Chapter 11

Natalie sucked in a breath. Maybe it was the neighbor's cat. The obese orange-and-white tom liked to prowl the garage and on occasion snooze on the hood of her car. Then from the corner of her eye she saw the door leading to the backyard was ajar.

Flee or fight? On a shelf next to the freezer sat Jeff 's high school softball trophy. Natalie slammed the freezer door and lunged for the trophy.

"Where is it?" A bear of a black man tackled Natalie, propelling her back against the hard freezer door.

"Ugh!" Natalie winced as the door handle dug into her back. His arms were the size of tree trunks and painfully gripped her shoulders. There was no way for her to get her hands loose to defend herself. Nor could she get her knee up to gouge his crotch.

"Where's that computer shit with the account numbers? Your man was supposed to hand it over last week."

The brute reeked of cigarettes and sweat. It was all Natalie could do not to gag. Black tee shirt, sunglasses, diamond studs in both ears, elaborate tattoos on arms and neck. Natalie mentally catalogued as many details as possible.

"I . . . uh."

"Come on, I ain't got all night." He squeezed her arms until she thought they would snap like dry twigs.

"He . . . uh, he took it with him. He took it on his trip. He was afraid to leave it here," gasped Natalie. Maybe I can stall. Get some info. Maybe Mr. Avila will be out walking his dog soon.

"Yeah, right. Do I look stupid, bitch? I know it's here somewhere."

"MEEE-ooww!" Big Tom sauntered in and jumped up on the Lexus.

Startled, the attacker's focus slipped. "What the hell? Sneaky bastard. I HATE cats."

Natalie wrenched her right arm free and grabbed the trophy. She swung it as hard as she could and connected with the man's forehead. Blood spurted from a large gash.

"Damn!" The man staggered backwards, shock etched on his face. He reached for a nearby table to break his fall. A large fern awaiting re-potting crashed to the floor. Natalie regrouped and prepared to swing again.

"HOW DARE YOU BREAK INTO MY HOUSE! I'M NOT GONNA TAKE ANY MORE OF THIS SHIT!"

The base of the trophy hit the side of his knee. He yelped in pain and went down on all fours. A skinny Hispanic man appeared in the doorway. In his hand was a large black gun.

"Hey, Jamal! Come on, man. Forget the bitch!" He fired a single round at Natalie. She dropped to the floor, still clutching the trophy.

Jamal struggled to get to his feet and limped to the door. "This ain't over. Nobody disses Jamal and gets away with it," he called over his shoulder.

You arrogant bastard. I didn't hit you hard enough, thought Natalie. She got up and inspected her shirt. Jamal's blood and potting soil covered the front. Suddenly, she realized she was still holding the trophy with a death grip. Thank goodness Jeff didn't put this in the neighborhood yard sale last month.

She heard a pop, then felt a burning pain in her upper left arm. "Shit!" She grabbed her arm and doubled over.

"That's for my boy, Jamal." The Hispanic dude thrust his middle finger in the air and spat on the floor before running away. In the distance, a car engine revved.

I've been shot! was Natalie's last thought before the darkness claimed her.

**

"The stain from the storage unit floor was indeed blood. O positive, to be exact," said Maureen "Mo" Schumacher, forensic lab supervisor. "But approximately thirty-seven percent of the population have that. And there's no way to determine how long it's been there."

"I don't know Jernigan's blood type. What about prints?" asked Paolo.

"One from the copier. That's it. Whoever handled those items was extremely careful."

"Too bad Jernigan was never arrested. Then we'd have something to compare it with. Thanks, anyway, Mo."

"That's what I'm here for. One more thing, Paolo."

"What?"

"My granddaughter will be in town next weekend. Maybe you'd like to meet her," said Mo with a twinkle in her eyes.

Paolo laughed. "You're as bad as my family. Besides, you're my favorite girl around these parts, Mo."

He left the lab and headed to the elevator. Another woman was claiming his thoughts right now. Tomorrow he would call Natalie. She might know her husband's blood type.

When he reached his office, the phone was ringing. It was the night-duty officer. "Got a heads-up from Miami-Dade. There was a break-in tonight at the Jernigan home. Natalie Jernigan was shot and has been transported to the hospital. No word yet on her condition."

Chapter 10

"Sabbatini."

