The Hand You're Dealt

2| A New End to a Day

About an hour after returning from her lunch break, an officer came in to return the money to Lauren. She thanked him for retrieving it; when he left, her eyes drifted over to the corner where the street performer had set up. He wasn't there anymore, but she wondered if she could find him on another corner—he deserved the money; even though she had won, he had thoroughly given her a challenge. She would cherish the card he gave her, but she wished she would've asked for his name to pair it with the face and smile she would never forget.

"What are you looking at?"

Lauren about fell out of her chair she jumped so hard at the sudden voice; she looked up to find Mr. Kavel propped against her desk, grinning. With dark curly hair and looks that could give Adonis a run for his money, he was a sexy thirty-two-year-old man who practically had women swooning when he took notice of them. He could make anyone agree with him with his suave personality and a smooth voice, like chocolate. He was also the most known and wealthiest bachelor in Chicago, and a big flirt.

"Oh, Mr. Kavel! I'm sorry I didn't see you! What was I looking at?" she repeated and looked at the windows to remember. She had been gazing out the window, fantasizing about the street performer; she turned back to him. "Oh! Nothing, sir."

His sultry eyes narrowed. "What has my pretty receptionist distracted? Hopefully, I haven't been replaced by another man..."

A blush rose to her cheeks—she didn't consider herself pretty, with long red hair, dull gray eyes, extremely pale skin, and a frame no one would drool over. She was plain-looking, not pretty.

Her delayed response made him grab his chest dramatically. "Oh, I'm hurt! Someone else has stolen my girl's heart before I could!"

"No one has my heart, Mr. Kavel," she declared. "He only caught my eye."

"So, I still have a chance?"

Lauren smiled as she shook her head in disbelief. He had always flirted with her when he showed up and she swore he liked to leave women flustered, like now—more amusing to him.

"I'm sure you would like someone who's far more beautiful and has money, like a model or actress."

He thought about her suggestion. "Perhaps, but they wouldn't have your cute smile."

She needed to change the subject or he would keep going. "Is there something you need, Mr. Kavel?"

He sighed as he got off her desk. "I'm afraid not, dearest Lauren. I'm headed to O'Hare now for my flight to San Francisco. The customer I'm to meet asked if I could come a few days earlier; Polly upstairs has already canceled my other appointments, so I need you to do the same to any who come in hoping for a meeting. I shall keep your beautiful face in my mind until I see you again in two days; au revoir."

She watched him head out the front doors, get into the black Lexus his driver drove, and disappear for the airport. Him speaking French made her compare him to the street performer—the latter was much better. Lauren didn't think Mr. Kavel could come up short in anything.

Work drug on as painstakingly slow as usual after Mr. Kavel left; other than answering a few calls, Lauren mainly gazed out the windows, coming up with names to fit the dealer. When it came time to lock-up, she hurriedly shut everything down, locked the front doors, and ran to the corner the street hustler had been on. The street in front of her led to the Near North Side and more population, so if he was performing somewhere, he would've gone that way.

Lauren went searching through the district, growing more congested as hunger sent people out for dinner and the later it got. But as she walked and continued to fail at seeing other hustlers, she remembered that she had never seen one set up to perform at night. Probably not enough light to see by and too risky. Her hopeful heart crashed that she'd probably never see him again.

Extremely crestfallen now, she went to her apartment in Printer's Row to change out of her work clothes and the flats that pinched her toes. She felt slightly better in tennis shoes, leggings, and since the September evening air was chilly, a slim jacket she usually jogged in; she zipped up the queen of hearts in an inner pocket. Maybe food would improve her spirits even more. After scouring her kitchen, she decided to go to the grocery store to replenish her empty pantry and cook something when she got back.

Her preferred grocery store sat within walking distance. When the building came into sight, her neck hairs prickled in warning: someone was watching her. This wasn't a bad part of town—she had always felt safe here. Lauren looked around for anyone that looked suspicious or stuck out of place. No one did. Everyone filing past her seemed to mind their own business, either talking with the person walking beside them or had their eyes glued to the phone in their hand.

Feeling uneasy, she hurried to the front doors. Inside, the pressure of the eyes disappeared. She went to an aisle, then turned to keep an eye on the door, watching for anyone who came in and seemed to be searching for her.

Again, no one did. Was she imagining things? Lauren tried to shake it off as she went about grocery shopping, but it felt like everyone in the store watched her—she even jumped when a woman accidentally knocked off a can of vegetables as she grabbed one.

As she checked out, she dreaded going back outside. Maybe she could call the cops and ask for one to escort her home so she wouldn't be alone...

Yeah, she could do that. If the feeling of someone watching her returned once she stepped outside, she'd call; if not, she wouldn't. Lauren felt better with her game plan as she paid for her groceries and picked up the brown bag. She shifted the bag over to hold with one arm, leaving one free and headed for the doors.

She exited and waited for the feeling to return; fortunately, it never did. Maybe she was imagining things, but even if so, Lauren wasn't going to stroll back to the apartment—she'd still hurry.

When she rounded the corner her apartment complex sat on, the premonition fell on her again, only stronger. Paranoia made her increase to a fast walk; she tightened her grip on the bag as her eyes shot all around her. There weren't many people on either side of the street; maybe someone watched her from a window? She could see her apartment steps now—only four more stoops to go and she'd be safely home.

The sudden screech of tires close by whipped her around to see a black van swing up to the curb beside her. With a roar, the sliding door flung open and two men wearing all black jumped out.

She yelled and tried to get away as they roughly grabbed her, threw a black bag over her head, and pulled her into the van. She landed hard on her chest, the door slammed shut, and the vehicle took off. Lauren attempted to rise but someone yanked her arms behind her back and she heard and felt thick metal constrict around her biceps and lock—they weren't handcuffs but something much larger and solid. Not only were they cold against her skin, but they seemed alive as some energy bounced in them. Another pair seized her wrists.

She continued to scream questions at her captors and thrash until she heard a click and expelling gas. A sharp, almost chlorine smell like bleach filled her nostrils and she blacked out.