by Mary Stone
He did know that. That’s why every time he saw one of the family’s trusted associates—and there were a lot of them—gunned down or throttled or hog-tied and dumped in the Hudson River, he grew more and more fearful over what would happen if Kylie or Rhonda ever resurfaced in his life.
Now, it had happened, just as he’d imagined it would.
And it was time to pay for his misdeeds. They all would.
Rhonda and Kylie too.
He couldn’t save himself. But maybe, he could save them. Maybe God would be merciful to him if he made the attempt to help them.
William forced himself to stay calm, fiddling with the Rolex on his wrist to keep his hands from shaking. “All right. So, what are you going to do?”
Dennis shook his head. “I could’ve had you killed already, but Jackie wants to see you one more time. You’re the head of this company, and if we lost you now under suspicious circumstances, it could look bad to all our investors. So, you’re lucky. You’ll get a few more days,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ve already sent our best fixer over to take care of your first family.”
William’s legs almost gave out beneath him. Their best fixer. Nino Capitano. The man was as ruthless as they came. “Already?”
“Went down to visit with them last night. We’re expecting to get an update in a few. Your little girl threw us for a loop when she flew back up here, but it won’t be long until she’s back where she belongs, and Nino can take care of her. I expect your first wife is already dead.”
A lump grew in William’s throat, and he swallowed painfully as Dennis dropped his legs to the floor and stood up. He nodded at William, then went to stand in front of him and straightened his tie. He patted his cheek twice.
“Jesus, man. You’re the head of a billion-dollar company and you look like shit. You should get some rest,” he said, grinning sardonically at him.
Then he walked out the door, and before it closed behind him, William heard Dennis say to Valerie, “Cancel all Billy’s appointments for today. The man looks like he’s on the verge of a heart attack. He needs a break.”
The second the door clicked closed, William wiped his sweaty hands on the front of the trousers and dove for the phone. His fingers trembled as he dialed. “Listen to me,” he said the second the call was answered. “Kylie and Rhonda need to be put in protective custody right now. Do you understand me? They’re in trouble. The family’s sent someone to take care of—”
The phone went dead in his hand.
Seconds later, the door burst open, and two large men rushed in.
William dropped the phone and backed against the wall.
It had been over two decades. But his day of reckoning had finally come.
26
Nino Capitano inspected his handiwork and frowned.
His fingers itched to take that next step. To spill blood. But no. He’d have to wait for the signal.
He’d thought people in Manhattan were idiots, but these morons in downtown Hickville brought stupidity to a whole new level.
Manhattanites were dumb, but they were suspicious, at least. These people were the fatal combination of dumb and trusting.
And everything was working out just as he’d hoped. Maybe he’d be on a red-eye back to New York tonight, if things continued to go his way.
Tilting the blinds, he looked out and made sure that the coast was clear. It was. This was easier than taking candy from a baby and had gone even better than he’d expected. The street had been practically empty when he’d come upon the police officer waiting in his car.
Pop. Pop.
Damn, he loved his silencer.
Now, that oblivious officer was in the trunk of his cruiser, feeling no pain.
It’d only taken a minute to strip the man from his uniform, badge, and gun. Another minute to don it in the back of his rental.
And no one noticed.
When he emerged from the car and walked over to the police vehicle, no one seemed to care that the uniform was at least three sizes too small for him. He couldn’t button the shirt, but the tie covered that. The pants? Well, that was another story. He’d ended up wearing his suit pants with it. By that point, he figured it wouldn’t make much of a difference. This whole town was damn oblivious.
“How’re you doing, officer?” a man on a bicycle had said to him as he’d sat in the driver’s side of the police car, cleaning the blood off his hands.
He’d waved. “Fine,” he said, then muttered under his breath, “moron.”
He’d tightened his belt and checked out the officer’s weapon. They actually issued this kind of worthless piece of shit to police in this city? It was unwieldy and felt like a brick in his hand. Tossing the gun onto the passenger’s seat, he’d filled his holster with his own gun, his baby, his Glock 9mm. He never went anywhere without it.
Then he’d stepped out of the car and went across the street, to his victim, to “introduce” himself.
The old bat and her man were just as clueless as everyone else in the city. They looked at the badge on Nino’s chest and didn’t even bother to ask for ID. If they had, they’d have noticed that Nino, at six and a half feet and packing muscle, bore little resemblance to the tall but much less bulky Officer Reardon, whose uniform Nino now wore. He’d introduced himself, told them he’d be across the street, and then went back to his car to wait. He’d wanted to lull them into a false sense of security.
An hour later, he returned, asking the target if she wouldn’t mind him using the restroom.
She’d been so easy, it’d almost been a shame. She and the old man she was shacking up with were sitting at the dining room table, eating pie. After he washed his hands in a powder room that smelled like lavender, he sneaked up behind the man, and knocked him from his chair with a crack to the back of the skull.
He went out like a light as the woman screamed and backed herself up against a wall. He gagged and tied them both up, back-to-back, and dragged them out to the middle of the living room.
