Calling Her Name

By Nancy Sansone

Rachael Jensen hid in Las Vegas working as a blackjack dealer, trying to build a new life for herself and her young son. Calling herself Rachael, she never imagined her past catching up after she fled Chicago with her abusive boyfriend's stolen mob money. She constantly feels eyes following her. A stalker changes her fears into reality. Her home no longer feels safe--dead bodies accumulate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nancy Sansone
• Release date: Feb 3, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301774005

Nancy Sansone

Nancy Sansone grew up in Greendale, Wisconsin. She married and moved her family to Las Vegas, Nevada, where she raised her children and received a Casino Management degree from the College of Southern Nevada. She brings her twenty years in the casino industry into her novels. Nancy resides in Henderson, Nevada and is currently working on her next novel.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

CHICAGO

There are two primary choices in life; to accept conditions as they exist, or accept the responsibility for changing them.

Dr. Denis Waitley, author, speaker on personal and career success.

Vincent Angelino had a decision to make, to break the guy’s legs or give him another pass. He exited Starbucks and glanced across the street. Long shadows from the high-rise building enveloped him. The second floor lights were on however, he hadn’t seen any movement. He shifted his briefcase and turned when the clerk locked the coffee shop doors. She previously informed him that the business district location closed early. A taxi pulled up in front of him, the driver looking for a fare. Vince waved him away.

Two women in the lobby of the office building came toward the locked entrance. Vince jaywalked through light traffic and held the door as they exited. He winked, and flashed the dimpled smile he gave all women.

They giggled and smiled back.

When the nearby ping of the elevator announced its arrival, Vince made an abrupt turn to his left and started up a flight of wide marble stairs. On the second floor landing, he stopped to adjust the gun tucked into his waistband, then smoothed down his suit coat. He didn’t plan to use it, but believed in being prepared. It insured cooperation.

The hall lights were dim. Vince spotted Suite 201 on the far left, a plaque next to the door announced Lubotsky Insurance Corporation. He turned the knob and entered a subdued reception area. Plush carpeting muffled his footsteps as he passed a number of darkened cubicles. Several closed doors lined one side of the room. A voice came from the furthest and only open door.

Lillie, calm down. How many times do I have to apologize? Kiss the kids for me and I’ll take off early tomorrow night.

Vince strode into the room without knocking and unbuttoned his suit jacket. Seated at the desk, Raymond Lubotsky gasped. His eyes darted from Vince to the outer office. I’ve gotta go, Lillie. Ray slammed the phone into the cradle. Vince. How…how are you?

Vince crossed the room and sat in a plush black leather chair. He placed the gun on the edge of the oversized desk.

Ray recoiled. Color drained from his face. Beads of sweat formed on his pale forehead and glistened through his thin receding hair.

Vince put Ray at around thirty-five, his own age, and shook his head at the physical mess he studied. The sleeves of his wrinkled white shirt were rolled to the elbows, his stained tie loosened.

Ray gulped. His voice squeaked with an unnatural high. I didn’t expect you. He flinched when Vince reached to pick up a framed family picture.

Your daughter resembles her mother. He returned the picture to the desk.

Yeah, thank God. Ray gave a short nervous laugh and fiddled with his tie.

Vince sat back, folded his hands, and narrowed his eyes. You were supposed to meet me at Fellini’s. I waited a fucking hour.

I know. I… Ray cleared his throat, focusing his gaze on the gun.

Ray reached for the drawer to his right; Vince grabbed the gun and pointed it at him. No! Please, Ray pleaded, hands raised in surrender. It’s only an envelope.

Vince nodded and allowed him to remove a manila envelope.

That doesn’t fuckin’ look like my forty-two grand, Ray.

It’s not. The man fidgeted. It’s only five. I’ll have the rest next week. I promise.

You said that last week and the week before. This doesn’t even cover the vig.

I know. You’ll get your cut. I’m having a cash flow problem. It’ll be solved soon. Ray nodded his head several times.

Vince pointed the gun at the family picture. Does Mrs. Cleaver over there know about the horses you’re supporting at Arlington?

