Mama Said (5 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

Shane was still seething when he heard her scream. Immediately, his chest constricted. If this was more of her diva antics, he’d kill her.

He let out a string of curses as he crashed through the door and into the street. As soon as Patrick showed up tonight, he knew there would be even more trouble ahead. He hadn’t imagined it would be this quick, and he sure hadn’t thought the scumbag would go after Gabriella. Then again, he wouldn’t put anything past Patrick if he thought he could screw over Shane in the process.

His heart was still in his throat when he spotted her about thirty feet away. Sitting on the curb, she was singing. Singing?

“What the hell happened?”

“My…purse…” She pointed in the general direction of the alley and continued to belt out a Billie Holliday tune before moving on to Etta James.

He sprinted toward the alley, hoping whoever had done this was still around so he could beat the crap out of him. But when he got there, it was empty except for a few stray cats.

Just to make sure, he followed the alley until the end. Nothing. As he jogged back towards Gabriella, he spotted her purse. While he hadn’t caught the guy, at least he found her purse.

He was out of breath from the adrenaline rush once he got back. “I didn’t catch him. But he dropped this in the alley.”

“Am I still fired?” She tentatively reached out her hand.

Despite the circumstances, he smiled. “No, you’re not still fired.” The last thing he wanted to do was kick her when she was down, even if getting her out of his life seemed like the most prudent thing to do.

“Good.” She grabbed her purse and riffled through the contents. Immediately, she emitted a sigh of relief. “My iPod.” Then closed her eyes for a second. “My money’s gone, but I still have my wallet and my phone. Looks like I’m only missing about thirty dollars.” She chewed her lip. “You would have thought the iPod or my phone would be more valuable, but I say thank goodness for dumb criminals.”

He pulled out his wallet and gave her thirty dollars. “It’s my fault it happened, so I should reimburse you.”

He’d let Gabriella venture out alone. What an idiot.

She nodded but didn’t say anything more, which was a first as long as he’d known her. He grasped her arm and led her to his car.

“Why were you singing?” Once she settled in her seat, he asked the question, partly out of curiosity, partly to entice her into talking.

The music of BB King filled the car as she turned in her seat. “Huh? When?”

“I heard you scream, but when I came outside you were singing. You told me somebody stole your purse and pointed me in the right direction and then went back to singing.”

She twisted her fingers in her lap. This was definitely a new side to Gabriella.

“When I’m nervous or scared, I start singing.” She shrugged. “Half the time I don’t even realize I’m doing it. Somehow it makes me feel less anxious.”

“I guess that makes sense in a Gabriella kind of way.”

She plunked her head against the headrest and sighed. “I forgot to call the police.”

That was the last thing he needed or wanted right now. “This time of night it will take forever. You’ll be last in line after the stabbings and gunshots and all that other stuff that happens late at night.”

“True.” She sighed. “But I should file a police report.”

“It’s late.”

“Last I heard the police were open twenty-four hours.” She straightened in her seat and stared at him.

He grimaced. “I’ve got an appointment in less than four hours.”

“This isn’t about any appointment, and you know it. Don’t get me into the middle of this war with your brother. I had my purse stolen. A crime has been committed.”

“You got your stuff back.”

“This is ridiculous. You’re so afraid of the cops, you won’t even involve them when they should be.”

“I’m not afraid of anything.” What happened to that quiet Gabriella of a few minutes ago? He should have enjoyed that hiccup of peace while it lasted. “Don’t you get it? That wasn’t just any punk kid. He got paid to do what he did. Patrick wants you to report the crime.”

“You are so freakin’ paranoid. You’re not even making sense.” She sounded tired and grumpy. “I was fired and mugged all within thirty seconds and now you’re forcing me to listen to your cops-are-out-to-get-me paranoia. Enough already.”

He shook his head. How could he get her to understand? “If you insist on stirring up even more trouble, feel free to call the police on your own.” He sighed. “But you have no idea what kind of hell my brother can cause.”

* * *

A sleepless night didn’t make Shane’s argument make any more sense. His idea that there was some giant conspiracy operating against him was sheer lunacy. The police were the good guys.

Patrick was not the enemy. Maybe he and Shane had a rocky past, but that had nothing to do with what happened to her last night.

Besides, her brothers were police officers. What would they think if they learned she had been a victim of a crime and didn’t report it?

More determined than ever, Gabriella dumped out the contents of her purse and searched for the card Patrick had slipped into her hand the previous night. Finally locating it, she opened up her cell and dialed the number.

The phone rang several times before voice mail picked up. “This is Detective Patrick O’Neil. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”

“Patrick, this is Gabriella. I need to talk to you. I’ll call you back.” Just as she finished leaving the message, there was a knock at the door. Startled, she dropped her phone onto the wood floor.

Ohmigod, what if there was some kind of audio or video surveillance inside the apartment? Could Shane have wired the place for sound? Was everything she said being piped into the stereo of his car, or his cell, or his office, or all three simultaneously? Or was some of his paranoia rubbing off on her?

Gabriella jumped at the second knock. Convinced it was Shane stopping by to bodily throw her out of town, her voice shook as she answered. “Who is it?”

“Carissa.”

She sighed, knowing she was only marginally safer with Carissa. Her allegiance had been clear from the first day Gabriella had met her, but she had a hard time believing Shane had sent her to do his dirty work.

When she opened the door seconds later, Carissa stood on the other side. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I have to ask you a favor.” It might have been some kind of elaborate trick, but the harried look on her face said otherwise.

“Sure. What is it?”

