Beauty in Hiding Read online

  Derrick looked past the phone to the man. “I’m back on the wagon today.”

  “Figured you’d turn your paltry cash into the two hundred grand you owe me?”

  Derrick tried his most charming smile. “Worth a try.”

  Quentin pocketed his phone and shook his head slowly. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you. We tried talking sense into you—”

  “I’ve got a—”

  “I was sure,” Quentin said, “after we had that little chat with your girlfriend, you’d come to your senses.”

  Derrick tried to blink away the images that reminder brought. Harper, black-and-blue and terrified after the attack. She’d known it was his fault. What she hadn’t grasped was that it was her fault, too. If she’d worked with him instead of against him, he’d have gotten the money from Gramps months ago.

  “I’m doing everything I can,” Derrick said. “And that little stunt of yours just made it harder.”

  “Stunt, huh?” Quentin looked beyond Derrick to the goons behind him. “Can you believe this guy?”

  Rambo and his sidekick remained silent.

  Derrick pushed his glasses up. “Look, I’ve got a plan. I’ll get your money, every penny.”

  Quentin’s gaze was hard. “Money isn’t the only issue.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “My guys in Baltimore, they’re missing. You know anything about that?”

  Derrick’s mind raced. Guys in Baltimore? Who could he…? “You mean Keith and his goon friend?”

  Behind him, Rambo grunted. Maybe goon hadn’t been the best word choice.

  “I had two men on the payroll, and you were one of their jobs. They reported their chit-chat with your girlfriend, and I haven’t heard from them since.”

  Rambo approached from behind. Derrick didn’t turn, but he could feel the man’s heat on his back, his breath on his neck.

  “My employees get nervous when fellow employees go missing.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Derrick said.

  Rambo dropped a huge hand on Derrick’s shoulder, squeezed the trapezius muscle hard.

  Derrick was on his knees almost before the pain registered. “I swear, I know nothing.” His voice was high-pitched, but he couldn’t lower it. “Harper and my grandfather disappeared that weekend. Maybe she did something to them.”

  Behind him, the goon removed his hand, and Derrick had to fight to keep from collapsing in a heap. He rubbed the sore spot, swallowed hard, and stood.

  “If we learn you came against my men”—Quentin’s words were slow and measured and deadly serious—“you’ll want to do yourself in before one of us gets to you.”

  He lifted his hands, palms out. “I have no idea what happened. I never saw them that weekend.”

  Quentin nodded and tapped the table in front of him with a pen. “If you can’t come up with the cash, I can think of some other ways to get what’s owed me. I have an associate who might be interested in a trade, and that girlfriend of yours… I’ve done a little digging. Seems she might be able to earn back—”

  “I’ll get you the money.” At this point, Harper didn’t deserve better than what Quentin was suggesting, but Derrick couldn’t stomach any other man’s hands on her. She was his. Until he was done with her, she belonged to him.

  Quentin dropped the pen on the desk and stood. “I’ve given you extension after extension, listened to your promises over and over. No more lies, no more promises. And there’ll be no payment plans. I expect the entire balance in one week.”

  A week? Even if he found Gramps and did him in, he wouldn’t get his inheritance in a week. “That’s not enough time.” He’d tried to keep his voice measured but failed, and the words had come out squeaky and scared.

  A smile spread across Quentin’s features. “Between your wealthy grandfather and your, shall we say, talented girlfriend, I’m sort of hoping you don’t make your deadline. Seems I might be able to find a way to get back my investment with interest. And I won’t need you at all. Of course, once I no longer need you…” He shrugged. “Nobody gets away with not paying me back.”

  Derrick swallowed a huge lump in his throat.

  Quentin laughed, looked past Derrick. “You should see his face. White as a corpse.”

  That elicited a chuckle from one of the goons.

  Derrick tried to act nonchalant, act as if he received death threats all the time. He glanced at his watch. “I have a flight.”

  Quentin stood, gestured toward the door. “Don’t let us keep you.”

  Derrick started to turn, but Quentin held him in place with a lifted palm. He looked past Derrick again. “Doesn’t seem fair that his girlfriend got beat up and he walked away without a scrape.”

  Behind him, one of them gripped his upper arms.

  “We don’t want to do anything that’ll keep him from paying me back.” He gave Derrick a quick assessment. “He seems a bit delicate.”

  Derrick’s arms ached from the man’s meaty grip, but he tried to look tough and unconcerned.

  Quentin said, “Just pop one of his eyes out and send him on his way.”

  Before he could react, the goon flipped him off his feet. Derrick landed on his back, lost his breath.

  Rambo straddled him and pressed his arms into the floor.

  The smaller goon leaned over Derrick’s head. He used one hand to hold his eye open. In the other, Derrick saw the glint of a knife.

  It closed in.

  He had no breath to scream. No energy to fight. All he could do was lie there and watch as the knife neared his face. The little goon smiled.

  An eternity passed before Quentin laughed. “All right, all right. Let him keep the eye for now.”

  The goons let him go and stood, relaxed, as if this were the most normal situation in the world.

