A Page 10

  "We'll need disguises," Lynnie decided.

  "Yeah, that robber's disguise sucked. Blue eyes. Pft!" I blew out a puff of air between my lips. "We could so do better than a pair of blue contacts." They had to be contacts, right? I mean, no one had eyes that blue. Almost unnaturally blue. Bright and wide and so clear you could get lost in them…

  "Masks!" Lynnie yelled, snapping me back to the present. "We'd need masks."

  "I have a Marilyn Monroe one from Halloween last year," Quinn offered.

  "Perfect! Let's all be 50's bombshells," Lynnie suggested.

  "And we can wear teeny tiny bikinis," I added, doing another shot. "They'll be so busy staring at our tits, no one will be able to describe us later."

  This sent the three of us into a round of unladylike snorting that sounded more barnyard than bombshell.

  * * *

  "So, you hatched your master plan over a bottle of Jose Cuervo?"

  "No!" I punched him in the arm, making the car swerve a little on the nearly deserted highway. We were taking the old route 66, scenic, ill maintained, and less conspicuous. "We were only joking around."

  "But then it became serious."

  I looked out the window. "I guess it did."

  "When?"

  "Right about the time I got evicted and had to go live on Lynette's couch. It smelled like urine. And I wasn't even sure if it was from the golden retriever or the babies, because no one in that house could seem to hold their bladder. Even Lynnie dribbles when she laughs too hard."

  "Wow. More than I needed to know."

  "You did say you wanted to know everything."

  He grinned. "So I did. Okay then, you decided to do it for real. Lynette and Quinn were with you?"

  I shrugged. It took a while, but Lynette started realizing just what that kind of money would mean to her kids and Quinn, well, Quinn said it could be more of a high than when she bungeed naked off a 400 foot bridge in Ojai. Besides, we all figured that after enduring years of Leeman's leers and ass grabs we'd earned this. Call it hazard pay.

  "So, here's what I want to know," he said, turning to me. "Where did you get that gun?"

  I smirked. "Let's just say I have friends in low places," I said, remembering how my mother's latest honey, a paranoid underground militia member, hadn't even missed the pieces I'd borrowed from his stock arsenal underneath Mom's doublewide.

  He rolled his eyes. "Oh please, don't tell me you're one of those girls that goes around quoting Garth Brooks songs? I'll let you out right here."

  "You wouldn't dare."

  "I might."

  "You forget, I have the gun."

  He lifted one eyebrow at me and grinned. "Good point."

  "Thank you." I settled back in my seat, pulling one bare leg up to my chest as I let the sun soak into my skin.

  "So… you decided to rob the bank to get enough money for your condo?"

  I shook my head. "No. We did it out of revenge. On L.A. Mu. And Leeman. We wanted to see him squirm."

  "Really? Pure revenge?"

  I paused. "Okay, so maybe not pure revenge. There was a little greed in there as well."

  He laughed. Deep and low in his throat. It seemed to rumble off the abandoned red-rock canyons surrounding us like a picture postcard. "Greed I understand. So, you convince the girls, you get the disguises, you have a gun. Then what?"

  I turned to him and smiled. "Then I met you."

  * * *

  “Ready, ladies?” Quinn asked.

  I felt butterflies rolling anxiously in my stomach as we pulled our masks on.

  “Just like we rehearsed,” I heard Quinn say. “They’ll be so distracted, they won’t even know what hit them.”

  “Right,” I managed through my dry throat.

  I stripped off my jeans and tank top and the three of us bolted from the car, earning a confused stare from the guy in the cow suit. Personally, I didn't think he was anyone to judge.

  Two seconds later we were through the doors, guns drawn. There was no going back now even if we wanted to. I heard a woman scream, Lynette telling David to 'be cool', Quinn yelling obscenities at the bank patrons. But I blocked it all out, intent on my one mission. I strode purposefully up to the third teller window on the left.

  Mr. Leeman stood behind it, his jaw stuck in the open position.

