Chapter 10CassieLink
Chapter 10
Cassie
“Get up!” I yell at Lincoln the second the bullets stop.
He jumps off me and helps me to my feet in time to catch the car's tail end speeding away.
Lincoln pulls out a notebook from his back pocket, and I run to the front seat to grab my phone.
“Don’t call the cops!”
“I’m not!”
I open my notes app and start typing everything I can remember.
- Four-door, black sedan, dark tint
- At least 3 men, white with ski masks
- Tag 4XB…
“I thought it was an eight,” Lincoln says, and I realize I’ve been reciting everything out loud.
“Looked like a B to me. Did you get the rest?”
“No, but that’s a good start.” He flips a page in his notebook, and I catch him smiling at me.
“What?” I’m still running through the whole thing, trying to pick up on any subtle details.
Were there markings on the car?
Montana plates?
Front plate?
Did I see the front?
“You remind me so much of him,” he says. His smile widens. “Right to business.”
“Shut up and write before you forget something!”
I can’t handle any sentimentality. Not right now. And not from Lincoln Suco. I’m barely holding it together as it is.
Quinn comes running out the door, phone to her ear. “Did you hear—” Her breath catches in her throat as she sees us, and then her eyes go to my rental car.
I follow her gaze, knowing already what I’m about to see.
It’s riddled with holes.
I will never be allowed to rent a car in this country again.
“Look,” Lincoln says, running a finger over a line of bullet holes.
I turn to examine each hole as his finger glides over them. “Different sizes.”
“Exactly. At least two calibers. This is good.”
“ Good?! ” Quinn and I yell at the same time.
Lincoln writes something in his notebook. “Yeah, more chance to figure out who did this. If one of the guns was registered or used in a crime…”
“How often do you get shot at?” I ask him because he seems unnaturally calm right now.
All I get is a shrug, which irritates me more than I care to admit. His getting shot at often also bothers me more than it should, another thing I don’t want to admit.
Quinn still has the phone to her ear. Lincoln goes over and takes it from her, pushes the Lock Screen button, and hands it back. “Let’s keep this to ourselves for now. We need to get a jump on them.”
Them who?
“I have to report this. Look at my car!”
We all survey the damage once more. It’s worse this time around. All I see are dollar signs, each bullet hole sounding like the cha-ching of a cash register. Cha-chings I don’t have.
Lincoln grabs my arms and turns me around so I’m not looking at the carnage. “Look, you gotta trust me on this. We need to find who did this and bring them to justice. Then you can fill out paperwork.”
I look to Quinn for support, with ‘Can you believe this guy?’ written all over my face. But she’s nodding in agreement.
What’s going on in this town?
Lincoln squeezes my arms before letting me go and returning his attention to Quinn. She pulls out her phone, ready to take notes as if this is their routine. “Three guys, including the driver. Could be a fourth, but the windows were too dark. A black four-door sedan pulled in off Franklin, rolled down two passenger side windows, and shot small-caliber handguns. All three appeared Caucasian, mid-twenties, right-handed.”
“No.”
“Huh?” Lincoln says, spinning around to furrow a brow at me. I used to like that expression on him when he aimed it at suspects. Not so much now.
“The driver was left-handed.” I reach out my left hand to demonstrate firing a gun, then catch myself and drop it.
“No,” Lincoln says, scrunching up his face and turning to match the driver's position. He reaches out with his right hand, then his left, then back to the right. He does this several times before smiling wide. “Definitely, right-handed.”
“Yes!” I turn around to match his stance, squat where the driver would have been sitting, and reach out my left hand. “Definitely left. His elbow was on the steering wheel.”
Lincoln crouches beside me. “Yeah, but if I’m turning around this far…” He twists to prove his point. “I’d have to put my elbow on the steering wheel to steady myself. Leverage.” He waves the elbow in question.
“Yeah, you ! These guys are much, much younger.” I watch the jab land and feel less satisfied than I expected.
“Exactly,” he says, recovering quickly. “And way less experienced.”
I roll my eyes and catch Quinn trying not to do the same. She looks way too pleased watching us go at each other. I’m glad my misery can be her entertainment.
