myself and give you some samples of our frozen food.”
His story wasn’t any more sincere than his apology. A twelve-passenger maroon van with darkened windows sat at the curb. “The Schwann man has a yellow refrigerator kind of truck.” I patted my nephew on the shoulder with a trembling palm. “Tater, go get your mom.” I wanted him away from this man.
“What’s going on?” Raquel appeared in the foyer. She picked Tate up. He cuddled into her shoulder. Could he sense I was uncomfortable or was he getting his own bad vibes from the Nasty Muscle Man on our doorstep?
I heard a soft click. My eyes flipped to the van. Muscle Man’s thin partner was snapping pictures of us from the rear fender.
My gaze spun back to the man towering a few feet from my nephew and sister-in-law. He plastered on a smile, but it was only lip-deep. What were these two up to? Trying to take secretive pictures of us, of Tate. My stomach dive-bombed.
I put myself between Muscle Man and my family. “We wouldn’t care for any samples today.”
His fake smile flushed away. Flexing polish sausage fingers, he took a half-step towards me.
I shrunk back, holding my arms out to shield Raquel and Tate. “Don’t you take one more step,” I commanded, fear giving each word its own octave.
The idiot moved. I slammed the door. The handle turned against my fingers. I pushed against the door with all my weight. Raquel joined me. After several attempts, I jammed the deadbolt into place. My heart thundered in my eardrums.
“Should I call the police?” Raquel asked.
I stared through the peephole at the body-builder gone wrong. Muscle Man glowered at the door as if he could zap me with his bulging eyeballs. I clung to the deadbolt, certain that lowlifes like him had ways to open locks. The door handle rattled again.
“Yes, call the police,” I yelled loud enough that Muscle Man could hear through the door.
Raquel scurried away with Tate clinging to her.
The guy lingered for a moment, then gestured to his friend and descended the steps.
“Yes, two men,” Raquel said in a rush of breath, returning to the foyer. “Are they still out there?”
“No, they’re leaving.”
“Can you see the license plate?”
I squinted through the peephole and definitely could not read the license plate. The van pulled away. I should run out there and get that plate number. I froze, clinging to the door, too terrified to expose myself to Muscle Man again.
“No,” I squeaked.
“They left,” Raquel said. “Maroon van.” She kept talking. I didn’t move. Finally Raquel said goodbye.
“Detective Shine and Fine on their way to save us again?” I asked.
“Probably,” she said. “Who was that guy?”
I kept staring out the peephole, reassuring myself they were gone. “Nasty Muscle Man.”
“From the race? What did he want?”
I swallowed, thinking of our last encounter at Café Sabor. What did Muscle Man want? “Me.”
* * *
Al slammed the passenger side door of the van, staring gloomily at the sprawling rock and stucco home. Nathan’s daughter rubbed him the wrong way. She looked just like her mother, long legs, dark hair, and those pouty lips, but was feistier than her father. Al could still picture both her parents with infrared dots on their chests. When would the call come to terminate the daughter? Maybe he could just throw her into this job as a freebie, after he got what he needed from her. The thought made him smile.
Al shook his head. Cassidy Christensen. Acting like she could protect her nephew and sister-in-law from him. Just like her dad trying to protect all those slaves.
Terry started the van, gunning out of the subdivision. “You think they really called the cops?”
“Let’s not wait around to find out,” Al snarled. “Did you get some good ones? Me in them? Something that will show him we mean business?”
“Perfect.” Terry’s head bobbed twice. “Even got the
His story wasn’t any more sincere than his apology. A twelve-passenger maroon van with darkened windows sat at the curb. “The Schwann man has a yellow refrigerator kind of truck.” I patted my nephew on the shoulder with a trembling palm. “Tater, go get your mom.” I wanted him away from this man.
“What’s going on?” Raquel appeared in the foyer. She picked Tate up. He cuddled into her shoulder. Could he sense I was uncomfortable or was he getting his own bad vibes from the Nasty Muscle Man on our doorstep?
I heard a soft click. My eyes flipped to the van. Muscle Man’s thin partner was snapping pictures of us from the rear fender.
My gaze spun back to the man towering a few feet from my nephew and sister-in-law. He plastered on a smile, but it was only lip-deep. What were these two up to? Trying to take secretive pictures of us, of Tate. My stomach dive-bombed.
I put myself between Muscle Man and my family. “We wouldn’t care for any samples today.”
His fake smile flushed away. Flexing polish sausage fingers, he took a half-step towards me.
I shrunk back, holding my arms out to shield Raquel and Tate. “Don’t you take one more step,” I commanded, fear giving each word its own octave.
The idiot moved. I slammed the door. The handle turned against my fingers. I pushed against the door with all my weight. Raquel joined me. After several attempts, I jammed the deadbolt into place. My heart thundered in my eardrums.
“Should I call the police?” Raquel asked.
I stared through the peephole at the body-builder gone wrong. Muscle Man glowered at the door as if he could zap me with his bulging eyeballs. I clung to the deadbolt, certain that lowlifes like him had ways to open locks. The door handle rattled again.
“Yes, call the police,” I yelled loud enough that Muscle Man could hear through the door.
Raquel scurried away with Tate clinging to her.
The guy lingered for a moment, then gestured to his friend and descended the steps.
“Yes, two men,” Raquel said in a rush of breath, returning to the foyer. “Are they still out there?”
“No, they’re leaving.”
“Can you see the license plate?”
I squinted through the peephole and definitely could not read the license plate. The van pulled away. I should run out there and get that plate number. I froze, clinging to the door, too terrified to expose myself to Muscle Man again.
“No,” I squeaked.
“They left,” Raquel said. “Maroon van.” She kept talking. I didn’t move. Finally Raquel said goodbye.
“Detective Shine and Fine on their way to save us again?” I asked.
“Probably,” she said. “Who was that guy?”
I kept staring out the peephole, reassuring myself they were gone. “Nasty Muscle Man.”
“From the race? What did he want?”
I swallowed, thinking of our last encounter at Café Sabor. What did Muscle Man want? “Me.”
* * *
Al slammed the passenger side door of the van, staring gloomily at the sprawling rock and stucco home. Nathan’s daughter rubbed him the wrong way. She looked just like her mother, long legs, dark hair, and those pouty lips, but was feistier than her father. Al could still picture both her parents with infrared dots on their chests. When would the call come to terminate the daughter? Maybe he could just throw her into this job as a freebie, after he got what he needed from her. The thought made him smile.
Al shook his head. Cassidy Christensen. Acting like she could protect her nephew and sister-in-law from him. Just like her dad trying to protect all those slaves.
Terry started the van, gunning out of the subdivision. “You think they really called the cops?”
“Let’s not wait around to find out,” Al snarled. “Did you get some good ones? Me in them? Something that will show him we mean business?”
“Perfect.” Terry’s head bobbed twice. “Even got the
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