Storm's Cage

by Mary Stone

Leaning back in her seat, Natasha tapped an index finger on the edge of the table. “I thought that was self-defense. Why would the D’Amatos be pissed about that?”

  “Ian didn’t think it was self-defense.” I shook my head emphatically and held my hand up when she opened her mouth to fire off another question. “He thought it was a well-planned murder for hire.” As I held Detective Reymen’s gaze, I listed each point, counting them out on my fingers as I spoke. “The guy who killed Portelli is still free. He’s a D’Amato bigshot and does a lot of their technical work. He runs a bunch of their ops in the city. But he’s smart, and we’ve never been able to pin him with anything. That ‘self-defense’ case was the first time we brought him into the precinct.”

  The newest lie came from a version of the truth, at least. I’d learned long ago that the best lies were spun from the truth.

  Ian and I had done our damnedest to bring Portelli’s killer down for murder, but the intent had been to deal a blow to the D’Amato family more than anything.

  After a few more questions about the Portelli case, Floyd and Natasha went through the remainder of the standard interview.

  On my way out of the drab gray room, I asked the two detectives to keep me in the loop as they went through their investigation. I’d made the same request of the men and women who’d worked the murders of each friend I’d lost since being promoted to detective.

  The only difference was, I’d never been involved in any of their deaths.

  Soft cries accompanied the sound of my name, and I turned to face yet another part of this entire shitty scenario I’d been dreading.

  “Dana.”

  The grieving widow’s name was a whisper through the clog in my throat, and I closed my eyes as she threw herself into my arms. As I wrapped her in a warm embrace, I could have sworn I spotted the living darkness from my nightmare.

  Before my mind could spiral into the abyss, I kissed the top of her head. “Natasha and Floyd will find the bastard who did this,” I assured her in my most confident voice. For a moment, I almost wished that were true.

  I didn’t want to be caught, of course. Not really. I just wished the bad guy in this scenario wasn’t me.

  Not that I’d had a choice, of course.

  Her sobs were like nails down the proverbial chalkboard. “You…you promise?”

  I buried my face in her hair. “I promise.”

  My stomach rolled as the words slipped from my lips, but I fought back the nausea. With my pulse hammering in my ears, I said my goodbyes and sprinted to the nearest men’s room.

  The scent of bleach wafted over to me as the wooden door swung closed at my back. Swallowing against the bile that rose in the back of my throat, I turned to the row of sinks that faced two open stalls. When my eyes settled on a familiar figure in the middle of the three faucets, my spine jerked straight as I jumped.

  Raking a hand through my hair, I let out an explosive breath. “Dammit. You scared the shit out of me.”

  As he shook the water from his hands, my friend furrowed his brows. “You walked in on me.”

  I opened my mouth to reply, but he waved a hand to cut me off.

  His dark eyes flitted to the empty stalls and then back to me as he lowered his voice. “Hey, you heard about Ian, right?”

  Jaw clenched, I looked over his shoulder. “I just got done talking to Reyman and Yoell. They’re working the case.”

  “Good. They’re good police.” He cast another paranoid glance around the still bathroom. “I heard something. Not about Ian. Nothing to do with him, at least I don’t think so.”

  With a quick look at the closed door, I stepped closer. “What did you hear?”

  Pressing a button to bring the nearest hand dryer to life, he leaned in, his eyes fixed on the door at my back. “From a CO I know at MCC Chicago. He said a couple Feds showed up this morning to talk to Carlo Enrico.”

  Shit.

  Unable to keep the surprise and concern from my face, I pressed a hand over my eyes. In spite of the gravity of my secret, I was in good company. My fellow detective had his fair share of buried skeletons.

  By the time I dropped my hand, I’d managed to rid myself of the shocked expression. “Feds? What the hell were they doing with Enrico? The Leónes made sure he had a damn good lawyer.”

  A muscle ticked in my friend’s jaw. “They did. But my CO contact tells me he’s got a new lawyer. Look…” his eyes shifted between me and the door, “I know this isn’t the place to have this conversation, but I also know that you can do more about it than I can. And we need to do something about it, or that Carlo bastard will spill his guts. There’s no other reason he’d switch lawyers right before he had a meeting with a couple Feds. He’s going to roll over.”