  The whole thing had happened so fast, Derrick still didn’t have his breath back.

  Then, Rambo kicked him in the side.

  Derrick rolled in to the fetal position and waited for more blows.

  “Look at me,” Quentin said.

  Derrick forced himself to shift, though his ribs protested the movement. He sat up and did as he was told.

  Quentin’s lips pressed together as he shook his head. ”I don't know why I keep giving you chances to betray me. But hey, I guess I'm just a good guy. Trusting, you know? So here you are. One. Last. Chance. You blow it, you’re dead, and I’ll get what I need from your grandfather and that girlfriend of yours.”

  Derrick struggled to stand, tried to get air into his lungs.

  The sidekick opened the door and looked up and down the hall. Then Rambo pushed Derrick out of the room. He stumbled and crashed against the opposite door and fell in a heap.

  One of them tossed his suitcase on top of him. The door slammed, leaving Derrick alone.

  He couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

  Finally he got a deep breath, touched his eyes to reassure himself they were both there. His ribs throbbed. Broken, bruised? Should he go to the emergency room?

  He didn’t know. Couldn’t think.

  His shoulder ached.

  He pressed a hand to his head where it had hit the door. A knot was already forming.

  Slowly, muscles protesting and lungs tight, he used the door knob to pull himself up and hobbled to the elevator, dragging his suitcase behind him.

  Every minute waiting for the elevator was torture. He needed to be around people, somewhere Quentin and his goons couldn’t hurt him again. He’d take the stairs but feared he might pass out.

  Finally, the elevator came, and he stepped in beside a mother with two kids. She took one look at him and pulled her kids behind her.

  In the lobby, Derrick made his way toward the front door to get a taxi to the airport. Those few minutes in Quentin’s hotel room had been terrifying, but they could have ended so much worse.

  Derrick was walking away.

  He would get Quentin’s money. He just had
to get his hands on Gramps and Harper and figure out a way to get Gramps to hand over two hundred grand. If Derrick had to hurt them… Well, the old man shouldn’t have been so stingy.

  And Harper shouldn’t have betrayed him.

  They both had it coming.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tuesday turned out to be a beautiful day. The sky was bright blue, and the temperature was predicted to hit a very unseasonable sixty-five. Jack had worked double-time to finish the projects he’d started the day before. He caught up by lunchtime and was on his way to look at a multi-unit property in the next town when Ginny called to reschedule.

  “Let’s do it tomorrow,” she said. “Meanwhile, you keep visualizing the kind of property you want to find.”

  He rolled his eyes and swallowed his retort. “I’ll pray about it, too.”

  “Right,” she said. “Well, then…”

  They made an appointment for the following day, and he turned the truck around too fast, causing it to slide on the gravely road. He’d really been looking forward to seeing the place. He should go home, get some painting done. Except the weather was so beautiful.

  And he couldn’t stop thinking about Red and Harper, his confusion and her bruises. They’d faded now, but after Red’s aggression the day before…

  He was traveling through downtown Nutfield when he turned on a whim and parked at the food bank. He let himself in the back door.

  It wasn’t a client day, so the warehouse was empty of people. Voices came from the rec center, but he passed the entrance and knocked on the door to Vanessa’s office.

  On the other side of the door, he heard the scrape of a chair, then Vanessa’s voice. “Come in.”

  He opened the door to find a man standing in front of her desk. Her eyebrows were lifted. “We are finished here.”

  “Look,” the man said, “I’m just trying to—”

  “I have it under control.” Vanessa regarded him with a cool look. “But I thank you for your concern.”

  “For your clients,” the man said.

  In the awkward silence that followed, Jack said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

  The man turned. He was a little taller than Jack, maybe a little older, and right now, his jaw was clenched tight. “Not your fault. The woman’s stubborn streak is wider than the Atlantic.”

  He brushed past Jack, who turned to Vanessa with raised eyebrows. “You okay?”

  She waved off his comment and the man who’d just stormed off. “He had some ideas, which I said I would think about. He calls me stubborn. He has all the patience of a newborn with a … a bottom rash.”

  “Diaper rash?”

  She waved that off, too. “What do you need?”

  He nodded toward the chair across from her desk. “Do you mind?”

  “One moment.” She tapped on her keyboard before she pushed it away and turned to him.

  Jack sat. “I wanted to talk to you about Harper and Red.”

  “Harper apologized. Apparently her phone does not work well.”

  “So she said.”

  “She told me to call McNeal’s if something else happens, and I said I would do that.”

  “Yeah, I figured.”

  “You know everything. Why are you here?”

  He tried to stop the smile but failed. Some people found her abrasive, but he knew better. Vanessa had built a wall around herself, this facade of anger. But he’d known her long enough to see the big heart underneath.

  Maybe whatever had caused her to build her wall had enabled her to see beyond Harper’s. “I’m worried about them. When they first moved in, Harper had some bruises.”

  “I saw the one on her cheek,” she said. “There were others?”

  “A big one on her arm. And maybe a sprained wrist. Seemed like she was favoring it. I was just wondering if you think… I don’t know what to do. Red’s such a nice guy, but you saw him yesterday. I wonder if, when he has those episodes—”

  “You think he did that to her?”

