by Lenora Worth
A sure sign of confirmation he’d honed in on her brother’s scent.
Emmett stepped forward and touched a hand to her arm. “Let me go in first, Belle.”
Belle couldn’t breathe, but she had to keep moving. “I’ll be right behind you,” she said, conceding that she really needed Emmett to help her do this.
Emmett gave her a grim nod and then silently walked toward the shed, his weapon drawn, his body coiled in a low crouch. When he pushed at the rickety metal door, it fell open with a noisy groan and several howling screeches of protest.
A dove cooed and flew off the roof of the old building, the fluttering of his wings only matching the beat of a heavy pulse hitting at Belle’s temples.
Emmett stuck his head inside and looked down. Then he stepped into the darkness of the building. “Belle, he’s here.”
Belle rushed forward, her heart in her throat, the worst images running through her mind.
Emmett went down on his knees.
Belle’s gaze followed him. Justice leaped inside and then she spotted her brother lying still on the floor. “Joaquin, no! Joaquin?”
Emmett gently tugged at her brother and rolled him over. He groaned and blinked, his gaze unfocused and dull.
“Hey, Belle,” Joaquin said, his eyes bruised and swollen, his lip bleeding. “I guess I’m in big trouble, huh?”
Belle fell down beside him. “Joaquin.” Then she took him in her arms and hugged him tight, tears burning at her eyes. “Yes, you are so in trouble. But...I love you. Always, I love you.”
FIFTEEN
Belle paced outside the hospital room, her mind roiling between anger and fear. Her parents were in with Joaquin. Once they could see that he was okay despite the many bruises and cuts on his face and body, she’d go in and get the truth out of him.
Pushing at the bun she’d long ago forgotten, she glanced up to see Emmett coming toward her with two coffees and a white paper bag.
“I found some croissants in the hospital diner,” he said. “You need breakfast.”
“I need answers,” she replied, realizing they’d never had dinner last night. “You eat that.”
“I had some food already. And I called and checked on your sisters.”
“Are they okay?”
“Your aunt said they’re sleeping. They won’t go into work at the café today.”
Belle let out a sigh of relief. “This has to end. After I talk to Joaquin, I’m going after Lance Johnson and Percy Carolo. I’m going to put them both in a prison cell.”
“I can’t blame you, but keep calm and let me help,” Emmett said. “I’ve already asked around. There’s a traffic camera near the park that could show us if Johnson and Carolo were there.”
“That’s good,” she said, still out for blood. “But I know they were there. I feel it in my gut.”
Her parents came back into the waiting area, both looking aged and exhausted.
“He won’t tell us anything,” Papá said, his gaze close to accusing but he quickly went blank on that. “Maybe he’ll talk to you.”
Belle stood, every muscle in her body protesting and her heart filled with guilt that she’d let this go so far. “I’ll try to get him to tell me what happened.” She handed Emmett the coffee she’d barely touched. “I’ll see you when I come out.”
Emmett touched a hand to her arm. “I’ll be here unless I hear something about Randall.”
She found Joaquin staring up at the ceiling tiles, a single tear moving down his right cheek.
“How are you?” she asked as she pushed at his thick black hair.
He tugged away. “How do you think?”
“I think you’re blessed to be alive,” she admitted, hoping bluntness would make him open up to her. “You suffered a near-concussion and you have a cracked rib. Which is probably going to cause you quite a bit of pain for a few weeks.”
“The doctor gave me a report, Belle.”
“Okay then, this means you can’t go running all over town with your former friends, got it?”
“I don’t have any friends.”
That confession surprised her. “You can have good friends if you’re careful.”
He didn’t respond to that.
“Joaquin, you have to talk to me. I had to report this so we need a statement and—this is very important—you need to tell me the truth.”
Her brother’s frown crashed against his skin. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”
Belle shook her head and tugged at her hair. “You have to be honest with me. It’s the only way I can help you. Were you with Percy and another man today?”
His dark eyes widened, first in surprise and then in panic. “Who told you that?”
“I’m a cop, little brother. I ask around. People talk, see things. Lance Johnson has made it clear he wants me dead and he’s using you to terrorize our family and me. Is that what you want?”
Her brother didn’t need to know that she hadn’t verified any of this yet. But she needed him to tell her how he’d become involved with these ruthless people.
“No.”
The one word came out like a whispered wail.
“Then you’d better start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
Joaquin swallowed, his fingers clutching the blankets. “Percy found me in the park. Told me he missed seeing the family. Missed you. Asked a lot of questions about you.”
Belle managed to keep a blank face even while her jaw muscles tightened. “What did you tell him?”
“That you were still a K-9 cop and you still had an apartment at our house. Stuff like that.”
“How did Lance Johnson get involved?”
Joaquin stared at the ceiling again. “Percy came back around and he was with him. A friend, Percy said.” He looked into Belle’s eyes. “I didn’t know, Belle. I didn’t get it.”
“Get what?” she asked, her heart bumping, her nerves sizzling.