A bead of sweat rolled down Ray’s cheek. He wiped it away with the back of his hand and gulped. No.

Vince set the gun on the edge of the desk and walked to the window behind Ray. The street below was nearly empty of daytime employees, the evening turning gray. He closed the blinds, grabbed the man by the front of his shirt, and dragged him out of the chair forcing a low pitiful wail from him. The manila envelope flew to the carpet. Vince pushed him backward and gave a swift punch to his stomach. Ray slammed into a large bookcase that covered the office wall. He grunted. Books fell on him. A bowling trophy landed at the same time he hit the floor. His head made a thud when it bounced off the credenza.

Vince’s breath came heavy. He stuck the gun in his waistband and picked up the envelope. I’m taking this to cover my expenses. He opened his briefcase and deposited the money.

Ray raised his head and clutched his stomach. Spittle ran down his chin.

I just gave you a pass. Vince pointed his forefinger down at him. Next Tuesday. Six p.m.—Fellini’s Bar. Be there with the cash.

Ray sat with his eyes closed. He dropped his chin to his chest and put his hands flat on the carpet. He took several deep breaths as he visibly relaxed. Yeah. I’ll have it.

Vince stared at him for several seconds, then stomped the heel of his size eleven Gucci loafer down on the back of Ray’s hand.

Ray’s scream became a whimper. He pulled his broken hand to his chest and curled up into a ball.

Try wiping your ass with that. Vince laughed and stooped in front of the man. Look at me, you fuckin’ loser.

Ray lifted his head, eyes paralyzed with fear.

If I don’t see you Tuesday with the cash, the kneecaps are next.

***

Wearing a black lace teddy, black hose, and stiletto heels, she set the first step of the plan in motion. Tonight was the night to look hot. Vince wanted a slut so tonight she’d be one. It wasn’t easy dating a guy like him and now it was payback time.

She opened the sliding glass door and stepped onto the small balcony into the warm summer night. A slight breeze ruffled her short brown hair and felt comforting on her face. Looking down over the railing of the high-rise apartment, the traffic below reminded her of the Matchbox cars her son lined up for playtime. She took a quick step backward when a feeling of dizziness hit her. Be calm, this is it. This is really it.

When the front door opened, she licked her lips and went back into the softly lit living room. With one hand on her hip, she smiled. Hi, Hon. I’ve been waiting for you. She crossed the room to give him a tight hug and a lingering kiss. Vince’s dark, handsome Italian looks and expensive clothes used to be a turn-on. She had to admit he went first-class. That was no longer a reason to stay.

Damn, you look good. Let me get rid of this. Vince set his briefcase on the floor and bolted the front door. I’ll meet you in the bedroom.

Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll get us something to drink. She smiled seductively over her shoulder and headed for the kitchen. His routine before relaxing was to go to his office and put the money into the safe. Please God, let me pull this off, she murmured. "I never want to come here again."

Two iced champagne glasses and an opened bottle of Dom Perignon sat on a tray. She groped for the knockout capsules hidden in the back of the silverware drawer and carefully emptied first one, then another into a glass and poured.

After putting the tray on the dresser, she kicked off her heels with feigned enthusiasm and sat on the edge of the bed. Several candles on the nightstands flickered and enhanced the scene—their vanilla scent permeated the room.

Vince dropped the last of his clothes to the floor, never taking his eyes off her body. Get that fuckin’ thing off, he demanded. He was hard and ready for action.

Hold on, lover. Smothering her fear, she handed him a glass, and smiled, slightly, just enough to look provocative. First we drink, then I want you to undress me. Regressing to a subservient role, she added, Please Vince. Just this once.

His eyes narrowed and his face hardened as he sat beside her, then returned a smile. All right, just this once. What’s the occasion with the wine?

No occasion. I’m just happy to see you.

They toasted each other, laughed for no reason, and drained their glasses.

Now we fuck! He pulled her into his arms.

Her fingers walked slowly across his bare chest. Hold on big boy. It’d be a shame to let the champagne go flat. She slid from his grasp and poured another drink to distract him and to wash away any aftertaste from the sleeping compound. While trying to appear calm, her heart raced. She had to slow things down. The internet claimed it should take effect in about half an hour, and would induce sleep in an hour. The sleep should last four to eight hours. She’d be long gone by then.

