Serving Up Trouble Read online

  “I know.” Angie shoved away her melancholy and turned to smile. “I know. And I’ll be fine.”

  “That man, he cares about you. Very much.”

  “He doesn’t want to.”

  “He’s afraid.” When Angie looked at her in surprise, Josephine nodded. “Just because he’s big and tough doesn’t mean he can’t fear. Matters of the heart terrify him. You need to be patient, that’s all. And don’t ever give up, not on some thing you want this much.”

  She did want him. With all her heart she wanted to believe it could happen, but there seemed to be so much stacked against them. “How do you know so much?”

  “I’m ancient, that’s how. Patience, Angie. You don’t have a lot of that, but you need to try.”

  Angie laughed again, and oddly enough, felt a little better.

  “Yes,” said Josephine, slowly nodding, watching her. “This time around you’re going to be just fine.”

  Sam spent the morning with Luke. No less than a dozen times he pulled out his cell phone and started to dial Angie.

  And about a dozen times he swore colorfully and stuck the thing back in his pocket.

  “You always talk dirty to your cell phone?” Luke asked.

  “It’s a new habit.” This was asinine, this in ability to do anything other than think of her. It had to stop.

  But all he could think was, why hadn’t he tried to tell her how much he cared about her?

  He told himself they’d have plenty of time to talk later, and during that later, in which he planned on having her naked and beneath him, he’d try to tell her then.

  If only he could figure out how to put it into words.

  By break time, Angie decided Josephine was right. It was time to go for it, in all aspects of her life. One thing at a time, of course, and first up…her fears.

  With her tips and check in her purse, she headed to the bank. Once there, she wasted a good five minutes on the sidewalk, staring at the building. She told herself she was sweating from the walk, from the sun. Not from fear.

  I’m not afraid of anything anymore.

  Anything but Sam not wanting her love, that is. But she’d done the best she could there, and looking back on it, how she’d fallen so unexpectedly for him, how she’d been open and honest with her feelings, she knew she couldn’t have done anything differently. Wouldn’t have done anything differently.

  Life was to be lived.

  With that, she lifted her chin and walked straight through the doors of the bank, straight toward the teller smiling at her, the teller who thank fully wasn’t the same woman who couldn’t open her drawer during the holdup.

  Angie deposited her money without mishap and, with a relieved breath, walked back through the bank with a genuine smile on her face.

  “Angie.”

  The sun was coming in the doors in such a way that the light sort of haloed the person in front of her. But she didn’t need light to recognize Tony—tall, dark and handsome as ever in his expensive suit, chic sun glasses and smooth smile.

  “Angie. You look—” he ran his gaze down her uniform and held there “—the same.”

  “Do I?” She grinned, because suddenly it seemed very funny. “I’m not.”

  “I’ve called you.”

  And she hadn’t returned the calls. Petty, maybe, but it was her own little way of keeping the power. “I’ve been busy. I’ve gone back to school.”

  He removed his sun glasses. “I didn’t know. That’s fantastic. You’ll be out of that dead-end waitressing job in no time.” His eyes became warmer. “Why don’t you call me when you’re finished? I’ll hook you up with a job in the district.”

  “I’m not going to be an attorney, Tony.”

  His eyes registered surprise. “You’re…not?”

  She kept smiling and shook her head. “I’m going to be an art history teacher with a serious painting hobby.”

  “A…teacher?” He cocked his head, considering, then nodded. “Well, that’s good, too. I approve.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s nice. But I don’t need your approval.” Gently, because after all, at one time she had cared for this man, she set her fingers to his chin to close his mouth.

  Then she waved and walked around him, out of the bank, and onward to the rest of her life.

  Sam and Luke finally got a break when they located John’s roommate…John Manning. They found him serving burritos to high-school kids on lunch break.

  “Welcome to Burrito Palace,” the short, chunky twenty-year-old said to Sam and Luke. “We have lots of specials going. What can I get for you today?”

  Sam flashed him his badge. The punk paled and crossed himself.

  “God isn’t going to help you today, John,” Luke said easily. “I’ll take three tacos though, and—” He caught Sam’s hard stare and sighed. “Never mind. Tell your boss you’re taking a break. A long one.”

  They took him to the station, offered him a deal. They’d be lenient on him if he helped them. Turned out, the kid really was just a disgruntled friend, and not involved in the credit-theft ring. His father provided his college funds, plus he realized a life of crime wouldn’t help his hopeful law career.

  But he did recognize the picture of their suspect, who was apparently also a very ex-friend, and the son of the ringleaders. Tommy some thing or another. John gave them an address, and Luke and Sam got into Luke’s car.

  Following the directions John had given them for Tommy, Sam knew a deepening dread he couldn’t explain. And it wouldn’t go away.

  “This feels very wrong,” Luke said, suddenly and ominously echoing his worries.

  “Yeah.”

  “I wish I knew why.”

  “Me too.” Despite his best intentions to the contrary, Sam kept thinking of Angie. It was strange. He’d come to the conclusion he needed to try to tell her how he felt, so why couldn’t he get over the feeling he’d be too late?

  She loved him. She hadn’t let her fears rule her. She’d just come right out and told him.

  So why hadn’t he told her?

  Because he’d let his past color it. He’d told himself, over and over, no woman could or would ever love him as he was, and he’d come to believe it.

  But he’d been wrong, and was still trying to get used to that.

  They came to the end of John’s directions. Both of them looked out the window at the typical Southern California suburbia in front of them. Ranch-style house, in a row of other similar ranch-style homes, all built in the 1970s. Nice yards, most with bikes in the driveway, or other various kid toys. SUVs and flowered yards abounded.

  “Middle-town, U.S.A.,” Luke said, watching a man mow the lawn. “Only things missing are the two-point-four kids playing in the yard.”

  “Yeah.” Sam reached for his radio. “But hell if I can figure out what’s bugging me.” He radioed dispatch to run the place and then they got out of the car.

  No one was home.

  The man mowing the lawn turned out to be the landlord, who, after looking over their badges let them in.

  The kitchen was small, cozy and very clean. On the wall was a portrait of a smiling kid…their suspect.

  “Tommy?” Luke asked.

  “Apparently.” Sam moved on down the hallway, past a few bedrooms that looked orderly and tidy, to a closed door.

  “What are you looking for, some thing obvious like…?” Luke broke off with a long whistle. “Like that, I suppose.”

  The room was a gold mine, lined with shelves filled with bins of mail. All stolen mail, if myriad ad dresses and names on the obvious bills and statements meant anything.

  Another dead giveaway was the state-of-the-art computer equipment along one wall, including special laminating tools of the trade for ID theft.

  “Definitely hit the lottery,” Luke agreed. “Now let’s get out of here and get our search warrant and come back all legal-like, shall we?”

  They were halfway back