Her Officer in Charge Page 12

  He was feeling it with Bella, and though Bella was a fiery, independent spirit, he knew she was happiest when under romantic, loving control, the kind of control that he offered, the kind of control that made him feel alive. They were connected, kindred spirits, but he couldn’t deny the concerns in the back of his mind.

  She’s not the other side of the planet, but she’s not next door either, and she’s on the road almost every weekend. How the hell is this ever going to work? I’m not going to lose her to logistics or distance or any other crap. I’m going to figure this out.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vince’s internal alarm clock woke him from sleep. It was time to leave Bella’s warm body; gently extricating himself from her limbs, he slipped from bed and padded into the bathroom. She was sleeping soundly, but he expected the sound of the shower would wake her. She could loll in bed as long as she wished, or come with him to the base and drop him off, but after he toweled himself dry, dressed, and walked back into the bedroom, he found her still dead to the world. Deciding to have breakfast at the base, he scribbled her a note.

  Make yourself at home. Call me at this number if you need me. I’ll come back and join you for lunch. L & K. Vince.

  Placing it on the pillow next to her, he stole quietly from the room and headed into the garage. As he backed out onto the street and drove to work, a contented smile crossed his face. The thought of the lovely Bella still sleeping in his bed was washing him in a comforting warmth, a warmth that he realized had been missing in his life.

  Pulling into his parking space, he walked into the building that housed his office, unlocked his door, and had just sat down when his cellphone rang. A quick glance at the screen told him it was the major.

  “I need to see you. Come over to my office.”

  “Yes, sir, I’ll be right there,” Vince replied. Huh, that sounds urgent, I wonder what’s up.

  Hurrying back to his car, Vince drove quickly through the camp. The major’s office was in a large complex with its own parking lot. After finding a spot, Vince entered the building, strode down the long hallway and into the reception area, where he was greeted by Cathy, the major’s secretary.

  “Good morning, Captain Valenti. The major’s expecting you. Please, go right in.”

  “Thanks, Cathy,” he smiled, and after knocking softly on the door, he cracked it open. The major was hanging up the phone and gestured for him to enter and sit down.

  “I know you would have preferred to remain in charge of the surveillance outside the base,” the major began, “but with you handling the girl, I thought it better for me to pick it up. Bateman did go straight home, no surprises.”

  “It did free me up,” Vince replied, and must you keep referring to her as the girl?

  “Let’s talk about what we know. Bateman’s address is valid, but it’s the address of a twenty-story condo complex and we have no unit number.”

  “Right,” Vince nodded. Why are we going back through this?

  “No utilities in his name, so it must have been rented with the utilities included, and I’ve learned this isn’t unusual for musicians.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “Apparently they prefer it because they take off on tours and move around a lot. It saves them dealing with having things turned on and off all the time.”

  “I see, yes, that does make sense,” Vince agreed.

  “The other address he has is a P.O. box, and that P.O. box has the complex listed as his home address, but again, no unit number. The complex has a five-level underground parking garage with a security gate. When Bateman drove in last night, the tail was too far back to slip in behind him, but they did manage to get into the lobby and take the elevator down into the garage. It took them a while, but they found the car and put a tracker on it, though he could have more than one vehicle down there.”

  “That’s something at least,” Vince remarked, “and those guys will get his unit number, it’s just a matter of time.”

  “He’s not our only suspect,” the major remarked. “We’re watching a few other people as well.”

  “Anything on that photograph of the supposed band manager yet?”

  “No, nothing. Maybe he is a band manager, maybe Bateman is just a musician.”

  “So, why did you want to see me?”

  “How are things going with the girl?”

  “She’s fine,” Vince answered, gritting his teeth. “She asked questions, so I gave her some vague information and made it sound like more than it was. She has a great deal of faith in Bateman.”

  “That brings me to the reason you’re here,” the major declared. “Bateman’s prints.”

  “How can they not have picked up his prints?” Vince muttered.

  “I don’t understand what’s taking them so long either,” the major grumbled. “It occurred to me that your girl might have something. Maybe a prop from the show, or the microphone, something that the two of them have handled. You’ll have to bring her in and take a set of her prints to eliminate her, of course.”

  “Yes, of course,” Vince nodded.

  “We have to know if he’s on any of our databases. We need his prints.”

  “Yes, sir, I understand. I’ll get home right away. See if she has anything.”

  “Let me know, I’ll be waiting to hear from you,” the major said impatiently.

  “Yes, sir, of course. Any other news?”

  “No, that’s it. Just get home and find me something with those prints,” he repeated.

  Moving quickly out of the major’s office, Vince pondered what he’d just been told, and as he walked down the corridor toward the exit, he realized the only information the major had shared was that they’d put a GPS tracker on Bateman’s car.

