It's A Sweet Life Part 24

Allan stared out the window. "Why did you tell her we were staying at my house?"

"I needed to give her an address. Something."

"I don't like lying to her now."

Ben let out a sigh. "Your mail is still getting forwarded to the private box by the remailer. It'll be untraceable." He'd set up permanent forwarding to a pack and s.h.i.+p place, who then mailed everything in weekly batches to another box where they had instructions to hold it. His same friend who was holding on to Ben's car went once a week to empty the box. All of Allan's regular monthly expenses for the house, like electricity and water, were deducted automatically from his bank account. Even his lawn maintenance company received an automatic payment.

The wonders of technology.

Allan watched the landscape speed by as they headed south on I-75. Since they were returning to Miami, Ben saw no need to take the slow, circuitous route they'd used to leave it. They'd spend the night at a hotel before contacting their bosses and the investigators in charge of the case and deciding what to do next.

They'd agreed they would not mention Libbie or where they'd been staying. They didn't know who they could trust, or who might accidentally reveal information to someone working for Bianco.

Ben drove in silence. Allan finally spoke when they stopped for gas south of Sarasota. "This f.u.c.king sucks," he quietly said.

Ben hesitated before getting out. "It's for the best. You know it is. I didn't say I liked it." He got out and pumped gas.

When he returned, Allan looked at him. "We've broke her heart by leaving like this. You realize that, right?"

He slammed his fists against the steering wheel. "She's f.u.c.king alive to be hurting. You realize that, too, right? And to me that's a lot more f.u.c.king important fact."

They didn't speak again for the rest of the drive.

Chapter Twenty.

As March bled into April, time seemed to slow and drag, every overcast day reflecting Libbie's mood, while every sunny day mocked her for thinking she could ever be happy.

The only consolation she felt was that at the end of the trial, she'd be together with her men again. Hopefully for good this time.

She followed the case's progress online via both The Miami Herald's website and local TV station reports. There wasn't information every day, because testimony wouldn't start for a couple of months yet due to more issues raised by the defense.

Occasionally, she was rewarded with a brief glimpse of Allan standing in the background during press conferences.

Well, she suspected it was Ben and not Allan, from his dark hair and the hard look she spotted in his eyes, always searching the crowd.

She'd avoided talking to Mandaline about her issues, managing to disappear when her friend came for her daily order. Grover knew the full truth about why they'd left. Grover told Ruth and Jenny that one of the men's relatives had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and the men had traveled back to Nebraska to be with their family during the trying time.

One Friday toward the end of April, she couldn't take it any longer. She needed more than just Grover's sympathetic expressions and hugs.

She needed to vent.

Libbie walked across the square to Many Blessings, relieved to find the storefront empty and Mandaline the only one behind the counter.

Mandaline grinned when Libbie walked in. "You're looking good, mama! You're positively glowing..." She rounded the counter to hug Libbie, her expression changing. "Except for that G.o.ddessawful frown. Why are you so sad? What happened? What's wrong?"

Libbie had given up trying to deny her friend apparently had a hot line to the supernatural. "I miss my guys." Then, surprising herself, she burst into tears.

Mandaline hustled her back through a beaded curtain into the tiny office and made her sit in a comfy chair next to her desk. "Spill it."

She couldn't tell all of it, not without breaking Allan and Ben's strict admonitions about keeping the truth hidden. But she told what she could. "I can't tell you everything, but...Ken and Charles aren't who they said they were. And you can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you."

Mandaline crossed her heart and twisted her fingers over her lips.

"They were hiding out ahead of a trial. They're on the good side, don't worry. And they're brothers, not cousins. And...well, obviously, they aren't gay."

Mandaline let out a braying laugh full of warmth. "Sweetie, I knew from the moment I laid eyes on them that they were neither gay nor country boys from Nebraska." Her smile faded. "I just didn't know what or why they felt they had to lie about who they were. All I knew was their auras were warm and full of light." She sighed. "I wondered what had happened, why you were so scared. When do you get to see them again?"

Libbie shrugged. "It's not safe. It's a mob trial. They're worried if the guy finds out about me that he'll try to hurt or kill me to get to them."

"They're within driving distance?"

"Yeah."

"You should go see them."

"But they said it wasn't safe."

"Does this mobster know who you are?"

Libbie shook her head.

"Does he even know you exist?"

"No."

"Okay then. Your overprotective men are likely suffering from an overabundance of caution. Admirable, but misguided." She smiled again. "They'll get over it when you show up on their doorstep. I guarantee they're missing you as much as you're missing them. And they need you now as much as you need them."

Libbie decided to leave on Sunday, after stewing about it for more than a day following her talk with Mandaline.

"You sure you want to do this, sugar?" Lines of concern etched Grover's face.

"Yeah. I miss them so much." She wasn't looking forward to the drive with the deep ache in her body, not to mention the occasional queasiness she'd been having, but she knew a night in her men's arms would make it more than worth it. "They're all I can think about. I'll come back Tuesday night. You can put up a sign on the door if you want instead of opening."

He waved that suggestion away. "We can run the place, don't worry. I'll just make the usuals, nothing fancy. And I'll take care of the brat cat for you." His brow furrowed. "They said it'd be dangerous to be with them until after the trial ended."

"I know. But I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself. Miami is a really big place. I can't imagine there being any trouble."

