Pawn (A Sara Clemens Mystery Book 2)

1

Sara

When you feel you have to triple lock your doors, fumbling with the latch back and forth for minutes, then there’s something wrong. When you peek your head through the gap in the venetian blinds at the sign of the first sight of light and you’re scared to venture out, then there’s something wrong. When you run with fear smothering your lungs from your car to the front door, then there’s something wrong. That’s how it was for the first few months since my last case. A drain on my mental faculties in the worst way. The uncontrollable flashbacks in the middle of the night haunted my sleep. I woke up drenched in terror sweat. The Viper’s face was etched in my subconscious, including his murderous hands yanking his fake dentures free from his slimy mouth. I tried to focus my thoughts on the present. The whispers of the morning breeze through my open kitchen window felt like the Viper calling me from my Maywood home.

Saraaaaaaa. Sara. I’m not done with you bitch. Saraaaaaa. I’d began to think I’d lost my ever-loving mind.

When I wasn’t plagued by those horrific memories, the hedonic ones crept in like a worm burrowing into a sweet apple. I’d tasted the dangerous lips of a billionaire and the naughty imp inside me craved more. It had been six months since the case with Robert Elliot and the reckless man was moving pieces on the chessboard with ease.

I played with the ends of my hair, screwing up my nose as a distraction. I realized I desperately needed a haircut. My ends were so split they looked like they were at a t-junction. Time for a visit to my favorite neighborhood hairdresser. I stood at my kitchen counter like I always did these days, peeping through the window. Pale blue skies graced Maywood. We were smack bang in the middle of spring. Normally my favorite time of year, but not right now. I felt like a caged bird with its wings clipped due to paranoia. You would feel the same if an undesirable assassin was still on the loose and possibly hunting you. Dog walkers were out with their pups, I noted. Nothing salacious. Just your normal everyday routines in Maywood. I let the water boil on the stove as I watched the bubbles come to the surface and simmer out onto my gas stovetop.

"Shit!" I exclaimed as the water spilled over onto my tiles. I stepped back to avoid being scalded. I took the pot off the heat and poured into my French press. My head jolted quickly as the sound of my phone vibrating on the counter woke me from my morning reverie.

Homeland Security. Hi Sara, Dermas here. I wanted to give you an update and check in with you. I pressed the French press down to infuse the grounded coffee together with the hot water. I pushed out a long breath.

Ok. Great. Go ahead. I sighed hard. I never told them about the note I found from Elliot. In a lot of ways, I was kicking myself about it. The note felt too personal to share. It was mine. Besides if I showed them the note, my penchant for devious men would be uncovered. I imagined the questions would come thick and fast like pepper bullets.

Why did he say you have unfinished business Sara?

Why would he think that?

What aren’t you telling us, Sara? Did you have something to do with the murder of Michael Sawyer?

What’s your involvement with Robert Elliot?

I imagined the stark white walls of the FBI investigation room caving in on me with two men in black suits interrogating. The heavy breathing, the beads of sweat, the tripping over my inflated tongue. No. That secret note stayed with me, under my bed in a shoebox tucked away. I came back to reality listening to Dermas.

So far we haven't been able to locate Elliot in the city. There’s an official manhunt out on him to bring him in for questioning. I’m confident he’s skipped town and incognito elsewhere. His company is being operated by the shareholders and no calls or communications have been made in any form or fashion. Dermas’s matter-of-fact tone rattled me.

Has this information been shared by Interpol? I questioned.

Yes. He's on the red list. He’s officially been listed as a fugitive, Dermas added. My heart thumped in my chest loudly. A fugitive on the run. No way he could outrun this. No way in hell that Elliot could ever return to New York. Ever. Right? Why did I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that I was wrong?

Ok. Thanks for the update. What about the other guy, Clope? My coffee was well and truly infused. I poured out the brunette liquid into my cup adding a splash of milk. I took a sip and let it slide down my tight throat.

"We have some circumstantial evidence from forensics on him. It’s not the first time we’ve seen Clope. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long. Great criminal defense team. He manages to get off every single time. Money talks and bullshit walks; this guy reeks of it. We don’t have the murder weapon, which is the problem. Otherwise, we could put the guy under the jail. But. What we do have is fibers from the ligature marks around Michael’s Sawyers wrists which match the rope type we found when we raided Clope’s house. Plus, we have the direct conversations of Elliot admitting to the murder with him. Problem is because of the way the information was obtained then it may not stand up in court when we extradite him."

I sighed deeply. "If you can extradite him," I emphasized. Elliot is going to get away with it again. Now I’m a target. He knows about me. I got the Viper and Clope gunning for me. Did you find anything on files in his house? His chamber? Did you obtain a search warrant? I asked in a tangled breath.

