Serial Story: Jasmine Betrayal, Part 12
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 12
Genevieve stilled, frowning at Max. “My father was helping you set Jenkins up for the FBI?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. If you knew my dad, you’d know he would never get involved in something like that. He was in a lot of trouble as a kid, and I got the impression he wanted nothing to do with law enforcement of any kind after whatever it was he went through.”
Max shrugged, wincing as she started cleaning out the gash on his side. It was deep, and she tried to be gentle though it was more than he deserved.
“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Once you get in bad with those types, they own you. That’s why I became an informant, and the guy I report to introduced me to your dad. We didn’t even know the whole plan at first, just that Pete was supposed to borrow the money, use it to fund several shipments of green tea out of China for the restaurant, and then pay Jenkins back six months later. I was supposed to make sure Jenkins worked out a certain interest deal on the loan, and that the tea shipments got delivered on time.”
Things were getting a whole lot clearer, and Genevieve didn’t like it one bit.
“Let me guess,” she said, slathering some expired ointment found under the sink on his side. “There were packages in with the tea that had to be delivered elsewhere, right?”
He nodded. “To Jenkins, after my handler saw them. that was the ‘interest’ Jenkins worked out with Pete, the brainchild of my handler.”
“And you have no idea how my father got involved.” She folded a pad out of cotton material, and then pressed it to the wound, wrapping long strips around his ribs to hold the pad in place, working automatically. She should have checked in more often. Should have been more of her father’s life. Maybe if she had, none of this would have happened.
He shook his head, grabbing her hands when she would have stepped away.
“I tried to convince him to give up the title when Jenkins sent his men - and me - after it, Gen. I swear. Even with his last breath he insisted that it was the key to your happiness. That the title could only go to his daughter. You.”
She gently removed her hands from his grasp with a sigh, and pushed her hair out of her face. Turning away, she went back to the table and picked up the paper she’d left there earlier, bringing it back to show Max.
“Well, here it is, for whatever good it will do me. It’s not like I can go back to the diner until it’s safe, and honestly, I don’t think I ever want to go back, not knowing the whole story.” She stared at the document, her eyes scanning down the rows of text, the official seals and ornate printed border. Turning it over, she scanned through more text, mostly legal jargon and inked signatures.
Frowning, she lifted the page higher, squinting at a small line of print underneath the last signature line on the page. Numbers, she finally decided, though she’d need a magnifying glass to figure out what they were.
“What is it?” Max asked. She shook her head, holding it out and pointing to the bottom of the document.
“There’s a line of numbers down there in tiny print. What do you suppose that means?”
He shrugged, squinting himself as he tried to read it.
“My guess would be some sort of account number,” he said finally, handing it back to her. “Maybe your dad left you more than you know.”
She sat down in a nearby chair, staring at the numbers again. It should be exciting, she supposed, but really, she was just tired. The numbers could mean anything, really. Or nothing at all. Without more to go on, there wasn’t any way to find out.
“Why didn’t you call your handler when all this went awry? Do you need to call him now? Maybe he can--”
Max shook his head. “He’s dead. Remember I told you the sting went bad?”
“Your handler was killed,” Genevieve guessed. “Is that when Jenkins sent you guys to get the title?”
“Yeah. But I bet it wasn’t the paper he wanted - it was that number. We need to find out what it means.” He thought for a moment. “You said your dad had a lawyer?”
Genevieve nodded. “Rick Landon. He’s in Little Rock.”
Max pointed to an old, beat-up phone book on the bedside table by a phone that looked every inch of it’s probable old age.
“Let’s call him. Don’t tell him about the numbers, just ask if your dad left anything else for you. It’s a long shot, but worth a try. Then we’ll get out of here. Find someplace we can hole up for awhile.”
She nodded, sitting with her back to him on the edge of the bed while she looked up the number and dialed. A woman answered on the third ring.
“May I speak with Mr. Landon, please?” She listened quietly as the woman answered her questions, and then carefully replaced the receiver.
“We have a problem, Max,” she said, not bothering to turn around. “Landon’s dead. And I wasn’t sure who else to ask for...Max?”
Twisting to look at him, she sighed. He lay on the bed, feet crossed, fingers interlaced over his stomach, fast asleep.