Then he snapped a picture with his phone. He liked taking pictures of his handiwork. He had quite the collection. He thought of texting it to his boss, but his boss was hands-off about those things. Just wanted it done, didn’t want to get involved with the nitty-gritty details.
Nino dialed the number for his boss and waited until someone picked up. “Done. What do you want me to do with them?”
“You’ve got them both?”
“Half. The daughter’s still on her flight back. I’ll get her later tonight.”
“Who do you have?”
“The old broad. And…” He reached into the old man’s jacket pocket and pulled out his identification. He squinted at it. He needed glasses but didn’t like to wear them. “Some guy named Jerry Phillips. A doctor.”
“Dead?”
He threw the wallet down on the old man, who moaned in pain. “Naw. I thought you might enjoy hearing them die.”
He waited for a few seconds, listening to his boss breathing. “Actually, I think I’d like to participate in this one. Look the bitch in the eye as the life drains out.” In the background, he listened to what sounded like fingers typing on a keyboard. “Hold tight. I’ve got a flight booked. I want to see this myself.”
Nino raised an eyebrow at that. Whoever this bitch was, she must’ve done something really bad to piss his boss off so much. “You sure? I can end it pretty quick. Nothing to worry yourself over.”
“Yeah. I’m sure. Give me the address.”
He did.
“All right. Stay there and keep guard. The young one coming over?”
“Yep. Soon. I had the old bat leave a message on her daughter’s phone. She should be getting it when she lands, which is right about now.”
“Perfect. I want to see her, too, before you end it. You got it?”
“Aye, aye,” he said, grinning. “Whatever you say, boss.”
When the call ended, he looked at his two prisoners. The man was still out, slumped in
a fetal position with his chin to his chest, but the blonde woman was awake and alert, staring at him with wide eyes, and whimpering into her gag.
He brought the gun to her cheek and smiled at her. “Don’t worry, baby,” he hissed out. “It’ll all be over soon.”
He straightened, went to the fridge, and opened it. She had some artsy fartsy craft beer in there that he’d never heard of. But he was game. He grabbed a bottle, cracked it open, and took a swig. As he closed the refrigerator door, he caught sight of a picture of a family in the hospital with a newborn. The woman was a thinner, prettier version of the hag currently tied up on the living room rug. The man?
Well, he knew that man. It was William Hatfield, Christina DeRoss’s husband. He’d met him a couple of times at events but had never been formally introduced.
He laughed. Talk about a moron.
The guy might have his own company, but really, the company had him. He had no balls, whatsoever, and was just their little yes-man. Nico might have owed all he was to the family, but at least he got respect for it. The gun did that for him.
Taking his beer, he went to the living room and kicked the man to see if he was awake yet. He didn’t move. Shrugging, he turned on the television, grabbed the remote, and kicked up his feet to watch a little Mets baseball. The Mets were winning, ten to nothing. It was a good night.
Jacob leaned back in his office chair and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. There was a time, not long ago, that he had no problem staying up late into the night, but maybe he was getting older. He’d only been out until one last night, shooting the shit with Linc, and now he was beat. It had been a busy day.
In addition to all the little annoying shit he had to tackle on a daily basis, there was also the matter of Kylie. He could’ve probably assigned an officer from his force full-time to the little troublemaker, and the guy never would’ve run out of things to do. Now, it looked like she’d gone to New York, picked up some enemies from the mob, and they were out to kill her.
The girl couldn’t possibly be any more of a trouble-magnet if she tried.
Which reminded him. He hadn’t heard from Joe Reardon in an hour and twenty minutes. Hadn’t he told him to report in every hour on the hour? He checked his watch. It was after nine, and no report.
Dammit. Just another thing to worry about.
He leaned back in his seat, stretching out his tight muscles. He probably should’ve found someone other than Joe to take the post, since Joe was a rookie and wasn’t the most with-it guy on the force. But all the rest of his men were in the middle of other things, so he’d reluctantly given the job to Joe, telling him explicitly, at least thrice, that he needed to keep him posted every chance he got.
Dammit. It would be nice if the rookies on his force actually did what they were told now and again. He had too many irons in the fire to be babysitting them all the time.
He finished up some paperwork for a case he was ready to close, and picked up his phone, calling in to Joe. There was no answer. The guy probably forgot to charge his phone, again. He picked up the police radio. “Headquarters to—”
He stopped when he realized his phone was ringing. It was Joe’s number. He lifted it up and said, “Hey. Everything okay there?”
“Yeah. All good.”
“What happened to you radioing in every hour? Remember that? My orders?”
“Oh. Will do. Everything’s slow here, though. Lady’s with a guy. Lost track of time.”
Something seemed off. Joe might have just been disguising the fact that he was sleeping on the job. Jacob tapped his fingers on his desk, thinking. “Well, next time, don’t.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
Was it him, or did Joe Reardon not seem like himself today? “You okay?”
“Yeah. All under control. The subject is fine. She’s turning in to bed right now.”
He nodded. “All right. Still, keep me posted.”