I know you’re nervous. I can tell. Elliot can’t touch you; we expect him to come for you. If he even takes a piss in another country and he’s spotted, we're going to bring him in. Clope, too. He’s on watch. Elliot is a smart guy – he ain’t a billionaire for no reason. His files are impeccable in terms of business paperwork. No trails. It might take us years to unravel if he is laundering money. Clope has legit dealings with Elliot in terms of real estate. So far, we can’t find any holes. The Elliot clan have deep connections globally. It’s a tough nut to crack. I’ve been tracking this guy for years waiting for him to slip. We know he had something to do with those drug shipments on the wharf. We ain’t got enough on that, though.

I sipped my coffee which I was a third of the way through and walked over to my corkboard. Elliot’s face was plastered all over it with pins and information. Connecting the dots, or trying to. Keep me posted, Dermas. I need a vacation. This shit has me up at night.

Dermas chuckled, a laugh between two weary justice warriors. Hey, you and me both. My wife thinks I know more about Elliot than our marriage. Shit’s crazy. If you even feel like one thing is suspicious, call my direct line. Don’t hesitate. Try to stay sane and take that holiday. Sounds like you could do with a sea change, the shit never stops and there will always be another criminal to chase.

I nodded my head silently. The thought had crossed my mind several times. I know. I can’t live my life in fear. I got a few cases piling up. Ever since the newspaper articles and shit leaking to the press with my involvement on the last case, I’ve had more work than I can throw a stick at.

Dermas laughed again. Comes with the territory. Listen, I gotta roll, but remember what I said. If you come up with any clues or anything, remember you can hit my line.

I ran my hand through my thick ebony hair. Yup. I will, thanks, Dermas.

Bye, Sara, The phone clicked dead. I drained the last of my coffee, scrutinizing my criminal corkboard. It might even be time to look into the family lineage, but that was a Pandora’s box and might take me months I didn’t have. Who was behind Elliot? His father had to know where Elliot was hiding. First, I needed some fresh air to clear out the mental cobwebs.

I stepped out the front door letting the Maywood breeze soothe my nerves. I walked with purpose to Little Birdy Café, my favorite coffee shop of all time. As usual, old school classics pumped through the café when I arrived, taking me back in time. A young dude with a criss cross red and black flannelette shirt and jeans bopped his head to whatever his headphones were playing. Two young giggly girls laughed and pointed to a group of guys out front of the glass windows of the café.

An open face greeted me at the counter.

Hi Devin, how you doin’? I smiled. I’d been coming to Little Birdy Café for the last three years and as long as I’d been here Devin had been part of the furniture.

Hey, Sara. You’re kinda famous now, right? I saw you on the news. Some sort of kidnapping with a supermodel, huh? he quizzed, as he turned the knobs on the coffee machine. I know your order. I’ll start. Same as usual, right?

I sighed with irritation. Yup. My eyes darted around as I cringed at being exposed.

I don’t really want to talk about that case anymore. I’ve done it to death. I just came in for a coffee, I tried to divert his attention. Devin, unaware of my shame over the matter, lowered his head to concentrate on my coffee order. A red-headed woman with a baby stared at the news, giving me the once over. I gave her a chaste smile. I knew the raspberry patches of heat were rising to the surface of my cheeks.

Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I just saw it and thought to ask you about it. I put my hand up to stop Devin from talking.

It’s ok. No problem. I’m going to be sitting in my usual spot near the window. I slid over the money at the counter. Keep the change. I pursed my lips together as I slid into the window seat. Everybody knew about the kidnapping. I pressed my fingers to my temple. The stabbing pain of a stress headache threatened to overtake my eyesight. I lifted my hands out of my pocket and clasped them together in front of me. I focused on the cute little daisies in mason jars in the middle of every table. I moved the mason jar from side to side; my hands needed occupying. The pressure from all the eyes on me made me tighten up. I breathed out slowly as I let my mind drift. Where could I get away from it all? Where could I just breathe and soak up the sun? I jumped up from the table and reached for a magazine out of the rack. Devin brought my hot coffee to the table moments later.

I’m sorry I overstepped the mark before. I’m sure you’ve been bombarded by everyone about it all, Devin said smoothly with a grin on his face. I pegged Devin to be in his late twenties. Cute, I’m sure he got plenty of ladies’ attention. Devin had both lean arms on the chair opposite me, looking me square in the face. I gazed at his pupils. Dilated. Part of my training I guess. The way he leaned his body over the chair and licked his lips. I knew what was coming. He adjusted the menu on the table before he pounced.

Hey, it’s alright. I’m just over it right now. But it comes with the territory of being a P.I.

Devin hung off my every word and kept gazing at my mouth. I cleared my throat a little, preparing myself to ignore him by looking at the magazine I had in hand. His presence was still there, playing with the menu.

So hey, Devin said hesitantly.

