Wanted: Girl I Once Met Read online

  Table of Contents

  WANTED: GIRL I ONCE MET

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Epilogue

  WANTED: GIRL I ONCE MET

  SONJA GUNTER

  SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

  New York

  WANTED: GIRL I ONCE MET

  Copyright©2013

  SONJA GUNTER

  Cover Design by Niina Cord.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America by

  Soul Mate Publishing

  P.O. Box 24

  Macedon, New York, 14502

  ISBN: 978-1-61935-305-3

  www.SoulMatePublishing.com

  The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

  This is an enormous heartfelt thank you

  to my friend Rosanne.

  We have been through very tough times together

  over the years.

  She has listened to my endless talking of my story

  and worked late into the night on my edits.

  If I had a million dollars I’d give it to her.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks to all my bowling friends from Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights. Without you and your encouragements I’d still be thinking about writing. I give you my appreciation, for reading pages after pages of rewrites, and for being honest when something in the story didn’t make sense.

  Thank you, Debby from Soul Mate Publishing, for making Wanted: Girl I Once Met become real.

  Last but not least, a huge sorry to my husband, Andy, who on many occasions turned in his expense reports on recycled paper featuring parts of the story. Try to explain that to the accounting department.

  Chapter 1

  Not a good sign.

  Mark Christmenn, owner-President of MAC Industries, sat in the comfort of his black limo, clenched his jaw, and tightened his grip on the door armrest. From the safety of his limo he watched FBI Agent Tom Nelson approach Hal, his personal pilot.

  Agent Nelson had requested, no, demanded, that he meet him in one hour at the Flying Cloud Airport and have his plane, Dream Catcher, ready. The agent had been abrupt and hadn’t even given Mark a chance to ask any questions before hanging up.

  Mark’s temper soared and his thoughts began to race dangerously. The moment the limo stopped, Mark opened the door. Philip, his bodyguard, sometimes chauffer, and best friend, joined him. Throwing back his broad shoulders and stiffening his arms so they wouldn’t swing, Mark took long and purposeful steps toward the waiting pair.

  “Agent Nelson, what in God’s name is so urgent that you felt it necessary to drag me out here at two o’clock in the damn morning?” Mark asked with a tone of authority. “You’re lucky I recently moved my corporate jet from the Minneapolis/St. Paul International, Lindbergh Terminal.”

  “Steven Massaro.”

  Instantly, Mark took a step back and his hands clenched into fists automatically. He felt his eyes become hardened and filled with revulsion. He flexed his hands, hating the way his body reacted to the mere mention of the man’s name.

  “Massaro?” Mark asked and cleared his throat.

  “Yup, he just arrived in San Diego. We weren’t expecting him for another month or so, but we got word he’s meeting with several known Mexican drug cartels. We think Massaro is trying to get them to join forces with the Italian mob. Right under our nose, or so he thinks. The rendezvous is taking place tonight at the Grill Restaurant. We need—”

  The roar of jet engines cut off Agent Nelson, and Mark moved closer to hear.

  “We need you in San Diego today. All the previous plans have been pushed forward. Undercover agents will meet you at the airport with updates. We’re very optimistic your presence and the sting will hang it on him.”

  “Hang what and on whom?”

  “Oh, sorry. We hope to set Massaro up with you,” Agent Nelson said.

  “Who do you want me to meet?” Mark yelled, as his eyebrows lifted and his temper flared to a withering fury. He hoped the roar of the engines hid his anger in his voice. “Are you insane? The man wants me dead!”

  “That’s why it’s so important for you to go. We’re betting Massaro will confront you.” Agent Nelson paused. “Don’t worry, the FBI, along with the DEA special teams, will be taking extra precautions for your safety. Any questions?”

  “Have you been inhaling some of the drugs you’ve confiscated? Because it sure seems like it. You want me to be in the same room with a known killer. The same man who has issued a hit on me. This is a no brainer. No. No fucking way. I’m out of here. Come on, Philip, drive me back home.”

  Mark turned on his heels and made his way back to his limo.

  “Mr. Christmenn, calm down,” Agent Tom Nelson grabbed Mark’s arm to stop him. “You have to understand, I wouldn’t have asked if I thought for a moment you’d be in harm’s way, and you did agree to help us fight this scum.”

  Mark shook his head and ran his hand through his thick, black hair. Was his company’s reputation worth dying for? Or, was he willing to die? This wasn’t what he’d agreed to.

