Lorenzo, just in case he decided to come to. She checked the caller ID and didn’t recognize the number. A bad sign. The caller didn’t leave a message. Another bad sign.
In the kitchen, she pulled a roll of duct tape from a drawer, noticing the window Lorenzo Dante had broken to gain entrance. Bastard.
It seemed a pretty good bet that if he didn’t report in, someone would come looking for him. If they hadn’t already. Best to make sure that Lorenzo didn’t come to before she could decide what to do with him.
Back in the living room, she taped his wrists, ankles and mouth, then dragged him back into the kitchen, out of sight of the front door. She was chilled and trembling, her undergarments still soaked.
The hell with it, she thought as she ran upstairs, turned on the shower and stripped off the rest of her wet clothing before stepping in.
She would have loved to have stood under the hot spray long enough to really warm up, but that was too risky.
She shut off the shower and dried herself, listening for any sound that someone else had broken in. At least the next intruder would have easy entrance, thanks to Lorenzo Dante.
She dressed in jeans, a flannel shirt and boots, then took the packed small suitcase she kept for just such an occurrence. Back downstairs, she was relieved to see that no one else had shown up yet.
Lorenzo had come to, though. He was giving her the evil eye. She chuckled to herself, remembering her Spanish grandmother’s evil eye. Lorenzo Dante, killer that he was, had nothing on Rose’s grandmother, Rosamaria.
If he had found her, then she had to assume that Valencia knew, as well. She glanced around the house, bummed that she would have to leave her home. Even temporarily. As she headed for the back door, she heard Lorenzo trying to say something through the tape on his mouth.
Rose stopped. She knew she didn’t have much time, but she couldn’t help herself. She turned and went back, taking a perverse satisfaction when Lorenzo Dante, local tough guy, cried out in pain as she ripped the tape from his mouth.
“You bitch!” he screamed.
“I thought you had something important to say.” She put down her bag and started to rip another strip of duct tape to reseal his mouth.
“No. Listen, I don’t know who you are but maybe I can help you,” he said quickly. “Franco’s boss, Valencia, knows about you and Franco. He’ll kill you if he finds you here.”
She raised a brow. “Like you weren’t going to.”
He took a breath, obviously in some pain from at least one of the spots where she’d kicked him. That’s what he got for breaking into her house and holding a gun on her.
“I will give you money so you can get away from him.”
“Why would you do that?” she asked suspiciously. She heard a car go by slowly, for the second time in the past few minutes.
“Look, do you want the money or not?”
“Not.” She started to slap tape back on his mouth.
“Wait! I don’t think you realize who I am.”
“Lorenzo Dante, two-bit criminal.”
He winced at the two-bit part, just as she knew he would. “All you women are bitches. You’re both going to burn in hell.”
She had started to tape his mouth again but stopped. “What are you talking about?”
He closed his mouth and gave her a look that said over his dead body would he tell. Fine with her. She gave him a hard jab with the blade of her hand along his temple, then another just in case he didn’t get the message.
“You and my ex-wife,” he cried out, grimacing in pain. “I’ll see you both in hell.”
That she could believe. She slapped the tape over his mouth as she heard a car door slam out front.
She half expected one of Valencia’s men to be covering the rear. The doorbell rang as she slipped out the back door to her car. Getting into her Mini, she turned the car key. The engine purred. She tromped on the gas, speeding out into the alley.
She spotted one of Valencia’s men, Rico Santos, running along the side of the house with a gun in his hand. She reached the end of the alley, hung a quick right and didn’t look back as she tried not to think of Franco and what the bastards had done to him.
She kept her foot pressed to the gas pedal, roaring down street after street,