Jazzy Girl Read online

  “I’m finishing up my communications degree at KU.”

  A short laugh burst from Canden.

  “That’s ironic for someone who doesn’t like to communicate.”

  “Shut up.” Sherice waved her menu at him like she might pop him with it.

  “And your parents?”

  Sherice stilled and set her menu down.

  Dead because of me.

  “They’re both gone.”

  “I’m sorry. How long have they been gone?”

  Feels like I just lost them.

  They paid the price for her stumbling into a mob execution.

  A foot chase of a fifteen-year-old boy named Shawn, who’d been selling drugs in his neighborhood, led her over a fence and into a container yard of a distribution company. Proud of herself for being able to keep up with him, her years running track in high school had certainly paid off. He’d shimmied off his jacket to get over the barbed wire. Her plan was to get the boy off the streets and into juvie.

  He’d left his jacket at the top of the fence so she used it too. However, he’d launched himself from the top of the fence to the ground and took a sharp right around a building. She lost a little time being unable to leap from the same height. When she rounded the corner, she saw the boy had run right into Giovanni Bucano, the right-hand man to Vitorio “Vito” Caracioni, a modern-day mob boss, as he held a gun with an attached silencer to his victim’s head. He held a second smaller gun on the boy. No silencer.

  Everyone on the force had seen pictures of Bucano. Everyone knew he was dirty, but not a soul had ever been able to prove it. He pranced around in the media without a care in the world. At the time, she never wondered what had made him so careless that day. But Vito owned the distribution company. It was a front, but one that operated on a legitimate basis. That’s how most of the mafia operated these days.

  The building lined with three garage doors had one door up and the cab of a truck in its slot. She could see men in there but didn’t know which were with Giovanni and which were mechanics. None of them seemed to pay attention to Giovanni and it struck her as odd.

  The victim at the end of his gun, she saw, was the CEO of a well-known clothing company who’d gone missing from his cruise ship days before. It’d been all over the news. Sherice couldn’t move, couldn’t believe Giovanni stood in front of her. When she tried to run, her muscles locked up and her legs rooted to the ground like tree trunks. She hated herself for wanting to run knowing his gun was on the kid. No way would he let either of them live.

  Giovanni pulled the trigger. The CEO’s body seemed to flutter down in slow motion. Before it hit the ground, Giovanni turned the gun to Shawn and fired again. He’d never intended to use the smaller gun. Sherice felt the boy’s blood splatter on her skin and wretched. Giovanni pointed at her next and squeezed the trigger. The gun only clicked. He cursed and appeared confused, checking his chamber as if he knew he’d had plenty of bullets. Suddenly, her legs unlocked and she ran faster than she ever had in her life. Clearing the entire length of the 53-foot long container, she dodged to the right to stay behind it. She heard Giovanni yell for his men. ‘Find her! Kill her!’ Their frenzied voices responded.

  Sherice ran, dodging in and around the rows of containers. Only God could have helped her escape them. She was fast, but so were they and they knew the layout of the yard. A rookie officer was no match for mob professionals. Miraculously, she got away.

  Her parents didn’t. Giovanni, angry he hadn’t killed her, did his worst and now she lived a life of constant hiding. Alone.

  Sherice blinked and focused on Canden’s concerned eyes. How long had he been watching her?

  “Sorry,” he said. “You don’t need to answer.”

  “It’s okay.” She tried to sound a bit chipper. “It was a really long time ago. They died in a car accident when I was eight.” There. She’d got it out. The fake history she’d memorized the same way she did her favorite bible verses. Minus the joy. In order to live, she had to live a lie, which meant she couldn’t get close to anyone because she couldn’t tell anyone the truth. They could never get to know the real her and the relationship would always lack intimacy because of it.

  Why am I sitting here with him? Who am I kidding?

  “You know what we need?” Canden said as he flipped open the menu.

  “What’s that?” Sherice couldn’t help but smile when his dimples appeared again.

  “Pancakes! Do you like pancakes?”

  “I do sometimes.”