I placed my lips over the mug, sipping my coffee. Yes?

You’ve been coming in here a long time and I’ve never seen you with a guy. Are you single? He pulled his hand back, looking over his shoulder to his vacant coffee post.

I tilted my head at him a little. Yes, I am. Don’t remind me, I mumbled. Instantly Robert’s hard body pressing against me in the café eclipsed my mind. I closed my eyes briefly to erase him.

I ah… wondered if you would like to go out with me sometime? Just like... go listen to some music or something. Do you like bands?

I gazed one more time at Devin. Couldn’t hold a candle to Elliot. I placed my mug down.

Maybe I should go, might take my mind off things with Robert.

Sure, why not? And yes – I like bands, I smiled warmly at him.

His grin turned up a thousand watts. Great. I uh... got a pen here. Can you write your number down? He grabbed the pen from behind his ear and ripped a piece of paper from his notepad.

I looked up at him through my lashes. Ok. I wrote my number down on the piece of paper and gave it to him. No harm.

He stuffed it in his pocket and winked. I’ll give you a call soon, Sara.

Not knowing what to do with my hands I hung onto my mug for security purposes. Ok.

What did I just agree to? In my mind it couldn’t be any worse than the cop that asked me to go fishing with him and his buddies. Tuh.

2

Elliot

T hey ain’t got nothing. Can’t touch me boss, Clope’s raspy voice replied cockily.

You on the burner phone? I asked lightly. I had to be sure. If the feds traced the call, he just made it harder for me. I was in front of a world class view, a landscape postcard on steroids. I was calling my right-hand man to feel out the situation.

No doubt, what do you take me for boss? I been at this a minute. I ain’t let you down yet, Clope, my clean-up guy, responded.

You damn sure have been close, Clope, I warned. I let the seaside air hit the open vessel of my chest. I had a few buttons undone with a Henny on the rocks in front of me. I swirled the amber liquid around in the glass thinking over my next assault on the world.

Clope’s raspy Boston laugh boomed through the phone. You ain’t got nothing to worry about, boss. I got you. By the way, that property on Long Island went through sweet. Smooth deal. You up six mil on that one. Clope, my undertaker, was doing good work for the most part. I just had to bide my time long enough to slip back into New York and resume the throne. Looking out over the still crystalline waters with the gleam of light dancing like diamonds, I knew Portugal could be a blessing in disguise. A new arm of my operational expansion was coming into view. As an Elliot, we didn’t stay down or out of sight for long.

Good, that’s what I like to hear. Evana? You got any leads? I pressed.

Nah. Nothing yet. I’m on it. That Viper guy disappeared, too. We paid that son of a bitch handsomely.

Leave that one alone. Safe to say we’re not hiring him again, I replied sarcastically. I flicked my Rolex over on my wrist while the sun hit my toned athletic legs. I would have to move from people watching as they were starting to burn a little.

You got that right. Evana is long gone. I don’t know where but if she’s in New York the toaster is on for her. Know what I mean? Clope threatened.

I let a throaty laugh escape. Yeah, I know what you mean. I give it a couple of years. I gotta clear the air here and talk to Pops; I need a defense attorney. Let’s see if I can get the same one OJ Simpson had. Look into it for me, I ordered.

Clope was as deftly deceitful and built for the crime game as me. We were a good one-two combo. Boss, you’re a wild one. If they only knew, he added.

I held my glass up to that sentiment from my end. "If they only knew Clope. If only. Let’s keep that between you and me. We got bigger fish to fry. Find out about the Columbians. The Pecador crew. I know they probably got a hit out on me for delivering a dud satellite."

Yeah. I’m not gonna lie on that one. You’re going to need an army. I’m working on it from my end.

Good and I got some allies in place that will back me up. Some deals I’m setting up right now. It’s going to work out. It’s all about strategy, baby. How are you holding up? Feds pressing you? I let the amber liquid loosen up tension in my veins. I was in the mood for some partying and I knew just the spot to take it to.

I mean yeah. But they can’t touch me, they don’t have the evidence to force a conviction or nuthin’ Clope sounded confident but given the years he’d been running from the law I knew anything could change at any minute. Hence the slight deviation in plan to the capital of Portugal, Lisbon. I’ve been here many times. Built some solid relationships of all kinds. The least I could do was reward the getaway with a party. As the soft billowy winds of Portugal drifted by, my mind opened to the hot detective. Ms. Clemens. Those soft rose-stained lips. I longed to taste them again, to have her buckle at the knees from my touch. It would only be a matter of time. My phone reverberated on the plastic table in front of me as I watched the sea waves lick the shoreline.

Hullo, I answered sharply.

Boa tarde. We meet at Rua Moeda say four horas, a gravelly voice commanded through the other end of the line.

Está bem, brother, I responded.

"Are you