Death Angel
Drea bit back the stinging remark she’d been about to make. A bank didn’t keep a lot of cash on hand? What the hell kind of bank didn’t have cash? Antagonizing the woman wouldn’t help, though, would probably even prevent her from walking out with any cash at all, so instead she said, "I’m sorry. Everything happened so fast…I wasn’t thinking."
She didn’t specify what had happened so fast, but her apology seemed to work because the woman said, "Maybe we can work something out. I’ll be right back."
As the woman disappeared into another office, Drea thought furiously. What good would a cashier’s check for a hundred thousand do her? All she could do with it was open another account. She needed cash, untraceable cash.
Glancing at her watch, she saw that time was getting short if she intended to make her salon appointment. She could skip the appointment, get her hair cut farther on down the road, but she’d like to change her appearance before she bought a car. Maybe if she gave the bank some time, and came back after her salon appointment, she could get more cash, but that would mean the account manager would know how she’d changed her hair, which would make it easier for Rafael to trace her.
This wasn’t working. She’d have to adjust her plan. Okay, so she’d give the bank more time to get the cash together, maybe even another day-God, what kind of risk would she be running by staying in Elizabeth another day?
An unacceptable risk, she decided. She needed to leave today.
She didn’t have a lot of cash left, though, so she’d have to get some money right now. She didn’t have to have the entire hundred thousand in cash; twenty thousand would do, and the rest in a cashier’s check. Ten thousand would buy a car reliable enough to get her to Kansas, the remaining ten would be plenty to pay for motel rooms and food. How long would it take her to get to Kansas, anyway? Two days? Three? She’d have plenty of cash to spare.
The account manager came out of the office, her brow furrowed in a way that told Drea there was no way she could get the entire hundred thou in cash. "I’m sorry," she began, but Drea shook her head.
"It’s all right. How about twenty thousand in cash, or even fifteen, and the remainder in a cashier’s check. That would be plenty. I don’t know what I was thinking; I sure don’t want to be traveling with that much cash."
The woman’s expression cleared. "I know we can do fifteen in cash, but let me see about twenty-"
Time was getting too short. "I’ve taken up too much of your time," Drea said. "Fifteen would be great."
"Are you sure? It won’t take a minute to check-"
"Thank you, but don’t go to the trouble."
Finally she had her fifteen thousand in cash, one hundred and fifty hundred-dollar bills, and a cashier’s check for the remainder. The cash was surprisingly bulky, which made her glad she hadn’t been able to get the entire amount in cash. She’d have had to buy a small suitcase just to hold the money, which would be a tad conspicuous. At least the fifteen thousand would fit in her bag.
She had to sign a couple of forms, then at last the transaction was finished. "Thank you so much," she said, then looked at her watch and hurried from the bank.
She was almost twenty minutes late getting to the salon, and the stylist was in a pissy mood because of it, but he cheered up when she indicated her mass of long corkscrew curls and said, "Cut it off, and I want to go smoother and darker." Like most stylists, he loved cutting long hair and going for a drastic change.
An hour and a half later, she walked out of the salon a brunette, her hair in a shaggy cut that was a little spiky on top. It looked sharp as hell, and she loved it. Her entire face looked different, stronger, the bone structure more evident. She wasn’t Drea Rousseau now, she was someone else, a woman who didn’t take any crap from anyone.
She’d have to think of a new name, a name that would fit her new self. Somewhere along the line she’d have to get a new driver’s license, but she’d worry about that later. Right now, she needed wheels.
A little over five hours later, she crossed into Pennsylvania, heading west. Her car was a maroon Camry, a little the worse for wear with some rust eating at the metal and a collection of dents and dings on the fenders, but the tires were good and the engine ran okay.
Soon, she thought, she’d be driving a Cadillac. Or maybe a Mercedes. In a couple of days she’d be in Kansas, and from there, who knew? She could pick anywhere she wanted, and Rafael Salinas could kiss her ass.
Chapter Nine
RAFAEL ALMOST DIDN’T TAKE THE CALL WHEN HE SAW IT was from his bank. He’d been awake all night, fueled by coffee and anxiety, but hour after hour had passed with no word from whoever had taken Drea and he’d lost whatever faint hope he’d had, which had never been much, that she might somehow be ransomed or exchanged.
" Salinas," he said curtly. "What is it?"
"Mr. Salinas, this is Manuel Flores, with-"
"Yeah, I know who you’re with, I saw the Caller ID." He just wanted the guy to get to the point and get off the phone. He didn’t have the patience today to deal with penny-ante shit, not when he knew Drea was probably dead somewhere and he couldn’t even grieve without looking like a pussy in front of his men.
"Ah…yes, well. The bank did send an e-mail yesterday alerting you to the transfer that was made, but I wanted to follow up and-"
"Transfer?" Rafael was exhausted, but not so exhausted his attention wasn’t caught. He sat up straight and snapped his fingers at Orlando, pointing to the phone and then his bedroom. "What transfer?"
Orlando strode into the bedroom and a second later there was a click as he picked up on the call.
"Ah…the transfer of funds from your account into Ms. Butts’s account. The, ah, account that was listed as Drea Rousseau."