“What does experience have to do with which hand you shoot with?” My hands go to my hips, and I’m sure it’s to keep from shoving Lincoln out of my face.
“It has everything to do with knowing what you saw.”
My mouth hangs open, and Quinn gasps.
“What I saw was a left-handed man aiming a gun at my face.”
“Your face was in the car's floorboard, thanks to my catlike reflexes. You’re welcome, by the way.” He straightens up and looks at Quinn with the same expression I did earlier, and the sight of it sets my blood on fire.
“I’m welcome? For what? This is probably all your fault!”
“My fault?” Lincoln yells back.
“Why would someone shoot me ? I just got here. This is one of your fellow unsavory characters! What have you done, Lincoln?”
“Don’t call me that!” he shouts in a tone that’s clearly mocking me.
Quinn snorts in laughter, and I glare at her. Then, she says the worst thing that could possibly come out of her mouth right now. “So, left or right-handed?”
“Left!”
“Right!”
“Is your ego so fragile that you can’t handle someone else being right?”
He shrugs. “People can be right. You just aren’t.”
The urge to shove him grows stronger. Instead, I shove my hands in my pockets.
“Tell you what,” Lincoln says in a tone I don’t care for. I just know that whatever he says next is going to infuriate me. “How about a friendly wager?”
“Not feeling very friendly toward you right now.”
Again, Quinn laughs. “I think you’ve met your match, Link.”
“Even better,” Lincoln continues, ignoring Quinn’s remark.
I wonder how right she is. Besides my dad, I don’t know anyone who could go toe to toe with the Lincoln Suco. Makes me want to take the bet, regardless of what’s at stake, just to see him fall off that high horse.
“How?” I take the bait.
“You’ll actually fight for it. If you think you’re right, stay here until we solve the case, and let’s see which of us was right… handed.” He adds the last word with a wink and a smirk.
I take a deep breath to keep from losing it. “So, you’re saying this whole thing is because of a stupid necklace?”
“That thing is worth a lot of money, but no. This goes beyond a necklace. This is our little town’s very own Hatfield and McCoy feud.”
“So, you think it’s Phineas Abrams.”
Another shrug.
Is he refusing to commit to a theory so he can intervene at the last second and claim he was right all along?
“I don’t know, for sure, who it is. I doubt Phin was in that car just now. But he’s probably behind it,” he claims smugly, rocking on his toes.
“As opposed to one of your other unsavory character friends.” I raise my eyebrows.
“Only a few of my friends would qualify as unsavory, but none of them would try to shoot me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
Lincoln laughs and claps a hand on my back. “Does that mean you’ll take the bet?”
“What are we betting?”
“Whatcha got?”
I groan and shrug his hand off me. “Depends. Are we betting whether the driver was left-handed—which he was—or that it was one of your unsavory characters?”
“Either. Both.”
Quinn looks like she’s positively vibrating with excitement.
“Fine. You take no cut of the fee when we find out the driver’s left-handed. All of it goes to paying the past due bills.”
“And you pay them with your Hollywood money when we see he’s right-handed?” He smirks again.
What Hollywood money?
“You get to keep your usual fee percentage, but the rest goes to the bills. And I forfeit any cut I would get.” I square my shoulders, intending to show him I mean business.
Lincoln’s expression changes, and I realize he hadn’t planned on giving me a cut. “And the shooting?”
“If it’s one of your other unsavory characters, you stop writing about my dad’s cases.”
“Our cases.” An unreadable expression flits over his face for a moment.
I cross my arms over my chest.
“Fine, but if it’s Phin, you stay,” he adds triumphantly.
“What?” I gasp. “You can’t… that’s not fair. That’s my whole life you want me to uproot over a bet!”
“You want me to stop writing.”
“No, I want you to stop using my father’s heroism to sell your books.” My dad wouldn’t have tried to profit off those stories, and if he had, I’m certain he would have written them differently than Lincoln will. Fresh grief and pain wash over me. I can’t help myself. I step toward him and start poking him in the chest. How dare he not see what he’s doing to my dad’s memory?
Link
Cassie’s fingernail keeps digging into my chest as she pokes with each angry word coming out of her mouth. It should be infuriating. I wish it were infuriating. But it’s not.
