When Grover’s voice mail picked up, Ben silently swore again and waited for it to play through before leaving a message. “Hi, Grover. This is Ken. I’m having trouble reaching that person you referred me to. I’ll try calling back later.” He hung up without leaving a number. Yes, Grover knew the truth about their identities, but he also knew as a former lawyer, the man would understand why he insisted on elaborate precautions.
And Grover would know exactly who he was referring to.
When he tried ten minutes later, just as they were getting ready to leave the room, he was surprised when Grover answered on the first ring. “Ken?”
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“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.
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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.