  “Hi, there” I said in my most cheerful voice. Which wasn't hard to fake. Seeing Leeman scared shitless put me in a pretty good mood. “Empty the drawer into my bag, don’t even think of pushing your panic button, and keep your hands where I can see them. And,” I added, unable to keep from grinning behind my mask, “stop staring at my tits.”

  He paused, going a shade of pale just slightly above death. "I… uh… I can't," he said, his nasally voice quivering.

  I shoved the gun inches from his nose. "Sure you can, muffin. Just open the damn drawer."

  "Oh, Jesus," he squeaked out. He licked his thin lips, a bead of sweat trickling down his face to hover on the tip of his nose.

  "Empty the damn drawer."

  "I, I, I can't!" he stuttered. "I just emptied it for that guy!" He pointed a shaky finger to the right where a group of bank patrons lay face down on the floor.

  I looked over. A man in an Anaheim Angels baseball cap, carrying a bulging duffel bag, stood up. Then trained a pair of California sky blue eyes on me.

  "You!" I turned the gun on him. "What the hell are you doing back here?"

  He took a tentative step forward. He blinked, taking in my mask, then honed in on my eyes, recognition dawning in his own. "Hi there," he answered. "I guess I just enjoyed myself so much last time, I thought I'd stop by again."

  I shook my head. "You're hitting the same bank twice in a row?

  He shrugged. "That's genius. No one's expecting it."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. Damn. Nice logic.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked.

  "What does it look like I'm doing?"

  He looked down at my outfit. Or lack thereof. His gaze lingered a healthy amount of time in all the right places. Despite the fact that our best laid plans were falling down around me, my body responded with gusto, my stomach clenching and going all fluttery.

  "It looks like you're causing a scene," he finally responded. "And what's with the gun?"

  "You use a gun."

  "I 'say' I have a gun. That's different."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You mean to tell me you didn't even have a gun?"

  He shrugged.

  Figures. "Look, let's speed this up. I'm here for the money." I gestured to his duffel bag.

  A grin spread across his face. "Looks like I beat you to it, huh?"

  "Yay. Goody for you. Now hand it over."

  "Carrie," Lynette yelled. She held up her matching flowered beach tote. "All full. Let's go."

  Quinn took the signal and started backing toward the glass doors.

  I turned back to Mr. Beat-you-to-it. "I have to go now. Give me the bag."

  "Nu uh."

  "What do you mean, 'nu uh?'"

  "Hey, I got here first. Fair's fair."

  I had never shot someone before but I was seriously contemplating it now. "Give me the bag!" I yelled, straight-arming the gun at him.

  "Okay, okay. Take it easy." He held up a hand up in surrender. "I'll hand it over. Or…" He paused. Then took a step toward me, giving me a long, deep stare that I swore could see right through my bikini, right through my mask, right down to my core. "Or… we could share it." He flashed me that boyish half smile. "The Bahamas are always more fun with two."

  I admit, I thought about it for half a second. "You want to share?"

  "Picture it," he said, taking another step closer. "You, me, a white sandy beach, big tropical drinks." He reached out a hand toward me. "What have you got to lose?"

  I opened my mouth to respond. But I didn't get to. A sound in the distance suddenly paralyzed us both.

  Sirens.

  Quinn heard them, too, because she in
stinctively started shooting. She took out the entire loan brochure stack in one swoop.

  "Sweet, Jesus." Leeman dropped to his knees and covered his head. I took immense satisfaction in the fact that a tiny dribble of wetness soaked through the crotch of his crumpled slacks.

  "The cow must have called the cops!" Lynette screamed. She bolted for the front door, almost crashing into Quinn.

  "Carrie?" she yelled.

  But for some reason I was rooted to the spot. Still holding Mr. Bank Robber's blue-eyed gaze.

  Suddenly I wasn't in the middle of the worst botched bank robbery of all time about to go to prison because a cow ratted me out. I was on a beach, in one of those Corona ads. Palm trees swaying, lazy sun on my face, warm salty air filling my lungs. The repo man, Mr. Chen, Leeman – none of them existed. I was sipping a drink with an umbrella in it. I didn't have a car, didn't have a home, didn't have a job… and I didn't have a care in the world.