He let out a heavy sigh and straightened, taking a step away from the car door. "Yes, you are a big girl. But it don't mean I won't worry about you every minute you're gone. You make sure you call me, okay?"

She nodded. "I will."

She pulled out and made her way to head east on SR 50 to the interstate. She'd take I-75 all the way down to Alligator Alley and across to Miami. With gas and bathroom stops, she figured she could make it in about five hours.

I'm done waiting. Sitting on her hands praying their weekly call would come sucked.

Libbie glanced at the phone they'd given her, which sat on the pa.s.senger seat. Yes, tonight was their call night. She planned to be in Miami by the time she received it, to meet them somewhere, even if only for a few hours. She missed them, wanted them. Wanted to be in their arms.

Wanted to have a good, long cry, with more than her pillow and Galileo to comfort her.

When she reached the eastern end of Alligator Alley just after ten that night, she heard the disposable phone beep that a voice mail awaited her. Which was odd, because she'd never heard it ring.

They should have called by now.

Frowning, she reached for it while not taking her eyes off the road. She held it up and glanced at the screen.

No missed calls, but the voice mail icon flashed. So did the roaming icon.

Swearing, she put it on speaker mode and hit the speed dial b.u.t.ton for voice mail.

"Hey, babe, it's Allan. We're just checking in for our weekly call."

"I'm here, too," Ben chimed in.

"We miss you. We'll try calling back in a little while. Love you."

"Love you, too," Ben added.

She hit save and dropped the phone back onto the pa.s.senger seat. From the time stamp on the voice mail, it had arrived while she was in the middle of the Alley.

Must not have had cell reception.

When she stopped for gas twenty minutes later, taking a moment to run inside to use the bathroom and grab a snack, she swore again upon finding she had another voice mail waiting on her phone when she returned to the car.

And still no missed call alerts. The flas.h.i.+ng of the roaming icon seemed to mock her.

"s.h.i.+t!"

As always, she had no phone number where she could call them back. The number showed up as unavailable on her screen.

For the h.e.l.l of it, she tried the cells Ben and Allan had used while in Brooksville and left voice mail messages for both of them.

While she appreciated their concern, the situation wore on her and had taxed what little remained of her patience. "Bianco be d.a.m.ned, I'm sick of not being with my guys," she muttered under her breath.

Another beep caught her attention. Her regular cell phone, which she'd forgotten to put on the charger, was almost dead. The low battery warning appeared on the screen. Too tired to hunt down the car charger for it in her overnight bag, she turned it off and dropped it in her purse.

Not like they'd call me on that one anyway.

Armed with the maps she'd printed out before leaving home, she headed toward Miami.

Libbie sat in her car and stared at the deserted house, her tears of disappointment rolling down her cheeks, hot and burning. It was hard to tell if they weren't really staying there, because the lawn was well kept and there weren't any old papers in the drive or unclaimed mail in the mailbox out front.

By 1:00 a.m. she knew they weren't staying there. Worse, the deep ache in her body from the drive had now turned into a screaming agony she knew she'd pay for the next morning.

Well, later this morning.

Defeated, she drove back the way she came until she found a hotel in what looked like a reasonably safe neighborhood. Fortunately, they had a room available. She went ahead and booked it for two nights, hoping she would need it that long.

Even luckier, she'd only packed one bag, easily toted up to her room on the third floor. Locking herself in, she immediately headed for the tub. Only once she'd sunk into the hot water did she let her tears flow again.

Getting out of the tub thirty minutes later proved problematic. Her body had revolted, turning traitorous and stealing her strength even as unrelenting pain a.s.saulted her. She finally managed to get out. After drying off, she climbed into bed and pulled the covers over her.

Ben hung up, a frown on his face as he studied the phone.

"What?" Allan said.

He shook his head. "This isn't right."

"What do you mean?"

He looked at Allan. "Something's wrong. No way she would miss our call. She never does." Seven weeks away from Libbie, and his heart ached. He dreamed of her nearly every night and longed to hop in the car and just drive to Brooksville to see her.

He didn't dare. He suspected Bianco had people trying to figure out "Allan's" every move, waiting for a chance to strike.

Maybe it was overkill, as Allan had accused him on several occasions. He didn't care. He couldn't risk her safety, or Allan's. Not to mention he had to stay in Miami to protect Allan. Several times he'd eluded people he discovered following him. It was why they moved from hotel to hotel, never staying in the same one more than a week.

They just couldn't risk it.

Ben knew he could testify in full disguise, and Bianco would still never know what he looked like for sure. After the trial, he'd shave or dye his hair and disappear to Brooksville for good.

By then, it wouldn't matter. Bianco would be in jail, and the least of the mobster's problems would be hunting him or Allan down with the Feds crawling up his a.s.s with their separate trial looming on the horizon.

Not to mention figuring out how to fend off takeovers from within his own ranks.

But until the trial was complete and a verdict rendered, Ben knew he had to bide his time.

He found himself unable to sleep, and was still mulling it over the next morning as they were preparing for their usual routine. He tried calling Libbie again and silently swore when it went immediately to voice mail.

"Call Grover," Allan suggested.

Ben nodded. But instead of using the phone they used to call Libbie, he retrieved another disposable cell phone he'd yet to use, one registered to a New York State number, and called from that.

A paranoid abundance of caution, granted, but he wouldn't put his friends at risk, either.