Let’s talk. Did you get all of your business done tonight? You were later than usual. Tuesday night meant payoffs and collections for him and she knew that any new contacts were future dollars for a bookie. He always said, ‘A new friend could turn out to have deep pockets and no self-restraint.’

I had to make a stop first and it put me behind with my time. He grinned. What the hell…I might as well tell you. This is hilarious. There’s this guy named Ray… He propped pillows against the headboard.

Her stomach churned as he recounted the story.

Other than that, it was just a normal Tuesday. Vince stretched his slim, tanned body out on the bed, rested on the pillows, and sipped his drink. Johnny No-Pay brought a couple of his friends to the bar for me to meet. We talked while they drank.

Yes, Vince knows how to walk the walk and talk the talk. She took his glass and set it on the nightstand, then straddled him. Her mouth found his for a long passionate kiss.

Vince put his hands on her breasts and squeezed with a bruising force. Take this fuckin’ thing off, he said. I want to feel skin. His eyes opened and closed several times. What the hell? He placed his palm on his forehead. My head... He strained to sit up and looked at her with heavy eyelids.

She jumped off the bed and held her breath until he fell against the pillow.

What…have…you…done? His voice sounded raspy and garbled. His eyes struggled to stay open.

Just go to sleep, Vince. She whispered, her chest tightening.

At the closet, she pushed aside his expensive suits and shoes, and pulled out a suitcase hidden earlier in the day. She stripped off the teddy and slipped into jeans, a T-shirt, and sneakers. On the bed, Vince rolled over and struggled to sit up again.

She waited until he calmed down and his breathing became heavy.

Grabbing the suitcase, she ran down the hall to his office, and pulled back the throw rug exposing the floor safe. Her clammy hands shook. She had to spin the dial twice before putting in the correct combination. The bastard had no idea she knew it. I guess he will now.

She jammed bundles of neatly stacked bills into the suitcase. Vince had been skimming for years. This was mob money and if Tony G. ever found out, Vince’s life wouldn’t be worth shit and he knew it.

A loud noise came from the bedroom. Something fell. Frantically putting the last of the money into the suitcase, she zipped it shut. Vince appeared in the doorway. He braced himself on the frame, a gun in his hand.

Her eyes widened. With all her planning, she forgot about the gun.

Vince’s droopy eyes followed her, his naked body leaned forward, and he aimed.

Oh my God! No! She screamed and leapt out of his line of fire.

He pulled the trigger.

The shot slammed into the side of the desk. Suitcase in hand, she tried to pass as he lunged at her. With her free hand, she pushed his chest—the gun fell to the floor. She shoved again using the suitcase. He groaned and collapsed. His head hit the corner of the massive oak desk.

Vince lay unconscious on the floor. Blood gushed from the side of his head.

She stood over him, afraid to touch him. Was he dead? Maybe I should pray that he is.

Her heartbeat rocketed into overdrive as she raced to her car and locked the doors. After punching numbers into her cell, she took a deep breath and said, I did it. It’s over.

Are you all right?

Scared silly and still shaky, but okay. As soon as I pick up Matthew, I’m out of here.

That means I can leave, too. Don’t forget. I’ll call every Thursday at 4 p.m. on your cell. If I don’t…I’m in trouble. Good Luck.

CHAPTER TWO

LAS VEGAS, NEVADA

ONE YEAR LATER

Most people who drive the I-15 to Las Vegas would bypass Exit 27 to St. Rose Parkway. If one does decide to turn off there and make a right turn and then a left, the road leads directly into the heart of Green Valley.

Rachael Jensen

Mom! Five-year-old Matthew shouted as he raced down the stairs, dropped onto his butt, and bounced the last four steps. Mom, where are you? he hollered a second time.

I’m right here. Why are you yelling?

Matt ran to her side. His unruly, blond hair stuck out from under a red baseball cap that sat crookedly on his head. His red UNLV T-shirt matched hers. Power Ranger Band-Aids decorated both knees.

