Wanted: Girl I Once Met Read online

  Simple.

  Painless.

  He peered over his shoulder to eye the car following them, encouraged by the fact Philip was in such close proximity. As promised, Agent Johnson had assigned Philip a position outside in front of the restaurant in case of trouble.

  That would place Philip near the action and close enough to come to his aid, if needed, but far enough out of harm’s way. The mere thought of Philip getting hurt if this all went down bad caused Mark’s chest to tighten. He couldn’t lose his bodyguard and close friend over a loser like Massaro. Not to mention the media hype of a civilian involved in a shoot-out.

  Quicker than Mark had expected, the parking valet opened the car door. The games were about to begin for real. With one foot placed confidently in front of the other he moved up the stairs and through the double-wood doors. Right now, he felt like the avatar and someone else was holding the remote controller.

  “Welcome to the Grill Restaurant,” a pretty redhead in her mid-to-late thirties with a wide smile and friendly eyes greeted.

  Mark stared at the hostess for a moment, cleared his throat, and willed his heartbeat to slow.

  “Hi, I’m meeting someone. I’m not sure if he has arrived.”

  In one swift glance around the room, he spotted the clean-shaven, dark-haired Massaro and froze. Mark’s adrenaline kicked into high gear.

  Shit. Now what?

  He swallowed dryly, ready to turn and run when their eyes locked. To Mark’s relief, Massaro was the one who shifted his glance away first but not before giving him a murderous glare.

  “Your party is already seated. Please follow me,” the hostess said.

  Mark wrestled to reel in his racing thoughts while his mind screamed for focus. He needed to stay alert, but he was so damned uncomfortable. And he was sweating like a damn pig. The bulletproof vest they’d made him wear was heavy and he could feel the sweat trickling down from his armpits to his hips.

  “You’re doing great, Mr. Christmenn. We’ve got his attention,” a voice in his ear said.

  Mark flinched at the volume. Trying not to look conspicuous, he said under his breath, “You’re too loud.”

  “Sorry. How’s this?” the agent asked in a softer tone.

  “Better,” Mark said coolly.

  A deep breath helped settle his nerves as he followed the hostess who led him right past Steven Massaro’s table. It was all part of the plan. The agents had wanted to make sure Massaro knew he was in the restaurant.

  Who were they trying to kid?

  As they cleared Massaro’s table, the sounds of curses and glass breaking caused Mark to slow. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stir and was tempted to glance back.

  Was he a dead man walking?

  Inhaling deeply, he stiffened his back, focused on Agent Johnson’s face, and continued toward the table certain things were going to happen sooner than everyone thought.

  The vacant chair across from Agent Johnson seemed to be yards and yards away. When he reached the table, he sank into the welcoming seat, grabbed for the glass of water, and drained it.

  Keeping his eyes lowered, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. The vest was beginning to suffocate him, and the tape they’d used to secure the wires was beginning to itch.

  The voice in his ear addressed him again. “Great job. You can now start to talk business. Talk loudly so Massaro will be able to hear.”

  Mark’s nostrils flared and his pulse roared in his ears. He couldn’t talk. His mouth had gone dry. Not wanting to show his panic, Mark turned his head and hoped Agent Johnson would start up the conversation.

  “Mr. Christmenn, I hope you had a pleasant flight. I’m glad we were able to meet tonight. I’d like to discuss combining our coffee bean purchases. This, I’m sure, will benefit both our companies. When will I be able to take a tour of your company’s processing plant?”

  His uneasiness subsided as he concentrated on Agent Johnson. However, when he answered what came out was barely audible.

  “I . . .”

  “Mr. Christmenn, you need to calm down and start talking,” the voice in his ear demanded.

  Mark glanced around for something else to drink. He took the only thing left on the table, a glass of wine, and drained that.

  He could do this, dammit. He was a multi-millionaire with a successful business. Massaro and his deadbeat gang weren’t going to have the last bang.

  “How about tomorrow, Mr. Johnson? I’ll give you a personal tour and I’m confident you’ll be very pleased with my processing plant,” Mark said, pleased that his voice became stronger the more he spoke.

  “Good. Good. Keep talking,” the voice in his ear said.

  With this encouragement, Mark was now able to do what he needed to do. What he did every day to keep his business thriving. He kept up a lively conversation and even laughed to bring the attention to their table, surprising himself. He felt as if he was watching and doing things from outside of his body. Just when he was beginning to feel confident, an uneasy feeling came over him. Wanting to turn his head to look at Massaro, he fought the urge and remained facing Agent Johnson. Agent Johnson’s face was a mask, revealing nothing about what was going on behind him.

  The meal came and went with no interruptions from the other tables or the damn voice in his ear. He’d worried this had all been for nothing. Massaro wasn’t taking the bait. Did he suspect it was a set-up? Would Massaro come after him another time because of this?

  The voice spoke again, startling him. “Change of plans. Now in place, Plan C.”

  Mark groaned inwardly. Plan C was for him to walk by Massaro’s table as they exited. He was to stare at Mr. Massaro the entire time and promptly exit the building.

  The Grilled Chicken Caesar Salad he’d just eaten turned sour in his stomach.