She walked inside, nervousness reflected in her frenetic movements. Normally Carissa was calm and matter-of-fact, even when all four lines on the phone were ringing simultaneously.

“I need to get in touch with Shane. He’s working on a case, and an emergency hearing on a motion for dismissal has just been scheduled for today at five. The defense lawyer, Vince Perry, needs Shane to testify about what he found. But Shane’s teaching, so he has his phone off. Is there any way you could take a cab to let him know? I’ve got to get to class, otherwise I’d go.”

“Teaching?” She couldn’t imagine him teaching anything except how to be grumpy twenty-four-seven.

Preoccupied, Carissa paced back and forth in the small apartment. “This never happens. Everyone knows Wednesday afternoons are sacred for Shane.” She took a deep breath, as if trying to find another way out of this puzzle. But in the end, she couldn’t. “He volunteers every Wednesday afternoon at one of the high schools.” Based on her move towards the door, it was pretty obvious she didn’t want to elaborate.

Any qualms Gabriella might have had were overridden by a serious case of curiosity. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right down.”

She took a quick shower and threw on a jean skirt and camisole top. After laying out her clothes for the evening in case she didn’t have a lot of time when she got back, she applied a minimum of makeup and made her way downstairs.

After getting the address from Carissa, she hailed a cab. The cabbie seemed reluctant after she gave him the address, but eventually acquiesced when she agreed to a twenty-dollar bonus for his troubles.

It took only twenty minutes or so to reach the school. The neighborhood was drastically different from the one where she’d been. The cab traveled a series of streets where men were hanging out on corners, holding paper bags in their hands likely filled with booze or crack pipes or God only knew what. She didn’t see any women or children, only desperate-looking men and boarded up storefronts.

She was a little nervous. Was this some kind of elaborate plot to drive her out of town by scaring her? “Are you sure you know where the school is?”

“Yeah, lady. That school is no place for sissies. I don’t set foot in this neighborhood once it gets dark. There’s a shooting in this area a couple of times a week. I’ll drop you off right in front. There should be guards inside the doors. I’ll wait until you get in before I leave. I promise.”

He pulled in front of a building that looked too old to be a school. Thirty or more worn cement steps led to an entrance that must have been grand at the time it was built.

Just as the cabbie had said, an armed guard stood inside the door. She bounded up the stairs as quickly as possible with the eerie sensation that somebody was chasing her. Even though nobody was, she was glad when the guard opened the door as soon as she reached the top.

“I need to find Shane O’Neil.” She was out of breath, more from nervousness than exertion.

The guard nodded. “He’s in the gym. Down that hall, and then turn right.” The man motioned with his hand as he spoke.

“Thanks.” A prickle of fear climbed up her spine as she made her way down the hallway. Maybe it was the cabbie’s stories that had her so uneasy. Maybe it was the unsettling silence grating on her nerves. Maybe it was simply the pervasive bad vibe.

She observed her surroundings. Lockers lined both sides of the hall and graffiti covered much of the available wall space. It definitely looked like a scary place to attend high school.

Students roamed the halls in groups of two or three, but none of them paid much attention as she meandered along. She turned right at the end of the hall and spotted a big door with the word
GYMNASIUM
scrawled across the top.

She peeked through the swinging door and spotted Shane. Hallelujah! She hadn’t been sent on some wild goose chase.

Surrounded by about ten or so black students, he was demonstrating what looked like a form of martial arts. Totally immersed in what he was doing, he didn’t notice her.

Since he was wearing shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt, more of his body was exposed than she was accustomed to. His biceps were defined and sculpted, his legs long and muscled. She couldn’t help thinking that his body mirrored his persona—every inch of him, inside and out, was honed and sculpted to perfection. Yet he kept others at a distance. For a fleeting few seconds, she couldn’t help wondering why.

When some of the students pointed at her, he glanced her way then returned his attention back to the students. “Marcus, take over the group. Practice your roundhouse kicks. I’ll be back in a minute.” With a puzzled look on his face, he came towards her. “What’s wrong?”

“Carissa needed to get in touch with you. Something about an emergency court hearing today at five for a lawyer named Vince Perry. She left you a message on your cell but was afraid you wouldn’t retrieve it in time.”

He nodded, his face inching into a half smile. “I guess you saw the real city on your ride over.”

His comment caught her off guard. His kindness wasn’t what she expected, especially after their disagreement last night. “Miami has its bad areas, too. Every big city does. Mix oppression with lack of money and opportunity and something bad is going to happen.”

“Did your cabbie stay to take you back?”

“Are you kidding? I barely got him to bring me here in the first place.”

He shook his head. “If you don’t mind sticking around, I’ll take you back.”

For lack of anything better to do, she walked with him towards the group of students. One of the boys spoke. “Is this your woman, Mr. O’Neil?”

“No.” Shane answered quickly, as if the idea were too absurd to enter his mind. “This is Ms. Santos.”

“Do you know martial arts?” one of the girls asked.

She shook her head. “No.” Why did she suddenly feel inadequate? “I’m a singer.” Somehow it sounded more insignificant than usual.

“I sing in the church choir. But getting paid for it is a whole different story. I’m going to try out for
American Idol
when they come back into town.”

“Maybe when Mr. O’Neil is here teaching us, you could teach kids who want to sing,” one of the girls suggested.

“I’ll only be around for a month.” She glanced at Shane, who remained silent. “Less than a month now.”

“If you’re not Mr. O’Neil’s lady, maybe you’d consider going out with me.” The boy had the swagger of a player in the body of an adolescent. When his body grew into his bravado, no doubt he’d be a lady-killer.