  Mark ignored Agent Nelson and motioned for Philip to move closer to him.

  “This isn’t what the original plan was! We were to interview some new coffee brokers. Place a large order so the FBI could watch the incoming shipments for drugs.”
r />   “I know, I know,” Philip said.

  “I didn’t agree to see the man who wants me dead in person!”

  Mark shook his head. The FBI wanted hard proof, so what? He’d agreed to a very plain and simple plan. Now they wanted him to actually be in the same fucking room with Steven Massaro!

  Sweet deal for whom? Not for him! The question was, did he want to be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life?

  “You have to trust the FBI and the DEA. If these guys are taking payoffs and are responsible for placing the cocaine in your shipments, we need to stop them,” Philip said.

  “What if—?”

  Philip cut Mark off. “They’re no ‘what if’s’. Either we do this or we don’t. It’s up to you.”

  Tense lines formed on Mark’s face and he shoved his hands into his pockets in defeat. He stepped back to the waiting Agent Nelson.

  “All right, I’ll agree under one condition.”

  “I’m not here to make deals,” Agent Nelson said.

  “If you want me, then I want Philip as part of the undercover unit,” Mark stated as he felt a cold expression appear on his face. He motioned to Philip to join them again.

  “I can arrange that. I think that’s a great idea. Your actions here this morning and tonight are really appreciated.”

  Agent Nelson reached forward and shook Mark’s hand.

  “Before I change my mind, is there anything else you need to tell me?” Mark inquired, suspicious of the agent’s motives. Too much had gone unsaid, too much had been taken for granted.

  “There is one thing. We’ve arranged for you to meet with one of our agents, Harvey Johnson. The coffee world knows him as a buyer of exotic coffee beans. We’ve used his cover before which is what led us to the coffee brokers,” Agent Nelson explained as they headed to the Dream Catcher.

  “You’re positive Massaro won’t suspect anything?” Mark’s voice rose over the drone of the engines.

  “Yes. The Coffee Houses know both of you. It wouldn’t be unusual for the two of you to be seen together. I have to finish a couple of things here before I head out. I’ll meet with you later this afternoon,” Agent Nelson shouted and held out a file. “Take this file. You’ll want to read it.”

  Mark nodded and accepted the file, even though he was tempted to throw it back in Agent Nelson’s face and walk away.

  “The other part of my team will be at the San Diego Airport when you arrive. They’ll take you to a secure location until I arrive. Mark, Philip, have a nice flight,” Agent Nelson said, then left.

  Mark tucked the file under his arm and stepped up the stairs into Dream Catcher. Philip followed with their luggage.

  “Are you okay with all this?” Philip asked once inside the plane.

  “No! I mean, yes, I want to get on with my life, run my businesses, and put this damn nightmare behind us. We’ll be fine,” Mark added, more to assure himself than Philip.

  He didn’t want Philip to worry any more than he already was. He sure as hell hoped they’d be okay. With Philip as extra protection, nothing could happen, could it?

  Once in the air, Mark used the time to open the agent’s file and quickly read the reports. He wasn’t a cop or an FBI agent and here he was about to embark on some sort of mission. Guns, being wired, a bulletproof vest, and an earpiece; it all seemed unreal.

  Eyes closed, Mark pretended to be asleep when he saw Philip approach. He didn’t want to talk, and he sure as hell didn’t want to argue. He sensed Philip pass by him and then heard the cabin door shut again. So many thoughts about his life, his lack of relationships, and the business empire he was running came and went as he waited for the three-hour flight to end.

  Too soon for comfort, Mark saw the flashing yellow lights signaling their approach into the San Diego Air Force Airport and wished he had more time. But he’d never hid from anything in his life and he wasn’t going to start today.

  When Mark and Philip disembarked a group of men were waiting. A man with black hair and sunglasses stepped forward.

  “Welcome. I’m Agent Johnson from the Narcotics Division Special Services. Thanks for agreeing to help us.”

  “I can’t say I’m pleased, but I’ll do whatever it takes to get this guy out of my life,” Mark said.

  “I understand. We’ll get you to the hotel right away and meet with you later in the afternoon. It shouldn’t take long to get you wired and into the bulletproof vest. If you think of any questions, I’ll be able to answer them at that time,” Agent Johnson assured him.

  The new information, along with the knowledge that the Narcotics Division was now involved, calmed some of Mark’s fears. The division was known for monitoring narcotics. They had their own vice enforcement team that worked closely on organized crime problems specializing in narcotics. They’d been the ones that had found the cocaine in one of his shipments last year and had set this nightmare into motion.