  “I always love me some pancakes. How do they sound to you right now?”

  “Pretty good.” Not quite true, but nothing sounded good at the moment.

  Right on cue the waitress walked over.

  “Two orders of pancakes. And after the night we had, we need whip cream smiley faces, please.”

  The waitress giggled and nodded. Sherice laughed out loud. She’d never met a man like Canden. “I’ll need some eggs with mine.”

  “You can eat eggs after what just happened a couple of hours ago?” Canden asked wide-eyed.

  The waitress left with a curious expression on her face. Get out of here with your nosy self.

  Sherice rolled her eyes and tried to stop grinning. Looking at Canden, she sighed.

  “I don’t know what to make of you, but I’m sorry I pulled a gun on you. I really thought you were an intruder.”

  “It’s okay. Though I nearly peed my pants.”

  Sherice snorted. “What a night.” She lifted her coffee to her lips. “Hmmm. This is just what I needed.”

  “Yeah, it was a night. Those punks better not come back.” Canden’s brows furrowed. “It’s bad enough to egg someone’s house, but to put dye in it too? I don’t get it.”

  “Was my house the only one?”

  “I think so.”

  “That’s kids for you. They’ll feel bad about it someday.”

  “Kids?” Canden raised his brows. “Sure. If you mean early to mid-twenties. The one guy looked even older than that. About my age.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Thirty-two. You?”

  An alarm sounded in Sherice’s head. She squirmed in her seat. She’d seen the slim figures but no faces. Being outside, Canden saw them up close.

  Why would they have picked my house? Maybe it wasn’t random.

  “Thirty. Maybe a fraternity thing . . .” she wondered aloud.

  Canden grunted. “Maybe. But they were old enough to know better.”

  Sherice started when the waitress sat her food down in front of her.

  “You need some sleep, pretty lady.”

  Sherice rolled her eyes at Canden but the corners of her mouth turned up slightly.

  “I saw that,” he said.

  “Oh hush.”

  “Can I get y’all something else?” The waitress looked at Canden expectantly. He didn’t seem to notice the extra attention she gave him.

  “Nope, we’re good I think.” Sherice smiled at her.

  “Enjoy your breakfast then.”

  Sherice couldn’t help but snicker when she looked down at her plate.

  “Well. I don’t think my breakfast has looked like this since this first grade.” Per Canden’s request, a whip cream happy face with strawberries in the eyes, a blueberry in the nose, and sliced bananas for a mouth grinned at her.

  “Hey, whatever it takes to see that smile.”

  Sherice met Canden’s eyes. “Thanks for insisting I get out.”

  “You’re welcome.” He sent her a look that warmed her to her toes. “Thanks for actually accepting.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Take it easy, Sherice. No need to like him too much. She wished he’d lose those dimples. He’d be cute without them, but with them . . . aye aye aye!

  * * *

  “C’mon, big girl!” Sherice said to Jazz as soon as she walked in the door. “Let’s go potty.”

  Jazz panted heavily. A sign she’d been holding it. />
  “Poor thing!” On her way to the sliding door, Sherice snatched her laptop off the table.

  While Jazz pottied and then romped in the empty pool, Sherice settled into the patio chair and began doing a few searches. First she typed in ‘red-dye eggs,’ but all she got was a bunch of hits about dyeing eggs for Easter. Next she tried ‘injected red dye eggs.’

  “Oh my gosh!” Sherice’s mouth fell open. “What’s wrong with people?” Sherice scrolled in disgust past the articles about dying baby chicks for Easter. Adding to the previous search words, she included ‘egging house’ and hit go one more time and immediately went to page five of the results to get past the bulk of Easter related hits.

  A short time later a two-year-old news article caught her eye. It described a home that had been egged by unknown individuals. Her eyes scanned the article. A truck carrying seven individuals pulled up to the home in the wee hours of the morning and egged the home. In this case, more than five-dozen eggs had been thrown in and around the front door and porch of the home. She read aloud and skipped to the more pertinent pieces.