  “Shit.” I raked a hand through my hair, but before I could speak, the hinges of the door creaked. A uniformed officer strode in.

  We each offered him a polite nod.

  Shoving his hands beneath the vent of the dryer, my friend shot me a knowing look.

  My expression was grim as I turned on the faucet and lathered my hands with foam soap. “I’ll get ahold of one of the guys from my bowling league, and we’ll see what we can do.”

  I was a bowler, but my friend didn’t need to be a detective to catch my true meaning.

  “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

  I’d intended to go home to ensure all my bases were covered, but Carlo Enrico was a problem.

  One I needed to solve…now.

  5

  Clasping the metal rail with both hands, Joseph Larson looked out onto the expanse of Lake Michigan. A temperate breeze brought the smell of water to his nose, and even through his sunglasses, the sun sparkled against the waves like glimmering topaz. On days like today, he understood the appeal of coastal cities like Miami or San Diego.

  If Joseph thought he could tolerate such a hot, humid climate, he’d move to Miami without a second thought. Between the ocean, the glittering skyline, and the beautiful women, Miami was just short of a paradise. But the last time he’d lived in Florida—during the final two years of his tenure with the United States Army—he’d hated the constant, oppressive humidity. Summer in Chicago was bad enough, but Florida was a hellscape.

  “Here, I got you a rum and coke.”

  Brian Kolthoff’s voice jerked his attention away from the swaying waters of the lake. Blinking as his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight, he reached out to accept the drink. “Hard liquor before two in the afternoon?”

  Leaning against the railing that lined the upper deck of the mid-sized yacht, Brian chuckled at the comment. “It’s your last day off before you go back to work.” He lifted his glass and tipped it toward Joseph like a salute. “Might as well enjoy it.”

  Brian did have a point. Joseph returned the gesture before taking a long pull from his own glass. With a nod of approval, he pushed his sunglasses up to rest atop his head. “It’s good. I take it you didn’t make it?”

  “No.” He waved his drink in the air, letting the ice clink against the glass. “Part of a successful business venture is knowing your strengths. Since mine isn’t bartending, I use my strengths to make money and then hire a bartender. Problem solved.”

  Chuckling, Joseph glanced over the rich wood of the top-most deck. A hot tub was situated to look out onto the stern of the vessel, but the top had been pulled over to shelter the water from the elements. Not far from the Jacuzzi, an awning shaded a horseshoe-shaped bar from the sun.

  A young woman had taken a seat at one of the stools to scroll through her phone. Her long hair shimmered like spun gold as the wind whispered across the deck. Her name was Svetlana. And if Joseph remembered correctly, she’d been hired for more than just her drink mixing capabilities.

  Joseph turned his head and tilted the pint glass at his longtime friend. “We’ll just call you the problem solver.”

  Brian’s laugh sounded closer to a snort as he scratched at his temple. In the afternoon sunlight, the gray tha
t streaked Kolthoff’s sable hair was closer to silver. “Sure. Speaking of problems.” His pale green eyes shifted to Joseph. “I just solved a big one. Those solicitation charges the U.S. Attorney’s office tried to throw at me, the ones for Leila Jackson. They were dropped this morning.”

  As Joseph rested his back against the metal rail, he blew out a long breath. “Yeah, that was a close one. I don’t know how the Bureau got to Emilio, much less to you.”

  With one hand, Brian waved away the speculation. “I took an unnecessary risk when I tried to pick up Leila on the same day your coworkers were taking down Emilio’s whorehouse. When you told me that the lead investigator for that case was a twenty-nine-year-old woman, I underestimated her.”

  Taking in a deep drink of the rum and coke, Joseph suppressed a chuckle. “We both did.” And that was the moment she’d pinged on his radar. That woman was as cunning and resourceful as she was alluring. A frustrating conundrum, which made the chase all that much more fun.

  And dangerous…which turned him on.