  "Carrie?" Lynette called again, the sirens getting closer.

  I took a deep breath. "Go," I yelled back. I took the cute bank robber's outstretched hand. "I'll catch up."

  * * *

  We'd put at least 50 miles between us and the city. Another hundred and we'd be across the border, and on a plane to an anonymous island full of mai tais and who knows what.

  "You know," he said, turning to face me, one hand lazily caressing the steering wheel, "you're quite a girl."

  I grinned. "I know."

  "You think your friends are worried?"

  I shook my head. I'd called them when we'd stopped for gas an hour ago. They'd pulled the mini van away from the bank seconds before the police had arrived. They'd ditched the guns in a dumpster in North Hollywood, then driven straight to Lynnie's house where they'd disposed of the bikinis and masks in Lynnie's Diaper Genie. Quinn promised me she'd experienced enough adrenalin to last her the rest of her life. The Bombshell Bandits were retiring. Lynnie on the other hand, said she'd never felt more alive. Apparently she'd jumped her husband the second she'd gotten home and finally had her booty in the right hands.

  I promised them I'd call again soon.

  The wind whipped through my hair, sending it flying behind me and I stretched my arms above my head, loving the feel of the hot sun on my skin.

  "So," I asked lazily, pulling a stack of twenties from the navy blue duffel bag at my feet and inhaling deeply. "I have to know. Contacts?" I gestured to his blue eyes.

  He shook his head. "Nope." He glanced at my C's, still barely contained in my bikini top. "Implants?"

  I laughed. "Nope."

  "What are you doing?" he asked as I pulled out another stack.

  "Counting the price of my freedom. God, it better be more than thirty-two sixty-one."

  He gave me a quizzical look, but didn't ask.

  "So, you know my story now," I said, flipping through the bundles of green. "What's yours, Big Bad Bank Robber? Let's hear your confession."

  He did that wicked grin again, his eyes twinkling at me beneath his wind tussled hair. "How much time have you got?"

  I leaned back in my seat, watching the landscape fly past us on our way to anywhere-we-wanted. I thought of mai tais, rustling palms, tropical breezes, and those endless white sand beaches.

  And Mr. Blue Eyes.

  I smiled. "All the time in the world."

  * * * * *

  WATCHING YOU

  * * * * *

  9:07pm. She walked in her front door. Dropped her briefcase on the floor, kicked off her shoes. Heels. Always heels, this one. Dale wondered if maybe she had a height complex. From a distance, he judged her to be petite, no more than 5’3”. She was slim and compact, not a surprise considering how many hours he’d watched her put in at the gym. Ten in the last week. He had to be impressed by that.

  She pushed a button on her answering machine and a mechanical voice told her she had no messages. Not, of course, that Dale could hear it from his car across the street. But he knew there were never any messages by her body language, the way she quickly turned away from the machine, the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly forward. The way she never called anyone back. He wondered why she kept checking day after day.

  She crossed into the kitchen, obscuring Dale’s view for a moment. He took the opportunity to readjust his binoculars, wiping a single bead of sweat from his forehead. It was easily ninety, even with the sun setting behind him into the San Francisco Bay. He would have killed to flip on the AC but was afraid the engine running might attract attention. No, better to suffer the heat. The last thing he needed was some yahoo calling the SFPD on a peeping Tom.

  She emerged from the kitchen, crossing in front of the windows again, a glass of wine in hand. Something white and dry. He knew she didn’t go for that fruity shit. He’d been a step behind her at the supermarket yesterday when she’d purchased the bottle.

  He shrugged his tight shoulders, sweat dampening the back of his t-shirt as he watched her flip on her stereo. Her head rolled back, her eyes closing, her body instantly swaying to the rhythm. He wished he knew what she was listening to. Jazz? Beethoven? Some pop singer? He had no idea. But in his mind, he liked to pretend it was a smooth Sinatra standard. Light, clean, classic. It fit her.