  All the major did was reiterate what I already knew, and why didn’t they put the tracker on Bateman’s car here? That’s strange. Huh, the only reason he had me come over here in such a rush was because he wanted me to run home and ask Bella if she had anything with Scott’s prints. He could have asked me to do that over the phone, and it’s easy to get prints or DNA. The guys tailing him last night could have broken into Bateman’s car and pulled something out of his glove compartment, or set him up with glass or a bottle at a bar or a restaurant. I’ve done it a thousand times. Something’s off here. What the hell is happening?

  Two hours away, Scott Bateman was sitting in a small café eating a late breakfast. The car following him the previous night had been easy to spot, and even easier to lose. Not knowing who it was, and with the threats from Moses hanging over his head, he’d decided to take a short sabbatical until he could find out.

  Making sure they were far enough back, he’d driven into his underground parking garage, knowing the gate would close behind him, locking them out. Pulling leather pants and a jacket from the trunk of his car, he’d rolled his motorbike up two ramps to the pedestrian gate at the back of the building and ridden off into the night. He had a second apartment in case of such emergencies. It was rented under another name, and he’d paid the rent in cash, in advance.

  Sipping his coffee, he picked up his newspaper and scanned the sports page. He’d already contacted the powers that be. All he could do was wait, and Scott was a patient man, he’d been trained to be patient, but as the minutes ticked by he found himself becoming irritated. Dropping the newspaper, he downed the last of his coffee. Things had become too complicated, and even though Bella was with the captain, he wanted to keep a closer eye on things.

  Bella had been woken by the sound of Vince’s car backing out of the garage as he’d headed to work, but it had been a momentary blip in her sleep. A while later she finally blinked open her eyes, and, yawning, she reached for her watch.

  “Huh, almost nine-thirty,” she mumbled, and as she stretched the kinks from her body, she found the note Vince had left.

  Smiling happily, she laid back for a few minutes, luxuriating in the memories of their many magical moments, then after padding slowly
into the bathroom, she took her time as she showered. She toweled off and pulled on her jeans and gray sweater, determined to head out that afternoon and pick up some clothing for the rest of the week.

  She was hungry, and after finding some whole-grain bread in the refrigerator, she made herself some toast, along with a cup of tea, and sat down at the kitchen table to gaze out at the perfect backyard. It was serene and relaxing, and she reflected on the startling events, and the unexpected happiness she had found with her handsome marine captain.

  Knowing what was expected, she washed her cup and saucer and wiped down the counter. Back at her apartment the dishes would have sat in her sink for a couple of hours, and the crumbs on the counter would have been left untouched.

  Not sure what to do with herself, she wandered down the hallway and entered the study to take a closer look at the photographs. Choosing the gallery chronicling his military career, she gazed at each picture carefully. He had been handsome throughout his life, and looking at his early years, it appeared, even back then, he had carried himself with self-confidence.

  I wonder when you became a dom. I want to know about that. Was it with Tina? Have you always known, or did you discover your nature later in life?

  When she heard the sound of his car pull up in the driveway, surprised he was home so early, she moved quickly to the front door to greet him.

  “Hi,” she smiled as he walked in. “You’re back already? I didn’t expect you until midday.”

  “Something’s come up,” he said, giving her a warm hug, “but I’m glad it did.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do I smell toast?”

  “Yes, I had some when I woke up. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not,” he replied, walking with her into the kitchen. “It’s great to come home and have the smell of food greet me, even if it is just toast.”

  “I had it with honey, and a cup of tea. It was delicious. Would you like me to make you some?”

  “No, thanks, we have to have a chat. Sit down with me for a second, I need to ask you something.”

  “Sure,” she replied, following him to the kitchen table. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes, everything’s fine, and please don’t worry when I ask you this.”

  “I’ll do my best,” she said warily. “What’s up?”

  “Do you have anything that might have Scott’s prints on it?”

  “You mean, fingerprints?” she asked. “Seriously?”

  “Yep, fingerprints. Apparently they’re having had a hard time getting them, and it will help to rule him out.”

  “Rule him out of what?”

  “Uh, that was the wrong choice of words,” he said quickly. “It will help them close out the security check.”

  “Why do I think that ‘rule him out’ was more accurate? Please, Vince, rule him out of what? Why do they need his prints?”

  “They’ll run them through a database and make sure he’s not on any lists. Rule him out.”

  “The mysterious they. Who are they, exactly?”

  “The people trying to finish his security check,” Vince replied. “I can’t tell you more than that.”

  “Stupid secrets,” she muttered.

  “Do you have anything?” Vince pressed, trying to remain patient.

  “Shoot, let me think. If I do, it will have my fingerprints as well as his.”

  “That’s okay. We can take yours and eliminate them. Think, it can be anything, a CD cover, a hair dryer you might have shared, anything at all?”

  “He would have taken the CDs with him, along with my props and show stuff, and my overnight bag. Oh, crap, all that show stuff lives in his car,” she groaned. “We rarely unpack it because we put it all back in the trunk the next weekend. If he’s, uh, I mean, if things turn bad for him, or if he takes off like you said he might, oh, my gosh, I must have my things.”