  When Amelia Storm had disguised herself as Leila Jackson to catch Brian Kolthoff—referred to in the criminal underworld as The Shark, presumably because his preferred method of corpse disposal was to dump the body in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean—Joseph had been dumbfounded.

  The SAC of the Chicago field office had confiscated all potential communications devices before the surprise raid, and Joseph had no way to warn Brian that his meet-up to acquire Leila Jackson was a trap.

  After the near-miss that had almost landed Brian in prison, Joseph had vowed to himself that he’d never underestimate Amelia Storm again.

  Brian’s friend and Joseph’s frequent employer, Illinois Senator Stan Young, had made the mistake of underestimating another Storm, and that mess had taken Stan years to clean.

  “It’s a shame, though. I had plans for Leila. Emilio treated that girl like a rabid dog, and she turned on him like one when it came time for his day in court.” Brian’s voice pulled Joseph back to the present before his thoughts could wander too close to Amelia.

  “She was sixteen.” Joseph’s tone was so flat, it might as well have been steamrolled.

  A half-smile crept to Brian’s face as he turned toward Joseph. “Oh, I know.” He adjusted the crotch of his shorts. “And you know that I only like the experienced ones that look young. Emilio had already had her out there working the street. She might’ve only been sixteen, but she had the looks and mentality of a twenty-year-old. Besides, most of the younger girls don’t have nearly as much fight in them. They don’t have that fire in their eyes.”

  Brian’s point was valid enough. As much as Joseph loathed the men who preyed on children, Leila Jackson hadn’t been a child. Not at sixteen. Not with a body like that.

  No. She’d been well past the age of innocence, in his opinion. Just like all the other women who’d crossed Brian’s path over the last decade and a half. Kolthoff’s tastes were…peculiar, but they were a far cry from someone like Alton Dalessio, who had preferred the truly innocent children.

  Anyone preying on a child under the age of twelve pissed Joseph off. Anything older was fair game.

  Midway through a pull from his gin and tonic, Brian barked out a laugh. “Hey, how’s that little cock-tease agent you’ve been toying with back at your field office? Any progress with her?”

  “Amelia Storm.” Joseph chuckled as the name rolled off his tongue.

  The good humor drained from Brian’s face as his eyes met Joseph’s. “Special Agent Amelia Storm is trouble. Mark my words. What’s her count now against the Leónes? She killed Joe Dalessio’s younger cousin and threw Emilio Leóne in prison for five years. Then there was that unfortunate business on the farm.” Brian took another pull from his drink. “I don’t think our Leóne friends are all that keen on Agent Storm right about now.”

  Joseph couldn’t disagree, which only added to the fun. “The Leónes have been playing with fire lately. I haven’t been in touch with them at all since Emilio got put away. They should have laid low and waited for the heat to die down, but they did the opposite. Word has it they’re picking fights with the San Luis Cartel. They’re all over the Bureau’s radar now, and I don’t even think they realize it. Well, maybe they finally do now that Alton took a twelve-gauge slug to the chest.”

  Brian’s lips pursed as he swirled his drink, making the ice clink softly against the glass. “They should have laid low, that’s true.”

  “The Bureau suspected someone in the office was feeding them information during the Leila Jackson case, so I cut off contact. I’m not willing to risk my freedom and my life for a bunch of pedophiles.” Joseph spat the last word like it was venom on his tongue.

  Brian lifted a finger. “Joe Dalessio didn’t know about Alton’s kiddie porn ring. I talked to him the other day, and he said he’d have put a stop to it if he’d known what they were doing out on that farm.”

  Joseph opened his mouth to offer a cynical rebuttal, but Brian cut him off.

  “I still agree with you. The Leónes haven’t been playing smart lately, and I’m not willing to risk my ass for them any more than you are. If they keep throwing themselves in the Feds’ line of fire like this, then they’ll get whatever’s coming to them, and I’m not going to lift a damn finger to stop it. But…” Brian’s hard stare settled on Joseph, “they are a valuable ally, and it’s in our best interests that they get their shit together.”