  She carried her glass of wine into the bedroom, her movements fluid as the music made her tense shoulders loosen. She worked too hard. Most lawyers did, but he could tell she was driven in a way that just making associate at age twenty-five, or partner by thirty wouldn’t ever be enough for her. Something inside drove her. She was single minded, relentless. She would never quit, never stop, never be satisfied with less than everything. He admired it. And yet, at the same time it was exactly what made him know he needed to be here. That as much as he knew it was wrong to follow her, to track her every movement like some sort hunter with his unsuspecting prey, he had to do this. Had to watch her. Had to follow her. Had to be that shadow, just waiting for the right moment.

  Still swaying to the music, she slowly pulled her blouse over her head, exposing a lacy, pink bra that made Dale shift in his seat. This was his favorite part of the night. When it was just the two of them, alone. When she was relaxed and uninhibited. He felt like he was seeing the real her, the real Isabella. Not the tough defense council, not the stylish urbanite, and not the dutiful daughter. Just her. Bella.

  And him.

  She reached down and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall to the ground in a pile.

  “Wash day, honey?” he whispered to himself, noting the plain, white cotton panties she wore beneath. Not that he minded. He shifted in his seat again. She had the kind of body that didn’t need lace to dress it up. She could have been in polka dots and still made him swell in his jeans.

  She turned, her back to the large, floor to ceiling windows that flanked the walls of her loft. Then undid the clasp on her bra, letting it fall away to reveal the smooth expanse of her bare back.

  Dale held his breath. What he wouldn’t give to make her turn around right now.

  Instead, she crossed the room, disappearing into the bathroom.

  He let out a long breath through his nose as if to cleanse himself of her image. He knew she’d spend the next twenty minutes in there, bathing, then emerge wrapped in a towel, slide beneath her silk sheets, set her alarm, and fall asleep.

  Dale set the binoculars down, wiping the back of his hand across his forehead. Jesus, it was hot. He pulled his little notebook from his pocket.

  9:26pm. Bubble Bath.

  He leaned back against the torn headrest, flipping on the radio, listening to the Giants game while he waited for her to finish her nightly ritual. When she was done, he’d drive back to the shitty little apartment he’d rented two blocks away and close his eyes for a couple hours before being back here at dawn again.

  He’d close his eyes, but he was never sure if sleep would actually come. Lately, all he saw behind his eyelids were images of her.

  Her.

  Always her.

  He
breathed in deeply and could swear he almost smelled the soft, floral scent of her bubble bath.

  Soon. It would all be over soon.

  The one thought that kept him sane. She’d become his whole world, his every thought. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

  Soon…

  * * *

  4:15pm. Starbucks.

  Dale watched as she walked into the café across the street, standing in the queue behind half a dozen other caffeine addicted suits for her afternoon pick-me-up. He waited three beats, then got out of his car, the rusty hinges of the Ford Festiva groaning in protest. It was a shit car; Dale was surprised it even ran. He’d purchased it two months ago. Cash. On the upside, at least he didn’t have to worry about anyone stealing it.

  Dale waited for a pause in the afternoon traffic, then jogged across the street just in time to see Isabella give her order to the multi-pierced barista. He pulled his ball cap lower on his head, careful not to glance her way too often as he got in line, and ordered. Plain coffee. The barista snorted at him, making her lip piercing bounce up and down, but put in the order. He slid to the side, taking a position along the wall as he waited for his drink.

  Which came up first, of course. The reason he forwent the cappuccino he really wanted, instead adding mass amounts of sugar and cream to the bitter black coffee that he knew was a fast order. One that would have him ready to move when she was.

  “Isabella?” the kid behind the counter called, shoving a frosty looking thing full of whipped cream to the window. Her one indulgence.

  He watched her grab it, her pupils wide like a kid staring at a shiny Christmas bike. He couldn’t help the corner of his mouth tilting up. She was cute like that. He could almost picture her as that kid.

  She wrapped her lips around the straw, taking that first heavenly sip. Her head lulled to one side, her throat bobbing up and down, her eyes fluttering closed for half a second.

  Which is probably why she didn’t notice the suit to her left and bumped right into him, spilling his expensive latte all over his sleeve.