Enjoy
this post? Support your author:
format every Friday right here on the blog for free. When the story is
done, it will be edited, polished and available for sale at all your
favorite online retailers.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 |
Jasmine Betrayal
Part 12
Genevieve stilled, frowning at Max. “My father was helping you set Jenkins up for the FBI?” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. If you knew my dad, you’d know he would never get involved in something like that. He was in a lot of trouble as a kid, and I got the impression he wanted nothing to do with law enforcement of any kind after whatever it was he went through.”
Max shrugged, wincing as she started cleaning out the gash on his side. It was deep, and she tried to be gentle though it was more than he deserved.
“Sometimes you don’t have a choice. Once you get in bad with those types, they own you. That’s why I became an informant, and the guy I report to introduced me to your dad. We didn’t even know the whole plan at first, just that Pete was supposed to borrow the money, use it to fund several shipments of green tea out of China for the restaurant, and then pay Jenkins back six months later. I was supposed to make sure Jenkins worked out a certain interest deal on the loan, and that the tea shipments got delivered on time.”
Things were getting a whole lot clearer, and Genevieve didn’t like it one bit.
“Let me guess,” she said, slathering some expired ointment found under the sink on his side. “There were packages in with the tea that had to be delivered elsewhere, right?”
He nodded. “To Jenkins, after my handler saw them. that was the ‘interest’ Jenkins worked out with Pete, the brainchild of my handler.”
“And you have no idea how my father got involved.” She folded a pad out of cotton material, and then pressed it to the wound, wrapping long strips around his ribs to hold the pad in place, working automatically. She should have checked in more often. Should have been more of her father’s life. Maybe if she had, none of this would have happened.
He shook his head, grabbing her hands when she would have stepped away.
“I tried to convince him to give up the title when Jenkins sent his men - and me - after it, Gen. I swear. Even with his last breath he insisted that it was the key to your happiness. That the title could only go to his daughter. You.”
She gently removed her hands from his grasp with a sigh, and pushed her hair out of her face. Turning away, she went back to the table and picked up the paper she’d left there earlier, bringing it back to show Max.
“Well, here it is, for whatever good it will do me. It’s not like I can go back to the diner until it’s safe, and honestly, I don’t think I ever want to go back, not knowing the whole story.” She stared at the document, her eyes scanning down the rows of text, the official seals and ornate printed border. Turning it over, she scanned through more text, mostly legal jargon and inked signatures.
Frowning, she lifted the page higher, squinting at a small line of print underneath the last signature line on the page. Numbers, she finally decided, though she’d need a magnifying glass to figure out what they were.
“What is it?” Max asked. She shook her head, holding it out and pointing to the bottom of the document.
“There’s a line of numbers down there in tiny print. What do you suppose that means?”
He shrugged, squinting himself as he tried to read it.
“My guess would be some sort of account number,” he said finally, handing it back to her. “Maybe your dad left you more than you know.”
She sat down in a nearby chair, staring at the numbers again. It should be exciting, she supposed, but really, she was just tired. The numbers could mean anything, really. Or nothing at all. Without more to go on, there wasn’t any way to find out.
“Why didn’t you call your handler when all this went awry? Do you need to call him now? Maybe he can--”
Max shook his head. “He’s dead. Remember I told you the sting went bad?”
“Your handler was killed,” Genevieve guessed. “Is that when Jenkins sent you guys to get the title?”
“Yeah. But I bet it wasn’t the paper he wanted - it was that number. We need to find out what it means.” He thought for a moment. “You said your dad had a lawyer?”
Genevieve nodded. “Rick Landon. He’s in Little Rock.”
Max pointed to an old, beat-up phone book on the bedside table by a phone that looked every inch of it’s probable old age.
“Let’s call him. Don’t tell him about the numbers, just ask if your dad left anything else for you. It’s a long shot, but worth a try. Then we’ll get out of here. Find someplace we can hole up for awhile.”
She nodded, sitting with her back to him on the edge of the bed while she looked up the number and dialed. A woman answered on the third ring.
“May I speak with Mr. Landon, please?” She listened quietly as the woman answered her questions, and then carefully replaced the receiver.
“We have a problem, Max,” she said, not bothering to turn around. “Landon’s dead. And I wasn’t sure who else to ask for...Max?”
Twisting to look at him, she sighed. He lay on the bed, feet crossed, fingers interlaced over his stomach, fast asleep.
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