No One to Trust - Iris Johansen [53]
9
San Francisco
“Mrs. Russell?”
“What is it?” Clara looked over her shoulder at the two men who’d appeared from beneath the staircase. Her hand tightened on the keys she’d gotten out to unlock the door of her apartment, her fingers moving to the pepper spray on the key chain. Her son had given it to her six months ago and told her to use it if she had any trouble. Paul was always worried about her working nights in the city with all those creeps around. These men didn’t look like creeps. She knew expensive suits when she saw them. She had worked in Menswear at Macy’s for years before they transferred her to Shoes. They didn’t look like IRS either. They were too … slick. Both were dark-haired and swarthy. Maybe Mexicans. The Mexicans seemed to be taking over California. “What do you want?”
“May we come in?”
“No. Who are you?”
“Carlos Gomez.” He smiled. “I need to see your son.”
Maybe they were IRS. She stiffened. “I don’t know where he is. I haven’t seen him in years.”
“I don’t think that’s true. We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t. Find him yourself.”
Gomez took a step closer. “You’re being uncooperative. That’s not very smart.”
“Get the hell out of here.” She raised the pepper spray. “I don’t want you—” She gasped as Gomez ducked to one side and closed his hand on her wrist, numbing it. The key ring fell to the floor. “Get the keys. Open the door,” Gomez said to the smaller man as his other hand covered Clara’s mouth. “Quick.”
She struggled, her foot lashing out and connecting with Gomez’s shin. She heard him grunt as her teeth bit down on his hand.
“Shit.” He pushed her inside the apartment and slammed the door. “Bitch.” He punched her in the stomach and then backhanded her across the face.
The pain. She couldn’t breathe. She sank to her knees, gasping. She could see him towering over her through a dark haze.
Gomez smiled. “Now, let’s begin again. I need to see your son.”
“We need to talk, Galen.” Judd Morgan was standing in the door of the library. “Got a minute?”
Galen nodded and tossed his book aside. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s been several months and Logan hasn’t been able to get the agency off my back.”
“He’ll do it.”
“But how long will I have to wait? I like your ranch, but I don’t relish feeling like a prisoner while those bastards in Washington are running around free. I’m tired of waiting. It’s time I did something on my own.”
“What?”
“I’m thinking.” He smiled crookedly. “When I decide, you’ll be the first to know. I’m not whining. I just wanted you to know I’m not your problem any longer.” He turned and started toward the door. “Is it okay with you if I stick around here until I’ve made up my mind?”
Galen nodded his head.
“Good,” Judd said gravely. “Because I can’t wait to see you in that apron again. Did I tell you how cute you looked?”
“Destin, his wife, and their child are dead,” Manero said. “Destin’s car went off the road into the ocean in Antigua.”
“When?”
“Yesterday. Suspicious circumstances. I have a man in San Francisco on the way to contact Clara Russell. She didn’t answer her phone.”
“Contact, hell. Get her out of there. Tell him to hurry.” He hung up the phone. It might be too late already. He’d only met Clara Russell once, but he got the impression of a tough, hardworking, home-loving woman who was a little too loyal to her son for her own good.
It had been only one day since Destin died. But Chavez’s men would move fast. Chavez was behind them, goading them on.
They were getting too close to Elena. He had to sit down and run through the possible scenarios to see if he could find a solution.
“The woman phoned Paul Russell,” Gomez told Chavez. “We’re supposed to meet with him in two hours. She was very convincing. He won’t be suspicious.”
“It took you a long time to break her,” Chavez said.
“Seven hours. She was very stubborn. Mothers usually are, aren’t they?”
“Yes, indeed,” he said with a note of irritation.