“They told me Emmett wasn’t good for you. Stuff about how he was investigating our family and that he was using you. Told me they’d pay me to make him go away.”
Go away? They wanted to harm Emmett to get to her?
“What happened, Joaquin?”
“They gave me a hundred-dollar bill to...to scare him and you.”
“Scare us? How?”
“The roof, Belle. The chunk of concrete.”
Belle stood up and put a hand to her mouth. “You did that? You went onto the roof and threw that broken concrete down at us?”
He nodded, his face contorted with shame and rage. “I wasn’t going to hurt either of you, really. I waited until he moved before I dropped it. I just wanted the money.”
Belle gulped in air. “You don’t worry. I’m going to make sure those two pay much more than a hundred dollars. You could have killed Emmett, Joaquin. You have to know they were lying to you.”
“I know that now,” he said, his voice rising. “When they came to me again and wanted me to—”
“To what?” she asked, standing at the foot of the bed, her knuckles turning white from gripping the steel frame.
“They wanted me to poison Justice,” he blurted out, tears misting over in his eyes. “I couldn’t do it. I refused to do it.”
White spots of anger dotted Belle’s eyes. “So they beat you?”
He nodded. “I got away and hid in the shed.”
Belle came around the bed and tugged her brother into her arms. “I’m going to take care of this, understand?”
Joaquin bobbed his head. “I’m sorry.”
“I know you are,” she whispered. “Now you’ve learned a valuable lesson. You use this lesson to change your life, okay? To do better, to do good things.”
Joaquin looked up at her. “You’re not going to arrest me?”
“No, not this time.”
Then she let him go and stood. “But I am going after the men who did this to us. You can count on that.”
When Belle came out of Joaquin’s room, Emmett was gone.
“He got a call. Something about work,” her mother said. “Tell me about my son.”
Belle pulled her mother close. “He’s going to be okay.” She explained what had transpired between her brother and her ex. “He told me everything and...I think you’ll see a change in him, Mamá. Right now, I have to go.”
“Belle, you realize these men have come after our family,” her father said. “I’m proud of you for being honest with us and I know you’re trained to do this work, but if you don’t handle this, I’ll find a way.”
“No, you will not,” her mother said, taking her father’s hand. “Enough. Let our daughter bring these two evil men to justice. She’s been trained to do that.”
Belle appreciated her mother’s pride. “She’s right, Papá. Stay here and be kind to him. He’s afraid and ashamed.”
“You check in with us,” her mother said.
“I will. I have to pick up Justice and get to work but I’ll make sure an officer stays here with you until I can return. Hopefully, this will be over soon.”
* * *
Emmett approached the greasy-spoon diner on foot, taking his time to notice the exits and the area around this desolate part of Bay Ridge. One of his informants had seen Randall here again. Emmett had had no choice but to leave the hospital and get here as quickly as possible. He hoped Belle would understand.
He’d called Gavin right away for backup so someone could guard her brother in case she had to leave, too. But Gavin told him Belle had already called in for an officer at the hospital.
“Did she say why?”
“No,” Gavin had replied. “Said she’d explain later. Sounded urgent but I think she got a lead. Don’t worry. I sent backup to find her.”
Now Emmett’s thoughts moved from finding Randall to worrying about Belle. He had to remind himself Belle had been doing okay up until now and she’d probably go in with guns blazing to take out the criminals who’d beat up her brother.
If she’d managed to get the truth out of the boy.
Now, he eased his way around the diner’s storefront with the appropriate name of Last Stop Hop since it was situated underneath several overpasses. He spotted an NYPD patrol car across the street.
The sound of traffic constantly buzzing against the steel girders and beams overhead blurred with the street noise of people shouting and laughing, moving, always moving. Finding a spot where he had a clear view inside the dingy windows, he searched the sparse mid-morning crowds.
And spotted his cousin Randall sitting at a small table toward the back. Randall wore a Mets cap pulled low over his brow but Emmett knew it was him from his jawline and brawny shoulders. He turned toward the patrol car and nodded to let them know he’d located Randall, then pivoted around.
Before he could make a move, Randall glanced up and saw him, their eyes meeting. Emmett waved and prayed Randall wouldn’t bolt out the exit on the other side of the building.
Instead, Randall surprised him by waving and motioning to him.
Emmett entered the diner and took in the few patrons—an older couple arguing about pancakes and traffic. A young mom trying to deal with a crying baby and an older toddler. A bleary-eyed couple in party clothes who looked like they’d been out all night.
The smell of burning coffee and fried bacon assaulted Emmett’s senses followed by a musty smell of old, overused furniture and an even older greasy kitchen.
And then there was Randall. He stood when Emmett approached and reached out a calloused hand but he was as jumpy as the grease hitting the hot griddle behind the long counter. “Well, as I live and breathe, Emmett Gage. I haven’t seen you in I don’t know how long.”
“Long time,” Emmett said, shaking Randall’s hand and noting the tremor that shook it. “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been better,” Randall admitted, motioning for Emmett to join him, his eyes darting to the door and all around. “Just having a cup of this mud they call coffee.”