As he ended the call, something was niggling at the back of his brain. In his ten years on the force, he’d never felt so out of sorts before, like something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on what, exactly, was out of place.
Kylie and Linc should’ve been coming in from New York soon. During his phone call, Linc had sounded anxious, so maybe he’d go and pay them a visit to see what, exactly, they’d turned up and what kind of threat they were facing. If they’d invited the mob down here, he needed to know about it before they wreaked havoc in town, or else he’d never hear the end of it from the commissioner.
He had everything under control.
Or so he thought.
And then he looked up, through his open office door, which provided a perfect view of the front desk, and saw Faith Carter walk in, like a gorgeous mirage.
The truth was, the first time Linc introduced them, he’d been whipped. Faith, with her waist-length blonde hair that she wore in these long, loopy curls. She was taller than most other girls, statuesque, like a goddess. As formidable as she was, she had these big blue swimming-pool eyes, framed in long lashes that always made him melt. It was like she’d walked right out of his dreams and into his life.
And she had been dating his best friend.
That was the kicker. The worst part about it was that Linc didn’t even seem to notice that he had perfection on his arm. She wasn’t just beautiful—she was witty, smart. She put them both in their place a number of times. He’d had a killer of a time whenever they’d double date, because all he wanted to do was talk to Faith. But she was off-limits. When he’d say goodbye to them, he’d bring his date home, and maybe he’d score, maybe he wouldn’t…but every time, he was pretending the woman he was with was Faith.
She looked around uncertainly, fluffing her hair in that maddening way she sometimes did, and Jacob felt his temperature rising. All those thoughts about work and the mob and Joe Reardon not being able to follow directions dissolved, and he was left with one overwhelming thought: Faith sure looked pretty right now. She was wearing a pink blouse which complemented her sun-kissed skin. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.
He swallowed and found his mouth dry as a desert.
He watched as Faith, not noticing him, leaned over the front desk and said, “Could I please speak with Detective Dean?”
Then her eyes lifted and caught sight of him. A smile dawned on her face, and it spread heat all over his body. He loved her smile.
And she wanted him. Maybe that was the reason everything seemed so off. Ever since Linc had told him last night about Faith having a true interest in him, he’d been able to think of little else. He’d thought about tracking her down and talking to her, but the thought made him seize up. After all, he did so much better with women when he didn’t care. On the rare chance that he did like a woman? He usually ended up doing something shit-stupid and ruining all his chances. He was almost thirty-one now. He felt like he was running out of opportunities.
She waved.
He stood up, wiped his sweaty hands on his thighs, and crossed his arms, trying to keep cool. He missed the first time he tried to lean against the doorjamb but caught himself just in time. Trying again, he said, “Well, look who it is.”
“Hi, Jacob,” she said, smiling a little. Of course she’d noticed his little flub. “You’re here late. I went to your apartment and your neighbor said you were still working.”
He motioned her toward him. “Always. Come on in.”
When she came around the front desk, he saw that she was wearing a short black skirt that bared her phenomenal legs. If his level of want indicated how badly he was going to crash and burn, then he was going to fuck this up beyond recognition. Definitely.
She was still smiling at him as she swept past him and into the office. She smelled sweet, like ripe peaches. When she came inside, he closed the door tight and turned around in time to see that little skirt riding up on her as she sat in the chair across from his desk.
Lord help me, he thought.
He took a deep breath a
s he went to sit down himself. “Look,” he said gruffly. “I know why you’re here.”
She raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You do?”
“Yeah. Linc told me.”
That cute little nose of hers wrinkled. “Linc told you what?”
Did she really want him to say it aloud? He had a sinking feeling that Linc might’ve just been putting one over on him, but that was far from Linc’s style. So he started out, as vaguely as possible, hoping she’d catch his drift. “That you…you know…”
She shook her head, looking genuinely confused. “I don’t know.”
All right. Now he was starting to feel stupid. “You didn’t talk to Linc the other night?”
She smiled. “Oh, no. I did. But I’m not here because of that.”
He straightened his posture. “You aren’t?”
“Yeah. We can talk about that later, but I’m kind of in a rush.”
He nearly choked. “A…rush?”
“And I don’t really have a lot of time to explain, so…” She reached into her purse and pulled out her wallet, which she opened and pushed over to him.
He ran his tongue over the front of his teeth as he took in the FBI badge. He coughed some more. “Well. I’ll be damned. You? Are FBI?”
She nodded.
“Well.” He scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “Fuck me. Is that what you were doing over in Virginia all these years?”
She nodded. “Yep. I was at Quantico getting my badge.”
“Holy shit. And you went up to New York? What are you doing here, then?”
She crossed and uncrossed those amazing legs, and he did his best to ignore it. “I’m working on a case. A case involving Kylie Hatfield, Linc’s girlfriend.”
He stared at her, still trying to wrap his brain around the disappointment that she wasn’t here for him. She was a Fed, here for a case. “Kylie?”
“Yes.”
It suddenly occurred to him. “Does this have anything to do with the mob?”