"Uncle Paolo, we're eating birthday cake! Are you coming back soon?" demanded the twins.

In the background, Paolo heard his brothers' kids whooping it up, Roscoe barking, and his mother and grandmother attempting to impose order on the chaos.

"Not tonight. I'm still working."

"Why?" whined the girls.

Paolo sighed. "Somebody has to catch the bad guys and tonight that's me."

There was giggling and a bit of scuffling, then Angela came on the line. "Sorry , Paolo. I didn't realize they'd called your office. We'll save you some cake if you can't make it back."

"Thanks. You know my weakness for chocolate."

Another agent stuck his head around the corner, pointed at the phone, and mouthed, "Line two."

"Ange, I have another call coming in. I'll see you guys soon." He punched the flickering button and listened to his cop buddy, Ernesto.

"Qué pasa, Paolo? You pulling an all-nighter, too?"

"Looks that way. What have you got for me?"

"Couple of things. First, the neighbor who gave Natalie Jernigan the gun knocked over a gas station with a pal when they were just out of high school. Got maybe fifty dollars. Served some time, but as far as I can tell has been an upstanding citizen since then. Not even a parking ticket. No record of him having a handgun, so who knows where the old man picked it up. Maybe at a flea market. Plus, the serial number doesn't match any of our unsolved crimes. But I'd advise Mrs. Jernigan not to be waving that thing around in public."

"No shit," said Paolo.

"And that John Doe at the airport. Not your guy. He was positively identified through dental records and a class ring as a drug runner from Orlando. Tried to stiff another dude."

"Thanks, Ernesto. I owe you a beer."

"Hey, throw in a large pepperoni pizza and we'll call it even," laughed Ernesto.

"Won't your wife hassle you about your cholesterol?"

"Lourdes doesn't have to know. A man has to eat after all."

Paolo laughed. "Deal." He disconnected and leaned back in his chair. The info about the gun was a huge relief. Another weapon lay locked in the bottom desk drawer. The one he'd bought yesterday from local gunsmith Louie Arsenio. Louie thought law enforcement officers could never have too many firearms. He didn't question Paolo's story about needing another backup piece even though this one was smaller than the one currently strapped to Paolo's right ankle.

Paolo unlocked the drawer and examined the gun again. It should fit Natalie's grip better than that antique stashed in the trunk of her Lexus. But now he was having second thoughts. He needed to step back. He told himself it was only the male instinct to protect the innocent and the weaker sex. Any agent who gave a damn would feel the same way. But was it more? Paolo wasn't sure he had the answer to that question right now.

He rubbed the back of his neck and unknotted his tie, tossing it over the chair in the corner. He looked at the file on his desk. He'd been over it a hundred times. Maybe he'd wander down to the forensics lab to see if they'd uncovered any useful info from the items seized at Jernigan's storage unit.

He locked the gun in the drawer and headed down the hall. He stopped in the lounge to grab a cup of coffee. Of course, the pot was empty. He opened the cabinet to get a new packet and filter. As he waited for the coffee to drip through, he pulled out his cell phone, intending to check on Natalie.

He entered a couple of numbers, then paused. Better leave it alone. He snapped the phone together and stared at the coffee pot.

**

Natalie sprawled on the couch, the television remote in her right hand. Her eyes vaguely registered the images on the screen as she flipped through the channels. Spanish-language soap operas, annoying reality shows, news programs, weather programs, golf tournaments. How many channels did they have? One hundred, two hundred? Yet there was nothing of interest to watch.

Finally, she zapped off the television and tossed the remote on the coffee table. She wasn't interested in watching tv. She only wanted to distract herself from thoughts of Paolo. First, he shows up at the storage unit, then at the mall. What was the deal?

Suddenly, Natalie had a craving for ice cream, her favorite comfort food. She'd already been bad today by having a large cheeseburger and fries at the mall after Paolo left. Might as well go hog wild.

She slouched into the kitchen and jerked open the freezer side of the refrigerator. No ice cream! That simply would not do. She slammed the door and stomped through the mud room to the three-car garage where the freezer sat.

She paused with her hand on the freezer door, debating the merits of an ice cream sandwich over an ice cream cone with sprinkles. Or why not have one of each?!

This is crazy. I should be able to control myself better. Just when she'd decided to limit herself to one ice cream cone, there was a slight scraping sound behind her.