  “Do you think he’ll try to kill me?” Mark asked Agent Johnson.

  “We’ve gathered some rather interesting information that confirmed him as a very, ah, should I say, just a little bananas about the foiled hit on you last fall. We’re betting that Mr. Massaro will attempt to take you out. We’re very confident his Italian temper will get the better of him and we can bust him.”

  Mark felt his nostrils flare and his eyes grow cold as he masked his anger. “Just who is betting on my life?”

  “No, no it’s not like that. Sorry, bad choice of words on my part. The waiters and the food staff are the Cavalry. Sorry, undercover agents. Actually, everyone but Mr. Massaro and his guests will be agents with the exception of the chef and owner.”

  “Isn’t Massaro going to suspect something if he doesn’t recognize the staff?” Philip asked.

  “It’s all part of the sting. When our informants told us they were using this restaurant as a meeting place, we moved in several months ago. The owner has several violations pending, which we used as leverage, and he was more than happy to allow us to step in,” Agent Johnson said.

  “That’s reassuring to know, unless he tries to double-cross you. I hope I’ll be able to act this out for you. I don’t want to let anyone down,” Mark said, his sarcasm clear.

  “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine. Agent Nelson has told us a lot about you. We’re done here. If you don’t have any more questions, we’ll take you to the hotel now.” Agent Johnson signaled to a waiting black SUV Cadillac.

  Mark blew out a breath. His churning gut told him something about the plan was way off. He’d have to stay focused.

  “One last thing,” the agent continued. “A special taxicab will pick you up and bring you to the restaurant. I’ll keep in touch if we have any last-minute changes. Try to relax this afternoon.”

  Adventures were something Mark had never really enjoyed, even as a kid, and this one was now on the top of his list of what things not to do.

  “Mark, you nervous? Because I sure am,” Philip said once they were alone inside the car.

  “Hell, yes. It’s not as if we put our life on the line every day. Well, I should say, I don’t, but you do. I can’t handle this much stress,” Mark replied, and wiped his sweaty hands on his pants. Normally he wouldn’t confess weakness to anyone, but he’d known Philip for years and literally trusted the man with his life.

  “You don’t have to do this. We could back out,” Philip said.

  “No, I have to. I can’t say I don’t have a bad feeling, but on the other hand, I can’t sit by and allow scumbags like Massaro and other drug cartel leaders to attempt to import drugs into the United States by shipping them concealed in imported goods. I’m not going to live my life in fear of them or their organizations. I have to do what is necessary to protect my companies and their reputations and help other importers.”

 
“I want you to know that if I thought there was even a slight chance I couldn’t protect you and you might be killed, we wouldn’t be here right now.” Philip turned to Mark and saw the tension on his friend’s face. “Want to play a couple of hands of blackjack once we get to the room?”

  Mark rubbed his fingers over his tired eyes, somewhat comforted by Philip’s words. “Philip, I am fine. You’re worse than Mrs. Weber. I just want to lie down. I need to be by myself.”

  Neither of them said anything else during the remaining ride to the hotel. When they arrived, an agent escorted them to their room.

  Mark picked up his own bag without saying a word, strode into the bedroom, closed the door, and threw the bag onto the only chair. Fully clothed, he plopped down onto the bed, placed his hands behind his head, and stared at nothing.

  What in God’s name was he doing? He could be dead in a few hours. Then what? The end? No! He wasn’t going to die this way. He had to stop thinking that way.

  He focused on the shadows on the ceiling, letting them take on shapes. They formed into what resembled a Chinese dragon. Mark watched the image dance and move around.

  Dragons were his good luck charm and all through his life whenever one would turn up in his dreams something good always happened. He’d even gotten a dragon, with wings outstretched and green eyes, tattooed on his back right shoulder. Most of the women he’d dated loved it and had given him the nickname Dragon. Could this be a sign that everything was going to be okay?

  He closed his eyes and willed sleep to come to quiet his roaming thoughts, but it never did. He lay there for a couple hours unable to relax. A knock on the door kick started his heart.

  “Mark, the agents are here,” Philip called out.

  “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute.”

  Show time. Ready or not.

  As the Grill Restaurant came into view, waves of acid welled up in Mark’s throat from his belly. To calm himself, he thought of the mission as one of the Play Station games he’d played years ago where he’d held the main controller and was in charge of everyone. The winning move: Find the bad guy and walk away alive.