  Where was his Zantac when he needed it?

  Agent Johnson began talking more about the roasting process of coffee beans before giving the signal to leave.

  “Okay, everyone’s in place. Take your time. Walk slowly,” the voice instructed.

  Right! Walk. Run was more like it and never look back. The man behind the voice was going to die when he did make it outside.

  “That would be great. I, um,” Mark stumbled over his words as he watched Massaro push back his suit coat to reveal a shoulder holster gun. “I could arrange for the plant to stay open longer. We run several public tours on the weekends.”

  They reached the front of the restaurant without incident and proceeded out to the waiting cars. Mark located Philip a few feet from him. He wanted to leave ASAP. Nothing had happened. The whole damn trip had been a waste of time.

  Mark turned to Agent Johnson when the voice sounded one last time in his ear. “Take cover!”

  Instead of ducking as told, Mark instinctively turned to see what was going on. As if in slow motion, he saw Steven Massaro standing at the top of the stairs with his gun drawn and pointed right at him. Mark saw the bright flash, heard the gunshot, and felt the bullet whiz by him. Then to his utter shock, the next bullet hit him in the chest sending a wave a pain unlike anything he’d ever felt through his torso.

  He’d been shot. He knew it. Just like that. His dismal life flashed before him, all his dreams, and all his unfinished plans.

  “Shit, I’ve been shot.”

  The power behind the bullet knocked him backward. He landed so hard on the pavement that it knocked the wind out of him, and his head hit the ground. A black haze slowly took over, while the gunshots, shouting, and Philip’s yell for him to stay down, all went unheard.

  Chapter 2

  Monday, day two hundred thirty-seven, in looking for a new job. Interviews eighteen and nineteen, bombs. Where have all the good jobs gone?

  Rane Schoen ended her p
ost on Facebook with a sad face emoticon. She set her laptop off to the side and Thor, her rather sizeable white ragdoll cat, soon took the empty spot.

  “Thor, what am I going to do? I only have one more interview, tomorrow.” She rubbed her face to Thor’s. “But I have a good feeling about it.”

  Meow, meoweee.

  “I know, I had good feelings about all the others, too.”

  Rane pushed the power button on the remote, scrolled down, and then up to find a movie or some TV show to watch. Before she’d picked something, ping sounded from her laptop, followed by several more, ping, ping, ping.

  “That didn’t take long. I’ll bet you a catnip treat there’s one from Val.”

  Thor yawned. He could be finicky at times but he was always there for her.

  Rane started reading.

  I guess they’ve gone to the Black Hole in space.

  You’re not alone.

  Hang in there, girl.

  And the best post of all read:

  Why work at all? Less stress. Just find a man to entertain you nightly. You’ll be too tired to work.

  Rane laughed so hard Thor got up and lay on the couch. The last post had come from Val, though, which meant she owed Thor a treat. Without thinking, she clicked on Skype.

  The screen said ‘Calling’. Then Val appeared on the laptop screen.

  “Hey, I knew you’d be calling,” Val said. “I don’t have much time. So it didn’t go so well, huh?”

  “How’d you guess? The last man who interviewed me kept looking out the window. Didn’t give me the time of day, said I was over qualified,” Rane understated with attitude. She moved the laptop screen to get a better picture of Val, who kept moving in and out of the camera.

  “It’s okay. Don’t you have another one set up?”

  “Yea, in the morning, with the MAC Company. Will you stop moving around and sit down?”

  Val laughed, did what Rane had asked, and said, “Just for a moment! I have a big meeting with Mr. R.”

  “Which one is he? I’ve lost track.”

  Val, her best friend since grade school, was an attorney and worked for a huge law firm, with a client list that would have any star-struck fan in awe. They ranged from professional athletes from the Minnesota Twins, the Vikings, and the Timberwolves, to actors and actresses living in the area. The players were forever being sued for the stupidest things, which was lucky for Val and the firm.

  “You know I can’t say, but remember what my-ex used to watch?”

  “Oh WWF-Really? Who is it? I bet it’s the Hulk.”

  “Right and wrong. Have to go. Sorry about the interview. We need a movie night when I get back.”

  “Betcha, I think it’s your turn to pick. Text me later.”

  “Okay, really gotta go.”

  “Bye.”

  Rane clicked ‘end call’ and the screen went blue-green. Her smile disappeared, replaced by a frown. Being single had its advantages but finding the right man wasn’t easy. She didn’t want another one like her ex-husband, David Moore.

  Right after her divorce, things had been great, but now with her new mission and outlook on life she wanted a man. Not just a man like Val had suggested. One who would treat her special and maybe want to have a baby.

  Having to start over at thirty-two was not her idea of being successful. It was because of David, her deceitful, unfaithful ex-husband she was out to better herself. This time she was going to do it right.

  Step one: interviewing. Step two: dating.

  Her newly received Bachelor’s Degree in Marketing wasn’t helping. The degree was getting her foot in the door but then she’d been told they had several applicants. She just wanted someone to give her a chance. Once she got a job, she’d be able to work on her next goal, which was finding a meaningful and lasting relationship.