God help me, it’s not.
I never realized how beautiful she was. Even seeing her on TV didn’t do her justice. Up close, with that fire in her eyes, the way her chest heaves as she’s spewing verbal bullets at me, she’s breathtaking.
I can’t breathe.
Maybe it’s all the adrenaline from what we’ve just been through. Or seeing her now after all this time. The bond we share over how much we miss Robby.
Whatever it is, it’s dangerous. It’s making me want to do things I can’t take back.
Do it!
I close my eyes and try to catch my breath, hoping it makes some sense.
But when I open them and feel her finger against my chest one more time, I lean toward her. Ready to take the chance.
But as my lips part, I hear it. The crack in her voice when she says, “You know if he were here now, he’d—” She doesn’t get the last part out. And I stop leaning toward her.
Could I have read this all wrong?
I grab her and pull her in tight. At first, she struggles, but then I feel all the air expel from her chest, and she sags against me. I hold her there for who knows how long, being the rock, she needs right now.
When she tenses, and I know she’s about to pull away, I try to put her at ease. “You know, I think your puffy blouse is the most expensive thing to touch my skin in my entire life.”
It doesn’t have the desired effect. Instead of laughing and settling back into me, Cassie jerks back and examines her shirt. The way she’s poking the fabric, it’s obvious she’s checking for bullet holes.
“Ugh,” she groans, her voice still thick with unshed tears. She wipes away a streak of mud that has an unmistakable carpet design etched into it.
From where we dove into the backseat.
She gives up cleaning the stain and throws her hands in the air. “I guess it’s better than cow pies.”
“Then you haven’t had my famous Cow Pie Stew,” I add, and we both dissolve into laughter.
I feel myself inching forward as if my body is willing to risk it all for another chance at a kiss when Quinn clears her throat.
Cassie and I look around and let go of each other, both acutely aware that we’re still in the parking lot, completely exposed.
Get your head in the game, Link!
“Come on.” I let Cassie pull away just enough to take her hand and lead her into the office. I tell myself it’s pure chivalry. She’s upset, after all.
And I almost believe it.
Once we’re inside, I steer Cassie away from the offices. The last thing she needs right now is another reminder of Robby. If I’m amped up from everything, I’m sure she’s got to be near frantic. By her death grip on my hand, I can only assume I’m right.
So I point her toward the waiting area, which isn’t much more than an old stuffy chair and loveseat from my apartment. This has me thinking of Robby and how he hated me bringing them in here when I moved into his garage… not that he wanted them there, either.
Quinn reaches across me to grab a box of tissues, a nice touch she must have added since coming to work for me. I’m about to wave it away, to tell her Cassie’s okay and doesn’t need it, when I hear a sniffle.
I freeze, but Quinn jumps into action and pulls Cassie closer. “Were any of them wearing jewelry? Rings, bracelets, necklaces?”
Cassie shakes her head.
“What about the car? Were there any markings? How dark was the tint?”
“The wheels,” Cassie says with a ragged yet determined breath. “They had these rims that looked like…” She closes her eyes and strains. “Starbursts. Six… no eight points.”
Quinn looks at me over Cassie’s head for confirmation, and I shrug.
And at this moment, I’m so proud of both my girls. Quinn for taking control and giving Cassie something to focus on, and poor Cassie for keeping enough of her wits about her to relay information even I didn’t catch.
Maybe the driver was left-handed after all.
Now I shake my head. There is no need to give in just yet.
“I’ll check my database to see if I’ve encountered any cars like that.”
“Database?” Cassie’s voice is suddenly clear of any emotion other than disbelief.
I puff my chest. “Yes, I do take my job seriously; I’ll have you know.”
“Let me see.” She pats Quinn’s hand in thanks, obviously well aware that this was a distraction technique. And it works. She heads toward my office, and I run to get in front of her. But she’s too fast.
When did her legs get this long?
She opens the door and moves to behind the desk, wiggling my mouse. “What’s your password?”
“You really think any P.I. worth his salt would just hand over his password?”
“No,” she says, still staring at me with raised brows.
“Ouch.”