Slow down, please. Your laces are untied and you’re going to fall.

He looked up at her—his big eyes twinkled with excitement. Looking into them, Rachael Jensen couldn’t help but think immediately of Matt’s resemblance to his father, same bright blue eyes and same unmanageable blond hair. Sometimes, as she lay in bed, she could swear Bill’s arms and soft, loving kisses still surrounded her. He had died while she was expecting so he had never held his son. Each night he had gently put his lips on her swollen belly to kiss their unborn child goodnight. The memory of Bill’s death was like a fist to her stomach. She’d been nagging him for ice cream on that night. Bill had laughed and planted a kiss on her nose. He teased her about how big she was getting, telling her she could hardly fit behind the wheel of the car anymore.

Our little Otis or Yolanda is going to be a whopper.

She grinned at the names.

Like so many mid-western storms, Chicago’s temperature had dropped and turned into a blizzard. The homes across the street were nearly obscured by blowing snow. The Sheriff brought the news that shattered her world. Bill’s car had skid and crashed into a pole, killing him instantly.

Mom, Matt said now, calling her back from the past, I counted the bongs of the grandfather clock and I counted to twelve.

Rachael took a deep breath and exhaled. There had always been a pang of guilt when she thought of that night. She grabbed her son and hugged him.

Stop! He wiggled from her arms. That means its lunch time and you promised… He stopped to catch his breath. You promised to take me to McDonalds today.

I did? She teased and removed his cap—to finger comb his hair. She’d spent most of the morning downloading music onto her IPOD and the breakfast dishes were still in the sink. Who cares? I have priorities. Okay. Let me get my purse. She laughed.

After Matt buckled in, Rachael started the car, positioned one air vent on herself, the other on him, and waited for the cool air. She first noticed the Jeep SUV as she pulled the Miata convertible out of the garage. Even though a layer or two of desert dust had dulled its white sides, the SUV looked new.

Do the Petersons have company, Matty?

I don’t know. Abby didn’t tell me and she tells Alex and me everything. She’s always talking. He became best buddies with her friend Bonnie’s son, and over the last couple of months shared daily details with him while tolerating a girl across the street.

Chances were the car belonged to someone visiting in the cul-de-sac. Moving slowly past it, Rachael tried to get a look at the driver, but his head turned and all she saw was a man in a black baseball cap. I wonder who he’s waiting for, she murmured. Something doesn’t feel right. Once she left the subdivision, she purposely took an out of the way route to the restaurant.

Rachael drove down Warm Springs Road, turned onto Valle Verde, while sporadically glancing into the rear view mirror. The Jeep followed them down the hill, staying a distance behind.

If he turns right onto Sunset… I’m going to freak out.

She stepped on the accelerator. The advancing SUV followed her, keeping several car lengths behind. Her heartbeat picked up.

Rachael scoped the area. Besides heavy traffic, all she saw on one side of the street were rows of tall palm trees. They reached skyward from the backyards of homes nearly hidden behind stucco walls. Up ahead, across from the Galleria Mall, the marquee of Sunset Station towered over the midday traffic.

Something was wrong. Where can we go? Her mouth was dry.

I wanna cheeseburger, fries, and a chocolate shake. If I get a kid’s meal, I get a toy, right Mom? Matt chattered while Rachael sped as quickly as traffic would allow.

All right, honey, she automatically answered, and searched the side-view mirror. At the stoplight for Whitney Ranch Drive, she spotted the Jeep several cars back. Off to her right, kids on skateboards zoomed down the sidewalk, passing the stopped traffic. Rachael looked anxiously at the car to her left, hoping to see a friendly face that would help if there were a need. The big Cadillac looked like an air-conditioned cocoon with dark tinted windows closed up tight to keep out the brutal summer heat. Sunlight reflected off its window. Staring at her was the image of a frantic woman, which she suddenly realized was herself.

A young girl on a bike startled her as she flew past and weaved perilously from lane to lane. Am I overreacting? Rachael muttered. It was just another typical day. No, it’s not typical. She hadn’t felt this anxious in months. On the street in front of her, heat waves danced up from the concrete. Every instinct told her something was wrong.

