Got Your Number

armed robbery that put a friend of mine in a coma." He swallowed and angled his head at Cape. "Everything you do concerns me."
    Cape straightened. "You some kind of cop?"
    "Yep. The unpredictable kind." He tossed the apple into a nearby trash can and wiped his hand on his jeans. "Give me a reason to bury you."
    The hoodlum threw up his hands casually and produced a charming smile. "I was just leaving."
    Capistrano smiled back. "You'll find your piece-of-shit car in the city impound lot."
    The man's face darkened. "You had my car towed?"
    "Expired tags and missing taillight." Capistrano tsk-tsked. "Safety first."
    Cape's mouth tightened, but he remained silent. After he strode past Capistrano, though, he turned and made an air gun out of his thumb and forefinger, aimed it at Roxann, and pulled the trigger in a warning that couldn't be misinterpreted. She shivered and stood up, stumbling back in her haste to get away from the table. Capistrano was there for a steadying arm. She pulled away a little more vehemently than she intended.
    "You're welcome," he said dryly.
    "Where did you come from?"
    "Akens, a little swamp town south of Biloxi."
    She sighed. "How did you find me?"
    "Driving that eyesore of a death trap is like a beacon in the night."
    "But how did you know which direction I was going?"
    "Your father said you were going back to Biloxi, but knowing you, I just started driving in the opposite direction."
    What had he thought of her father? What had her father thought of him? "You don't know me."
    "Then your cousin started racking up charges on a stolen credit card—"
    "It isn't stolen."
    "It isn't hers ."
    "Her fiancé gave it to her."
    "The guy who jilted her at the altar?"
    "How do you know about that?"
    "Your dad said according to you, the woman his neighbor saw was your cousin. I called your aunt to check your story. She filled in the details."
    She just bet she did.
    "No offense, but your aunt's a real bitch."
    Okay, so he nailed that one. "Who did you think I had with me?"
    "Melissa Cape."
    "That would be pretty stupid."
    He simply shrugged, which irked her beyond words.
    "When did you meet up with Cape?" she asked.
    "I spotted him at a gas station this morning. I figured he was following you, so I followed him."
    "So he spoke to my father, too?"
    "Your dad said he hadn't been there."
    "But Cape might have threatened him."
    He shrugged as if to say it was likely.
    She had to sit down again. The thought of Frank Cape bullying her father sent that corn dog spinning in her stomach. Rummaging for her phone gave her a few seconds to blink away quick tears. "I need to call him." She punched the power button, but nothing happened. "Dammit!" And to her mortification, the tears welled again. She gave her eyes a quick swipe.
    "Here."
    She glanced up and took the tiny phone he extended. "Thanks." After punching in the number, she breathed shallowly while the phone rang. His recorder picked up and the tone sounded. "Dad, it's me. Roxann." She tried to sound cheerful. "I was just checking in to make sure that you're...that everything is okay. I'm fine, and I'll call back soon." She disconnected the call with a heavy heart and handed the phone back.
    "He seemed like the kind of man who could take care of himself," Capistrano offered.
    "Did he look...healthy?"
    His thick eyebrows went up.
    "I don't get home very often."
    "He looked spry enough to me. We talked about fishing lures over a cup of coffee. He's worried about you."
    "He doesn't approve of my lifestyle."
    "He thinks you should do something with that diploma of yours he has hanging on the wall."
    She grimaced. "I hope he didn't bore you."
    "Nope." Capistrano sat down opposite her. "You look different."
    Better? Worse? Heat flooded her face, and she tugged on a hank of hair extension. "It's my cousin's doing. I'm her project."
    "Where is your cousin?"
    Roxann gestured vaguely, then bolted upright. "Cape."
    He swung one leg over the bench. "Let's go."
    Fear hurried her feet. After stopping three vendors to ask for directions, they finally located the blue-and-white-striped tent where the Little Miss Something or Other pageant was being held. The contest appeared to be near an end, with all the coiffed little girls lined up on a makeshift stage—well, one rebel was lying on her back and spinning around. The seats were filled with overweight women wearing hopeful expressions, and lots of spectators stood around the perimeter. She scanned the judges' table, but