  “Home stained where eggs had landed. Only one elderly neighbor witnessed the individuals, but thought they were high school or college kids . . . couldn’t see them well . . . didn’t immediately call the police . . . family out of town during egging. . . the following week the family’s home was invaded and the entire family killed.” Sherice’s breath quickened and her stomach hurt like she’d swallowed a sword. “ah . . . speculation the “egging” had been some sort of a warning.”

  Sherice slammed the lid of her laptop down and stood. Jazz jumped up and looked at her expectantly.

  I need to think this through.

  She paced the perimeter of her yard and chewed her bottom lip, a habit she possessed since childhood.

  Both arrived in a truck. Three people for my house, seven for theirs? Why?

  Why weren’t these three efficient? The point was to egg it and go, why’d they only land a few?

  Because Canden stopped them.

  But they’d thrown a couple at her door but also further down by her bedroom window.

  Maybe they knew I was home.

  They couldn’t have been professional. Professionals would have sent the message and left. They wouldn’t have been sloppy about it.

  Was Canden outside when they showed up?

  “Come, Jazz.” Sherice marched toward her backdoor. Jazz beat her there.

  I can’t believe I have to move again!

  Her chest ached and a tear ran down her cheek. Immediately, she brushed it away.

  I read about one incident. ONE. Maybe it’s a coincidence and I’m overreacting again? That would make more sense. If they knew where she lived, they’d have killed her and got it over with. The mob only played with their food if the person had information they wanted. She didn’t. Sherice’s testimony, once trial time arrived, would put Giovanni away. End of story. They weren’t interested in harassing her. They wanted her dead. Right?

  Just make it through the trial. After Giovanni was put away she would go so far away, they’d never find her.

  I’m still young and I can still have a life when this is all over. But would it end? Sure, Giovanni would be in prison but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t have any power. Guys like him had ways to bypass the system and get things done. If he wanted her dead now, the thought of what he’d want once he was locked up . . .

  Maybe she should have let Giovanni kill her? What kind of life was this? Her parents had died for nothing and she’d be isolated for the rest of hers. Always looking over her shoulder. Even after the trial. They would never stop looking for her.

  After securing the sliding door, she ordered Jazz to stay. Before opening her front door, she checked the gun she wore in the holster under her shirt.

  Back to the same ole, same ole. Lord, I just want a normal, boring life. Help me to have faith. You already know what my future holds. Help me to trust you.

  Sherice stepped onto the porch and locked her front door. Crossing her yard first and then Canden’s family’s, she walked with purpose to his front door and pounded on it. Ten seconds later she pounded again. Nothing. She raised her fist to pound again when the door finally swung open.

  A bare-chested Canden with sleepy eyes stood there.

  “Asha?” His eyes cleared and grew round. He stepped out, pulling the door closed behind him. “Everything okay?”

  Sherice focused on his face, not his chest. . . Or his abs. . . Or his biceps.

  “What exactly were you doing outside at 3:30 this morning?” She didn’t try to hide the accusation in her tone.

  “What? Why are you asking me that?”

  “Just answer the question, Canden.”

  “Well, I guess I was running those punks off who were egging your house.”

  “Okay, then. What were you doing before they showed up?”

  Canden’s eyebrows pulled together and his lips thinned as he pressed them together. The playful expression that usually took residence in his eyes vacated.

  “Well?” Sherice spread her hands palm up.

  Canden straightened.

  “What are you implying, Asha?”

  “What’s the big deal about telling me, Canden?” She matched his tone.

  He studied her for a moment then waved his hand as if to shoo her away, like a fly. “I’ve had enough. I don’t even know why I had such a strong reaction to you. I met you like. . . two minutes ago and you’ve been borderline psycho from the beginning. I ran intruders off your property and then bought you breakfast.”

  “I could have paid for my own breakfast!” Her face burned. Embarrassed by her childish retort, she wished she could snatch it back. Canden had been such a big kid since she met him, she hadn’t anticipated this reaction. She’d misjudged him.