  “Relax, nothing’s going to happen to your stuff,” Vince said quickly, trying to reassure her. “If he does bolt, he’ll more than likely dump the car he’s been using, and there’s a tracker on it. Wherever he leaves it, or even if he takes it, we’ll find your stuff.”

  “Oh, man, I sure hope so,” she groaned. “This is horrible.”

  “You’re getting ahead of yourself. One step at a time. Do you have something that would have his prints?”

  “I still feel panicky,” she declared.

  “The sooner we have his prints, the sooner this will be over.”

  “Okay, let me think. Maybe I do. I seem to remember putting a backup CD in my handbag in case we needed it. God forbid the show CD gets busted somehow and I have no music or effects.”

  “Are you saying that’s the handbag you have with you?”

  “Yes. It’s the one I bring to the shows because it carries so much.”

  “The CD might be in it, and he made the copy?”

  “Exactly. He made several extra backups after I recorded some new material. You can’t have just one copy of something so important. He would have handed me the CD when he made it months ago.”

  “Please, dear God,” Vince muttered as he grabbed some plastic baggies from a cabinet.

  They hurried to his bedroom and, opening her trendy, large leather purse, she rummaged through the contents.

  “Sorry, no CD,” she said.

  “Darn it,” Vince muttered. They should have his prints, this is insane.

  “Hang on, it might be in here,” she declared, unzipping an outside compartment. “Yay, look, two CDs. One is the show track, all the songs and effects, and the other is a CD he made of the effects alone.”

  She reached in to retrieve them but he grabbed her arm.

  “No, sorry, wait, don’t touch them. We don’t want to add any more prints.”

  She watched him move into the bathroom and return with tissues, then, carefully picking up each CD by the corner of the plastic case, he dropped each of them it into a plastic bag.

  “We have to get this back to the base, and you need to come with me and have your prints taken. After you’re done, you can take the car if you’d like.”

  “Yes, definitely, thanks so much,” she smiled.

  Zipping up her purse, she picked it up and turned around to walk out with him, but found him standing in the middle of the room, his hands on his hips, staring at the floor.

  “Vince?”

  “Something’s wrong with this picture,” he muttered.

  “What picture?”

  “Everything, the entire picture,” he mumbled, and, still staring at the floor, he began to pace. Prints, it’s about his prints. Why don’t they have his prints? They must have his prints. If I take that as a given… “Oh, shit!” he suddenly exclaimed, then, lifting his head, he stared across the room at her. “That’s why he had me race over to his office. How could I have been so stupid?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Those CDs. Did you handle the actual discs?”

  “Um, no, never. I’ve never had to. I just took the cases from Scott and dropped them in my bag.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Positive. Like I said, I’ve had no reason to use them. I’ve never taken them out.”

  “You just have the clothes you’re wearing, right?”

  “Yes, everything else is in the trunk of Scott’s car. What’s going on?”

  “There’s no time to explain,” he said urgently, moving quickly across to her and gripping her upper arms. “I made you a promise. I said I’d protect you, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do, but you absolutely must do everything I say. Understand?”

  “Yes, yes, of course.”

  “Check around, pack up everything you brought with you, and I mean everything.”

  “I only have my purse,” she replied.

  “Makeup, your hairbrush, hairdryer, check the bathroom, don’t leave anything behind,” he insisted. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to play this, but better she have nothing l
eft here, just in case.

  “Should I be scared?”

  “Only if you decide to do something against my orders,” he said sternly.

  “You’re my officer in charge,” she said, staring up at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  After quickly throwing some clothes into an overnight suitcase, Vince grabbed one of the plastic bags containing a CD, and carried it and the suitcase into the kitchen. Dropping the CD out of the plastic bag, he popped out the disc, then cleaned both the inside and outside of the plastic case with window cleaner. Carefully lifting the disc back up with a paper towel, he placed it back inside its plastic case, then dropped it inside a plain paper sack.

  Opening a cabinet, he pulled out a traveling coffee mug, washed it with soap and water, scouring both the inside and out, carefully screwed the top back, and placed it next to the CD inside the paper sack, along with a paper towel.

  Moving quickly down the hallway, he walked into his study, closed and locked the door behind him, then, climbing onto his desk, he reached up to one of the exposed beams. He pushed a knot in the wood until he heard the telltale click, a small panel popped open, and he reached inside to retrieve a canvas sports bag. It only took seconds to find what he was looking for, then he pushed the bag back into its hiding place.

  Stepping off his desk, he took a minute to examine the contents of the small, black leather pouch he’d retrieved. It had the monogrammed initials NS, and contained an out-of-state driver’s license with his picture in the name of Nathan Samuels, a passport and two credit cards with the same identity, two burner phones, and five thousand dollars in cash.

  “Vince, are you in there? I’m ready,” Bella called through the door.

  “Hold on,” he called back, tying the drawstring pouch through a loop in his trousers.

  “Can you tell me why you locked this?” she asked, rattling the handle.

  “You ask too many questions! I’ll tell you later,” he replied, opening it up. “Do you have your phone?”