  “Not on purpose. I don’t know what to think.”

  Vanessa looked past him, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Finally, she said, “I do not think so. I think she is here because of those bruises, no?”

  “Oh.” That made sense. “You’re saying she came to Nutfield—”

  “Because some man showed his displeasure with his fists. Do you not think so?”

  “I hadn’t—”

  “And if her grandfather had given her those bruises, then why would she have brought the problem with her?”

  “That’s a good point. But…” He told her about the cut to Harper’s forehead.

  “What did she say about it?”

  “That he didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Then you must believe her. If she wants to confide in you, she will. But do not be surprised if she doesn’t. Women in her situation do not trust men easily.”

  The image of the man who’d just stormed out flashed in Jack’s mind. Vanessa didn’t trust men so easily, either. Jack knew that well enough. She’d treated him just as coolly when he’d first started volunteering. He wasn’t sure she trusted him now.

  Jack stood. “Thanks for your advice. If she tells you anything you feel like I need to know…”

  Her eyebrows rose.

  “I mean, as her landlord and neighbor, I want to make sure she’s safe.”

  “We will have to trust Harper to share what she wants to share with whom she wants to share it.”

  Jack walked out of Vanessa’s office feeling not at all reassured. How could he keep Harper safe if he had no idea who he was trying to protect her from?

  He decided not to examine why he felt it was his responsibility.

  It wouldn’t hurt to check on Red, make sure everything was okay after the episode the day before. Maybe Red would be lucid enough to tell him about his real estate business. And maybe he’d give Jack some insight about what was going on with them.

  He stepped into the rec center. A couple of women were sitting on the couches facing the TV. Red and Steve, as usual, were seated at the game table with playing cards spread in front of them.

  Red pushed himself to his feet when Jack walked in. “Good to see you, son. It’s been a while. Where you been?”

  Jack gripped his outstretched hand and glanced at Steve, who was shaking his head slightly. Seemed Red had no memory of the day before.

  “Keeping busy,” Jack said. “How about you?”

  He lowered himself into the chair. “Just beating Steve at gin.”

  “You wish, old man.” Steve’s oversize ears wiggled with his smile.

  Jack sat between them. “Don’t let me stop you.”

  The men resumed their game, and Jack watched for a few minutes. They both seemed sharp and aware.

  “I was hoping you’d tell me about your real estate business, Red,” Jack said.

  Red picked up a card, studied it, and set it on the discard pile. “What do you wanna know?”

  Jack shrugged. “Whatever you want to tell me, I guess. I’m trying to learn all I can.”

  For the next hour, Red and Steve regaled Jack with stories of their real estate ventures. It didn’t take long for the men to start one-upping each other, though it was clear that while Steve had only dabbled, Red had built a solid enterprise.

  “At one point,” Red said, “I owned over five hundred rental units. Most of them were small apartment buildings or multifamily homes.”

  “Lot of work,” Jack said.

  “Sure, sure. But it wasn’t like I managed them.”

  Jack was the manager for a lot of local investors, so he understood the importance of that part of the business. He hoped to be able to farm out the management of his properties one day, too.

  “But you sold most of them?” Jack asked.

  Red picked up the deck of cards, which by then had been sitting, forgotten, on the table for some time. He shuffled it a few times.

  Something in the man’s
eyes kept both Jack and Steve quiet. Was that regret? For what?

  Finally, Red tapped the edge of the cards on the table and set the deck down. “I sold almost all of them, put the money in a trust for my grandson.” He blinked. “Grandkids, I mean.”

  Jack didn’t miss the slip. What did it mean? “Why’d you get out?”

  “Too much work for an old man. Got to where I’d look at the numbers, and I just couldn’t… They didn’t make sense to me like they used to.”

  Jack wrestled with something to say. He ended up with, “Well, that sucks.”

  Red chuckled. “Gettin’ old ain’t for sissies, kid, lemme tell you.”

  “You said it.” Steve slammed his hand on the table.

  The white-haired woman looked up from her needlepoint and shushed them.

  Red and Steve chuckled. “The librarian’s mad at us,” Red whispered.

  Jack’s question must’ve shown on his face, because Steve tipped his head toward the women. “Forty years she worked as a school librarian. Never seen her with a book, but lemme tell you, she doesn’t put up with loud pupils.”

  Jack chuckled, focused on Red again. “The other day, you said you still owned some properties.”

  “I haven’t been able to part with my earliest investments. They’re single-family homes, and they got me started. Helped me believe I could do it. They have sentimental value. And the renters have been there forever. When the renters move out, I’ll sell.”

  Jack pulled out his cell and navigated to the link his Realtor had sent him. “I’m thinking about buying this place.” He showed Red the property.

  The old man peered through his glasses with narrowed eyes. “How much per unit.”

  Jack told him, then went on to explain what he knew about the place. “Most of the units have been updated, and the plumbing is—”

  “All that stuff’ll break,” Red said. “Figure everything in the house will eventually need to be replaced or repaired over the life of the loan.”