But the smile her jab elicits is worth it.
I pretend to ignore her and go to the filing cabinet in the corner. I open the top drawer and pull out an accordion file.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“Your database is the same thing my Aunt Missy used to keep her coupons in?”
“Hey, Melissa was a smart woman.” I leaf through the file, find the Vehicles section, and scan through my notes. “You sure it was eight points? I don’t have anything about that here. But I have a couple that might match your description.” I pull out two pictures of the suspects’ rims.
Cassie shakes her head, still annoyed at my filing system, but takes the pictures. She gives me a quick “Nope” before handing them back.
“So, you’re sure it’s eight?”
“Mmhmm,” she says, nodding.
“Shall we add this to the bet?” I drop the pictures back in the file.
“Lincoln Suco, I’m starting to think you have a problem.”
“I do! My problem is that I haven’t had a nice home-cooked meal in I don’t know how long. I forgot what anything other than Stouffer’s tastes like.”
Cassie closes her eyes again, either because she’s had enough of me or she’s trying to remember the rims before accepting my wager. “Deal, but if it’s eight points, this database goes on a computer like a normal P.I. office.”
“Whatever. This is way more advanced than any P.I. I know.”
Cassie groans and goes back out to Quinn. “Have you seen his ‘filing system?’”
“You didn’t have to use finger quotes,” I yell out the door, even though I didn’t actually see them. I could feel them.
“Finger quotes are warranted,” she calls back.
Quinn laughs. “Yeah, I’ve been trying to bring him into this century for six months. He says I’ll thank him when the power grid goes down. So, what’s next?”
I come to the doorway and lean against the frame. “We’re cooking with fire, now! We’ve got a lot of angles to cover. Until I get solid proof Cassie’s wrong about?—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“—it not being Phin, I’ll check out those leads. And your blackmailing problem.”
“I’m not being blackmailed.” She hesitates before adding, “It’s black listed , and we’re not sure yet. And I have an investigator already.”
“No, you have a snake trying to weasel more money out of you. I won’t stand for it.”
“A snake weasel? Got it. I guess it takes one to know one.”
Quinn sucks in her lips and clamps down on them to keep from laughing.
“If you’re referring to my rate increase on this case, clearly you can see why it might be necessary.” I gesture toward the front door, where her bullet-riddled rental car still sits.
“That’s assuming you’re right. I’m still not convinced. The odds are way better that one of your other shady deals went south. Phineas wouldn’t even know we were on the case yet.”
Now Quinn does laugh. “Phineas knows everything.”
“Either way. I don’t need you poking around in my life back home.”
“This is your home.”
“Not anymore.”
I wave her words away. “I’m gonna do this for you. So, you might as well give me the details so it takes me less time.”
Her shoulders slump, and she reluctantly agrees. “Fine.”
“Great! Give me the snake weasel’s number. I wanna be the one?—”
“No!” She folds her arms over her chest. “I’ll call him and break the news. If my phone still works.” Her voice trails off, and she turns toward the front door, where her phone is lying, possibly dead in the car.
Nah.
We got out. I’m sure the phone did, too.
“I’ll do some research on the necklace.” She heads toward the door as if to leave.
I leap from the doorway, and Quinn grabs Cassie’s arm to stop her.
I knew I hired her for a reason.
“It’s best if we ride back together to discuss your case. How about dinner?” I hope she’ll accept because having her company for dinner beats eating alone.
“Uh, I, uh…” Cassie balks.
“Relax, it’s a write-off. Calm down. Besides, we’re both going to the same place already. And only one of us has a working vehicle.”
From the dark cloud that crosses her face at that remark, I know I’ve gone too far. But she relaxes and lets me lead her outside.
“Why didn’t cops show up on their own?” Cassie asks as she surveys the damage to her fancy rental car while getting her phone out of it. She inspects the phone and sighs with relief. Then looks to me for the answer.
“They knew I had it handled,” I say, trying to play it off. But really, I’m just as concerned about the lack of police presence as she is.
Maybe worse.
Because if the cops left me to handle this one on my own, the chances of Phin being involved just increased exponentially. And the chance of us getting out of this alive… didn’t.