  She wanted a man who’d love her, who’d spend time with her, and who wanted children, lots of them. Her biological clock was ticking and she couldn’t turn it back. She was childless because David hadn’t wanted any. He’d insisted she take the pill, saying they didn’t need to establish a family while in college.

  Ping!

  She touched the shift key, which bought her screen to life. Another post.

  Maybe her mother was responding.

  She grabbed the laptop with a little excitement.

  Baby, you don’t need to work. Come back to me!

  Rane stared at the words in horror. A sudden chill hung in the air. David. Why was he bothering her? Now, of all times. She felt the color drain from her face as alarm and anger rippled up her spine.

  Chapter 3

  In the darkness of Mark’s mind, a huge dragon sat next to him and there was blood everywhere. He reached out to stop the flow but his arm wouldn’t move and he couldn’t find where the blood was coming from.

  He felt trapped and a heaviness lodged in his chest. Suddenly, the dragon roared, making its blue eyes sparkle. Mark wanted to call out to the creature but it faded away.

  Out of nowhere, a light broke through the blackness surrounding him but the shrieking in his ears remained. The sound intensified as he focused on the light.

  The harsh reality that he’d been shot came back to him as his mind cleared. He heard Philip’s none-too-gentle voice bust through his befuddled senses.

  “Am I dying?” he muttered and carefully opened his eyes, afraid he’d see his imminent death reflected in Philip’s face.

  “No, but you’re going to be the death of me. Are you okay? Did you break anything when you fell?” Philip asked with a mixture of laughter and concern.

  When Mark didn’t answer, Philip shouted, “Mark, can you talk? Can you hear me?”

  After a pause, Philip yelled, “Mark!”

  “Do you need to shout? I can hear you and I can see you. Will you just shut up and help me!” Mark replied with a note of impatience. He winced in pain.

  The fog clouding his thoughts lifted a little more. He remembered he’d had on a bulletproof vest. He couldn’t be wounded. No pain, there was no pain. Thank God for modern technology, he thought as relief flooded through him. He struggled and stood up with Philip’s help, but the world spun out of control.

  He held on tightly to Philip, reached up to find the source of the ache, and located a large lump on the back of his head. He touched it gingerly, and winced in excruciating pain when his finger made contact.

  The pain went right to his forehead. He closed his eyes, willing the pain to go away. When it didn’t fade, he opened his eyes to see the scene going on around him, all the sirens, the police, and the yellow tape. Totally chaotic. Agent Johnson was holding a handcuffed Steven Massaro up against a squad car, and Massaro’s bodyguards were lined up, face down on the ground. Paramedics were treating the wounded, an FBI agent and a couple of Massaro’s bodyguards.

  Surreal. He could have wandered onto a movie set filming an episode of CSI.

  “Philip, what happened?” Mark asked, still unsteady on his feet and leaning up against a car.

  “Everything went bugs. You and Agent Johnson had just come outside when it all went down. Massaro and his bodyguards rushed out of the restaurant with their guns drawn. We had to get back and couldn’t fire until Massaro or his bodyguards shot first.” Philip paused to steady Mark.

  “What?” Mark asked. He knew he’d hit his head but he couldn’t understand what Philip was talking about.

  “Man, it was bananas! Massaro’s first zap whizzed by your head. If he’d hit you, you’d have been a chump. I thought for sure you’d taken a ride.”

  “You’re not making any sense. Bananas, chump, zap, and what ride? What are you talking about, Philip?”

  “Oh, sorry, that’s all the police slang. When you came outside, Massaro and his bodygu
ards followed. Massaro shot at you. I yelled for you to take cover, but one of the bullets hit you. Thank god for the vest.”

  “Thanks for the reassurance,” Mark said, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  Ignoring Mark’s comment, Philip continued. “It was perfect. You turned, and that’s why the first zap missed. His second zap hit you. And, timmmbbberrr, you fell. Man alive, it was right out of a textbook.”

  “You’re sick. You wouldn’t be so excited if it had been you who fell,” Mark spat out half-playfully but with a tinge of anger.

  “Hey, now, I knew you’d be safe on the ground,” Philip said defensively.

  Mark gave Philip a look that would’ve had anyone, other than Philip, squirming in his or her shoes.

  “Well, anyways, Massaro’s bodyguards started zapping, sorry, shooting at everyone when they realized it was a sting set-up. Agent Johnson took Massaro down without having to fire a single shot. It was all over in a matter of minutes. And you missed it all.” When Philip finished his tale, he crossed his arms over his chest and nodded.

  Checking his watch, Mark saw that only seven minutes had passed since he’d left the restaurant. He peered questioningly at Philip.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Philip asked.

  “Yes. Would you quit asking?”

  Philip let out a gasp and pointed at Mark’s shirt. “Look at the size of the hole in your suit coat!”

  Mark followed Philip’s gaze to the burn hole on his coat and then his shirt. He stripped down to the bulletproof vest where he saw the bullet stuck in the vest, flat as a pancake.

  The cold reality stuck Mark hard. If he hadn’t been wearing the bulletproof vest, he’d be a dead man right now. The bullet would have hit him in the heart.