  “I was trying to be nice!” He emphasized the word. “As soon as I finally get to sleep, you wake me up to interrogate me. I didn’t peg you as the overly dramatic type, but there’s enough drama going on with my family to last me a lifetime. I don’t need anymore.”

  Conflicted, Sherice took a step back. His words stung and she hated that. But what if he had something to do with all this? Maybe his M.O. was to crack her shell. Turn her over to Vito’s people.

  He said he had a strong reaction to her. She had a strong reaction to him too and didn’t like it one bit. She shouldn’t . . . and couldn’t care what he thinks. He’s a stranger. Desperation from being alone so long must be taking a toll on her.

  Or was there something real between them? How could she not trust him on one side, but want to trust him with everything on the other? Her parents had married a month after meeting each other. Maybe the same could happen to her?

  What a ridiculous fairytale idea!

  Thinking on it only wasted valuable time. The news article said the family was killed a week after the egging, but who knew if they’d wait that long for her?

  But it wasn’t them in her case. Couldn’t have been. It didn’t add up. What if it was some weird racist neighbor? Or college kids?

  Not every detail matched between her case and the article.

  All at once, every ounce of energy drained from her body. She couldn’t risk it no matter how unlikely. Sherice needed to call her contact. Afterward, she’d be moved. She’d leave everything behind again. She and Jazz would be placed somewhere else with yet another identity she’d give to outsiders. Another lie to live. Another lame history to memorize. Might as well get to it. Besides, Canden couldn’t be good for her if he caused this much conflict within her after such a short time. She’d marched over here and made a fool out of herself and still didn’t have a clue about what was happening.

  “Goodbye, Canden.” She turned and walked away. He didn’t come after her. Things like that only happened in the movies. A single tear slid down her cheek. At least he didn’t see it. It would have solidified his claim she was a dramatic nutcase.

  Chapter 4

 
A wave of dizziness hit Sherice after she walked through her front door. For a moment, all she could do was close her eyes and lean against the wall. Even though ‘sleep deprived’ was her middle name, she knew she’d crash soon if she didn’t lie down. If she called her contact right now, she’d be gone within hours. Sleeping would be out of the question.

  She pushed off the wall and secured the door.

  Jazz stood and made a throaty sound.

  “It’s okay, girl.”

  Jazz’s tail wagged as she bounded over to Sherice and sat between her feet.

  “You silly girl.”

  Sherice glanced at her phone.

  “It’s barely after nine. We can get some sleep and then make the phone call. No one is going to bother us during the day.”

  Sherice didn’t bother to remove her shoes or even go to bed. She laid her phone and gun on the coffee table. Stretching out on the couch, she let her feet hang over the arm so that her body had plenty of space without being scrunched up.

  “Come on, girl.” Sherice patted the sofa and her big girl jumped into the empty space with a thump. Her decorative sofa pillows weren’t the comfiest, but they’d do for now. Pulling the flattest one between her hand and head, she wrapped her free hand around Jazz and went to sleep.

  Jazz jumped off the couch and Sherice sat straight up like a vampire in a coffin. Only her pounding heart set her apart. She grabbed her phone and looked at the time. 12:43 p.m.

  “Couldn’t you have slept another three hours?”

  Jazz whined.

  “Okay, I guess you have to eat.” Guilt poked at Sherice for not feeding her big girl this morning. “No one would think you’ve missed a meal by the looks of you,” she told Jazz as she walked into the kitchen.

  Unoffended, Jazz bobbed ahead of her.

  Before doing anything else, Sherice started a pot of coffee. Jazz whined impatiently and nosed her empty food bowl over to Sherice’s feet.

  “You’re a monster.”

  Jazz sat and whimpered again.

  It didn’t matter what brand of food Sherice purchased, Jazz wouldn’t eat dry dog food alone. She’d tried to force the issue in the beginning but after a full day standoff, Sherice gave up. Perseverance was only one of Jazz’s many fine qualities. Who could blame her for standing her ground? One cup of dry and a half-cup of soft on top. With the designated spoon, Sherice mixed the food up to Jazz’s liking.