Brain Storm - Cat Gilbert (top 10 inspirational books .txt) 📗
- Author: Cat Gilbert
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Book online «Brain Storm - Cat Gilbert (top 10 inspirational books .txt) 📗». Author Cat Gilbert
Mac sat a cup of coffee down in front of me, and I reached out, grateful, to take a sip. He found a broom and starting sweeping up the last of the glass. Cleaning and cooking. It all seemed so normal. It was hard to believe there’d been three of us in the room just minutes ago with our guns drawn, looking to shoot someone.
Finished, Mac pulled up a seat and sat down next to me to drink his own coffee as we watched Mama D turning hash browns in the skillet, still humming away.
As the seconds ticked by, so did my anger. What had been turmoil moments before, was now almost peaceful. I didn’t know if it was because Mac could sense what I needed or if he just instinctively knew. Whatever it was, I found myself relaxing listening to Mama D, sipping on my coffee.
The envelope with the new ID’s was sitting on the table, and I reached over and grabbed it, fishing the two remaining passports out. Mac had given me my new one last night, so I already knew my new name was Samantha White. Mac hadn’t bothered with another ID. He had a drawer full of them already and besides, he didn’t die in the fire. Julian did. Trinity was right. We had no idea if Mac was really his name. I had to figure it wasn’t and surprisingly didn’t really care. It wasn’t like it mattered at this point. Flipping the passport on top open, I found the name Bryan Harrison stamped next to Jonas’ photo. Bryan with a ‘y’. He was going to love that.
“My name is Della,” Mama D informed me, as she set a steaming plate of eggs and hash browns down in front of me. “Della Jones.”
“Well, that worked out well. We can still call you Mama D then, can’t we?”
She nodded happily as she refilled my cup. I set the passports back on the table and pushed them away so I could eat. Mama D was adapting to all this better than I had any right to hope for. Trinity was the one that had me worried. It wasn’t the name that bothered her. I knew that. It was what it represented. I looked over to see Mama D dishing up another plate of food for Mac.
“Mama D, why don’t you sit down and eat? You don’t have to do all the cooking.” I said, getting to my feet to help her.
“I already ate, child, and you leave the cooking to me. Cooking helps calm my nerves and helps me think. Trinity, she has to fight it out, just like the lawyer she is. So don’t you worry. It’ll all work out, baby.” Mama D reached out to pat my hand as she refilled my cup. “Trinity will calm down. It’ll be fine.”
Fortunately, she was right. When Trinity and Jonas returned, she was much calmer and surprisingly subdued. Jonas either threatened her or she was afraid of pushing me too far. I didn’t know what was worse. Trying to deal with the passions and emotions that seemed to surround her all the time, or to see her trying to tiptoe around me. I decided the best thing to do was just to get through the day. We had enough problems with trying to move the gold without adding this into the mix.
Jonas and Mac took off right after breakfast leaving Mama D, Trinity and me to pack the bags and clean things up. As I was emptying the refrigerator and wiping down the shelves, it hit me how ridiculous it was to close up the house. We were on the run and would probably never be back here again, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. No one likes to come home from a trip to the smell of sour milk and spoiled meat.
By the time Mac and Jonas returned at noon, we had packed up and were ready to go. Jonas and Mac had taken most of the guns and what ammo that Mac had stored with them this morning, so we had everything in the van with just a couple of trips.
We waited while Mac nailed a piece of plywood over the broken window panes. I really didn’t want to leave. The little cabin may have been close quarters for the five of us, but it was a safe place. Now we were heading to who knows where. First, though, we had to survive the afternoon without getting killed or arrested.
THE BANK WAS nearly empty when I went in. The lunchtime rush was over and the afternoon crawl towards quitting time was well underway. I was first inside. My job was to take a look around and see if any of my alarms went off. If I had any doubts, I was to head back out the doors, and we’d abort the job.
I headed over to the display filled with brochures while I tried to access my instincts. This had been so much easier when I just relied on my gut. Back then, I would know immediately when I was in a bad situation. My stomach would clench, I’d feel clammy, and my feet would practically itch to turn and run the other way. This was new, and I wasn’t picking up anything now, except the fear that I would screw up, and someone would get hurt. Or worse.
That everyone was relying on me to keep them safe was pressure enough. The fact that I didn’t have a clue as to what I was doing was the final straw. I didn’t know if my alarms weren’t going off because there wasn’t any danger, or if they were going off like fireworks and I didn’t recognize them. This wasn’t going to work, and I wasn’t prepared to risk anyone until I had some sort of a handle on things. I was turning to leave and walk right out of the building, when it hit me, stopping me in my tracks.
The stomach clench, the cold, clammy feeling, the need to flee. It was all there. This instinct thing and my gut were the same thing. Mac had said they were. My brain knew it, but I didn’t feel it, didn’t believe it until I turned and saw the man sitting at the desk in one of the personal banker cubicles.
He was no more a banker than I was a customer. I’d found him. I hadn’t lost it after all. I let out a small chortle of laughter in relief, drawing his attention to me. Stupid move. At least I hadn’t danced a little jig too. I nodded at him and turned to pick up a brochure. I had on glasses and a wig. It wasn’t much, but it changed my appearance enough that hopefully, he wouldn’t recognize me. I would have preferred a hat and sunglasses, but the banks wouldn’t let you in the doors dressed like that anymore. Rotten crooks had spoiled it for everyone.
I chose another brochure and waited another heartbeat or two before turning around to see what he was doing. He was more interested in watching the hemline on the woman filling out a form at the table in the lobby than in what I was doing. I kept an eye on him though as the door swung open minutes later and Mac came in with Mama D. His eyes shifted over and saw them, and dismissed them, moving swiftly back to the woman in the short skirt. I couldn’t have asked for a better distraction.
I took a seat in the waiting area to open a new account. There were three people ahead of me, so I probably had a good 30-minute wait. Plenty of time for Mama D and Mac to finish if everything went as planned.
If I hadn’t known it was Mac pushing Mama D in the wheelchair, I would have never guessed. No wonder I had never caught on to him during the past seven years. He was good. Real good. Watching him in action made me feel considerably better about my talents as a detective. Mama D looked every inch the rich woman she was portraying, from her manicured fingertips to the veiled hat, to the cashmere lap blanket that was hiding 30 pounds of pennies that they were going to exchange with the gold. When questions were asked later, and they would be, of that I was sure, I didn’t want some bank clerk making note of how much lighter the box had been after they had left.
They called the next person waiting to open an account as Mac wheeled Mama D to the safety deposit counter and she began filling out the forms. I pretended to read about interest bearing accounts as our fake banker watched Miss Short Skirt get in line for a teller.
When I looked back, Mac and Mama D were disappearing into the vault. The box belonged to Trinity, and she was ‘officially’ dead. They had let Mama D in as she had a box key and was a signer on the account too. It was the way it was supposed to happen, but that didn’t mean it would. Too many weird things had been happening lately to make any assumptions. They had made it past the tricky part. Now came the hard part. Getting back out.
One of the bankers came back from a late lunch or appointment and called in the man waiting in front of me. One more and I was next. I checked the clock on the wall. Only ten minutes had passed. These guys were a lot faster than the people at my bank. If I’d had been in a hurry, it would have taken an hour.
The woman with the short skirt was at the counter now, leaning over to talk to the teller. I glanced over to see how my buddy was enjoying the show just in time to catch the nod he gave to another man who had just entered the bank. Well, great.
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