The waitress came over, her expression curling in a sneer that pretended to be a smile. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee’s fine,” Emmett said, glad they served it in real cups. Because he planned to nab Randall’s cup somehow.
The weary woman shifted away. Emmett looked over at his distant cousin. “Do you still live around here?”
“Nah, I come and go,” Randall allowed, his fingers tapping a nervous jig on the battered tabletop. “Just passing through.”
“Where have you been?”
His cousin grew wary, his eyes filling with a dark dread, his hands shaking. He took a sip of coffee and spilled a couple of drops. Randall took the dingy white cloth napkin by his plate and rubbed it over his mouth, then wiped up the spills.
Emmett would bag that, too.
“I’ve been moving around. Hard to find work anymore at my age but I get by.”
But it seemed Randall wanted to hear about Emmett. “What are you doing here, anyway, cuz? How’s the family?”
“My parents are both dead now,” Emmett said. “I live in Dumbo with two roommates.” He explained about his work.
Randall’s jitters increased, panic racing across his expression faster than the constant trains at the nearby 59th Street Station jarring the earth as they hummed by.
“Yeah, well, law enforcement runs on your side of the family,” Randall said on a bitter note. “Never caught on with my old man. Nor me.”
“So you’re working still?” Emmett asked, laughing.
Randall bobbed his head, his grin showing two missing teeth, his cough ragged and rough-cut. “I got a friend up in the Catskills. Gives me work here and there in construction and such. He sends me to Brooklyn sometimes to do odd jobs here, too.”
They sat silent for a minute while a newsbreak came on the television blaring from a wall-mounted television.
Out of the blue, a report about the Emery murders came on. The pretty newswoman told the tale in a crisp, practiced voice.
“No new leads on the bizarre murder case that rocked Brooklyn a few months ago, but the latest report from the NYPD is that they are getting closer to finding out if the same killer is back in town. Deemed the Emery murders, this heinous crime involved a couple murdered in their home. But the killer left their small child unharmed, even giving the three-year-old girl a stuffed animal.”
She went on to talk about the similarities between this case and the cold case from twenty years ago—the McGregors and the little girl the killer had also left behind with a stuffed animal—Penelope McGregor. “The NYPD is currently following a lead on a DNA sample and will check out any and all leads on this case.”
Emmett listened and then turned back to Randall, hoping his cousin would say something. But Randall’s only response was a telling one.
“I gotta go, man.” He got up so quickly the table shifted and people stared. Pushing past Emmett, he said, “I need to get back to work, you know. Good seeing you, Emmett.”
“Randall,” Emmett said, grabbing his arm. “Wait. You can talk to me. I can help you. If you need anything—”
“I don’t need your charity or your pity.” Randall yanked away, his congenial mood changing as swiftly as the rainy weather left over from last night. “I need to get outta here.”
Emmett tried to block the door, his hand inching toward his weapon. “Randall, I need to talk to you.”
Randall pulled a gun from underneath his baggy shirt and waved it in the air. “Nah, I know how this works. They sent you to bring me in.”
Emmett held his hands up to calm Randall. “It’ll be better if you just go with me to answer some questions.”
; “I don’t think so,” Randall said, his hands shaking, his weapon wobbling. Then he turned the gun on the mother and her two suddenly quiet children. A collective gasp went out over the diner. “Let me go, Emmett. I don’t want to hurt no one.”
Emmett held up his hands again, not about to pull out his own weapon now. “I don’t want you to hurt anyone, Randall. But I believe you’re in trouble.”
“Trouble’s been shadowing me all my life,” Randall retorted as he backed toward the door, waving the gun at anyone who moved. “You just pretend you never saw me. That’s the best thing you can do for me now.”
Emmett stood still, keeping watch on all the people who could be in the line of fire. “Randall—”
Randall waved the gun again. “I said, stay back!” Then he gave Emmett a hard glare. “And call off whoever’s out there waiting for me. Or I’ll have to shoot someone.”
Everyone in the café ducked and crouched, afraid for their lives. Emmett tried to see past his cousin to warn the other officers. “Take me, Randall.”
His cousin backed out the door, his gun pointing from target to target inside the diner before he held the gun on Emmett. “Let’s go.”
Emmett went in front of Randall. Randall shoved Emmett with his gun. “Sorry, man. I can’t let you take me in.” Then he jabbed the butt of his gun against Emmett’s head and shoved him against the pavement before he took off on a run, shooting toward Emmett. “Stay away.”
Emmett tried to stand but dizziness overtook him. He tried again, pressing his hand against a lamp post. Then he opened the door to the diner.
“Don’t clean this table,” Emmett called to the wide-eyed waitress as he pulled his gun and spun around after Randall. “I’m coming back.”
He spotted Randall heading west and called again, this time with more anger than compassion, his head throbbing with pain. “Randall, stop.”
Two officers ran toward them. One shouted, “NYPD. Drop your weapon.”
Randall stopped and shot into the air near Emmett and took off around the corner. Then he turned and fired again.