The move to Las Vegas was thoroughly planned, and she hoped it would be hard for anyone to find her, but the worry never stopped. Considering all of the violence she had endured from Vince, a cut on his head was just one step toward a pay back.

He couldn’t send the police. How would he explain the money she took? Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars of a bookie’s money just wasn’t explainable under these circumstances. However, there was one thing Rachael knew. Someday someone, if not Vince, would arrive in town and be looking for her. Please Lord, let me see them before they see me.

Mom, let’s go! The light’s green. McDonalds is right there. I see it.

I’m going up the street a way. We’ll come back. Rachael raced the little sports car past the restaurant while she checked the mirror for the Jeep. It moved up. Ignoring Matt’s protests, she took a quick left past several lanes of traffic and tooting horns into the parking lot of the Galleria Mall. She sped down the first aisle, and again searched the mirror. The Jeep moved closer.

Is your seat belt on, honey? Even though her inner self quivered, she kept her voice calm for her son’s sake.

Yeah. Matt’s voice squeaked. Where’re we going, Mom? He looked up at her, eyes wide in panic. I’m scared. You’re driving crazy.

Don’t be afraid, Rachael said calmly. Ahead of her were Macy’s, Penny’s, and dozens of other stores. Should she take a chance? Could they outrun this guy? Maybe find a security guard. Could she even find one? And, if she told him a man followed them in his car, then what? I can’t have him call the police. I have an idea, she murmured, and raced the car toward the main entrance of the mall to slam on the brakes in front of the valet’s booth. The man in the Jeep followed, just as she thought he would. When she stopped, he slowed down and drove past, his head turned away from her.

There was a knock on the window. A tall, athletic looking young man in a yellow shirt tried for her attention.

Turning to Matt, Rachael put a forefinger to her lips and whispered, Don’t say anything. We’ll talk later.

She lowered the window, put on a smile, and forced herself to calm down. Hi, uh…I’m not familiar with this side of town. Could you direct me to the nearest McDonalds? I promised my son lunch.

Sure, you’re close. You can almost see it from here. The young man pointed to the nearby corner and explained the easiest exit. While Rachael nodded and pretended to listen, her eyes searched the area for the Jeep. It was nowhere in sight.

Arriving at McDonalds, Rachael chose a booth that faced the parking lot. So far, so good. The SUV hadn’t followed them. Her lame excuse to Mathew about wanting to see how fast the car would go became very acceptable in his five-year-old world. They laughed over the joke she played on the attendant. He knew his Mom could really find McDonalds.

Lunch at Mickey D’s definitely wasn’t going to be relaxing. Adding to the stress of the car chase, the room filled with the noise of a dozen little girls attending a birthday party at a long table near them. Pink and white balloons floated over the back of each chair, colorful Happy Birthday napkins sat next to brightly wrapped gifts piled high at the end of the table. The giggling and enthusiasm gnawed on Rachael’s fragile nerves.

She sipped on a Diet Coke and nibbled on a chicken sandwich while Matt ate, completely enthralled by the animation and exuberance of the party girls. Except for a few grunts of satisfaction over the cheeseburger, his initial excitement changed into fascination.

Pop! Pop!

Without warning, what sounded like gunshots filled the restaurant.

Rachael grabbed her son, enfolding him in her arms, and pulled him to the floor. Her soda tipped over and dripped off the table next to her.

The little girls screamed at the top of their lungs.

Pop! Another loud shot echoed.

There were several moments of silence, and the room exploded into laughter.

Rachael peeked up to find several deflated balloons dangling from the party chairs. The girls danced with excitement.

Matt looked wide-eyed as she helped him slide back onto his seat. That was scary, Mom.

I know. She took a deep breath. I know.

His attention returned to the laughing girls while she grabbed napkins and soaked up soda from the table. A young Hispanic girl hurried over with a mop.

She thanked the girl and patted her son’s hand to get his attention just when the little girls started to sing ‘Happy Birthday to you’. A pint-sized charmer with a light brown ponytail and sparkling blue eyes stood on a chair