  Though he knew Brian was right, Joseph still scoffed. “They can start by forgetting about Amelia Storm. Alton deserved worse than what he got, and if I’d have gotten to him first, I would have killed him too. Besides, Storm shot him in self-defense.”

  One of Brian’s eyebrows quirked up. “She did? I thought you said she wasn’t sure if she’d been justified.”

  “As far as the FBI and any official legal reports are concerned, she shot Alton after he made a threatening movement. That pedophile coward committed suicide by cop. If the Leónes want to avenge that, then…” He left the remark unfinished and gritted his teeth.

  Over his years in Chicago, Joseph had met and kept company with unsavory characters of all shapes and sizes—with one exception. Predators who went after innocent little children. He’d just as soon snap the neck of one of those sick bastards as shake their hand.

  After all, if one of those bottom-feeders hadn’t weaseled his way into Joseph’s family when he was younger, he’d still have an older brother.

  But if there was one positive that had come from the mess with Alton Dalessio, it was the fact that Joseph now knew a damning secret about Amelia Storm. Save Zane Palmer, no other living soul knew that there was a good chance she hadn’t been justified when she’d pulled the trigger.

  Joseph had backed her up when they’d given their statements to the FBI, and now Amelia was exactly where he wanted her. All he had to do was get her to come home with him once, and he was certain she’d never want anyone else. As much as he enjoyed her strength of will, he’d love to see the submission in her eyes when he finally broke her.

  And he would break her.

  He brushed away the mental images. Now wasn’t the time, and the upper deck of Kolthoff’s yacht wasn’t the place. Joseph would have plenty of time alone with the hidden cameras he’d installed throughout Amelia’s apartment. Specifically, the video feed from her shower.

  Joseph forced his thoughts back to the Leóne family. “You know, I sometimes think I’d rather just turn around and work for the D’Amato family. It’d be nice to deal with an organized group for a change, and it seems like the D’Amatos have their shit together.”

  Brian laughed so hard his shoulders shook with each chuckle. “Not even close. The D’Amatos have been around since Capone, and you don’t get that far in organized crime without a hell of a lot of baggage along the way. Trust me.”

  Rather than go along with Brian’s dismissive comments, Joseph fixed him with a knowing stare. “You’re the executive here, and I’m pretty su
re you know as well as I do that the D’Amatos would be better business partners. You and Stan obviously have some personal vendetta with them, but what I’m wondering is why you’ve never mentioned it to me when I’m the one out there on the front lines putting my ass at risk.”

  Joseph didn’t miss the way Brian’s jaw tightened. Though his expression appeared strained, it faded as he took a long drink. “You’d have to ask the senator about that. If I had to guess, the reason he’s never mentioned it is because he figures you’re better off the less you know.”

  “Not if I don’t know what the hell I’m dealing with anymore.” Joseph held his hands out to his sides in exasperation. “You have to see this from my perspective. Right now, we’re working with the crime family that’s consistently getting dunked on by the Bureau. All the while, there’s a second crime family that deals in lower risk businesses than the first, and the Bureau barely knows they exist. I mean, the Leónes are filming kiddie porn out of their basement, and the D’Amatos are selling counterfeit Louis Vuitton handbags and making money hand over fist. Why in the hell are we involved with the former when we could be aligned with the latter?”

  Brian waved his glass in the air as if trying to brush Joseph’s words away. “It’s not that simple. Believe me, I wish it was. But you and I both know that Senator Stan Young is the conductor of this train, and we’re just a couple engineers. Whatever beef Stan has with the D’Amatos is personal, and there isn’t a profit margin high enough to get him to overlook it.”

  He’d been afraid of that. Frustrated, Joseph looked out over the glittering sprawl of Lake Michigan.

  Brian was right, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that Senator Young would ever change his tune about the D’Amato family. And considering all the damage that Joseph and Brian had inflicted on the D’Amatos over the years, even if they wanted to change their business partner, the D’Amato family would be just as inclined to kill them as hear out their proposal.

  For now, he and Brian were stuck with the more volatile of the two families.