Storm's Cage

by Mary Stone

  As she emerged from the stall, a pronounced buzz emitted from the pocket of her cardigan. Though she wanted to wash her hands first, she pulled out the phone to check the screen.

  When her gaze fell on the line of the caller ID that read “Metropolitan Corrections Center,” her breath caught in her throat. Swiping the screen, she raised the device to her ear, holding it there with her shoulder while she pumped a glob of soap into her hands.

  “This is Agent Storm.”

  “Agent.” The tension in Donovan Gillem’s voice was palpable. “I’ve…I’ve got some bad news for you.”

  Dread rushed through Amelia’s veins, but she gritted her teeth to keep her tone even as she rinsed her hands. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Your witness, Carlo Enrico, was stabbed repeatedly. He was just admitted to the ICU a few minutes ago, but well…” the man paused, and she could almost see him shake his head, “he lost a great deal of blood, and the prognosis isn’t good. They’ll do all they can, but it’s in the surgeon’s hands now.”

  “Shit.” She spat the word before she could stop herself and reached for a wad of paper towels. “Are there any suspects? An idea who might’ve done it?”

  “None yet.” The warden’s answer sounded mechanical. “We’re reviewing the security footage. Should have something by the time you get here.”

  “Dammit, okay. Send me the details about where he’s being treated, and please make sure the area where he was attacked is sealed off.”

  “Already done. We’re on lockdown, and all the inmates are confined to their cells until further notice.”

  Amelia rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Okay. That’s all I can ask. I’ll be there within an hour, two at the most.”

  “All right. See you then.”

  Once she’d replaced the phone in her pocket, Amelia let out an explosive breath. “Dammit, Carlo. All we wanted you to do was stay alive, and you couldn’t even do that.”

  Sure, Enrico was alive at the moment, but Amelia knew all about hypovolemic shock. When a person’s body lost too much blood, the heart tried to compensate by beating faster, even as blood pressure dropped. Cardiac arrest usually came next, followed by the shutdown of various organ systems.

  If Carlo had gone into hypovolemic shock, chances were good he wouldn’t return.

  Though she was driven mostly by habit, Amelia dried her hands completely before letting herself back into the hall. She sprinted back to the conference room.

  Without stopping to parse through the news she’d just been given, Amelia pushed open the door. “Carlo Enrico was just stabbed.” The words felt like a system purge. “Repeatedly. I think he went into hypovolemic shock, and he’s probably not going to make it.”

  “Shit.” Zane rubbed his temples. “They don’t have any idea who did it, do they?”

  As Amelia met his gaze, she shook her head. “None.”

  SAC Keaton drummed her fingers against the conference table as the room lapsed into silence. “Okay.” She turned to the Assistant U.S. Attorney. “Counselor, you can go. Keep that paperwork handy, and we’ll be in touch if anything changes.”

  Cassandra let out a breath as she packed up the papers in front of her and stood. “Just let me or Ms. Julliard know if there’s anything else you need from our office.”

  “I’ll do that. Thank you,” SAC Keaton responded curtly, though her expression remained pleasant as ever.

  After Cassandra offered a quick goodbye to Amelia and Zane, she shouldered her messenger bag and left.

  Amelia turned to Zane the moment the door latched shut. “We should probably head out soon. I told the warden we’d be there in about an hour.”

  SAC Keaton held up a hand to stop them. “No. This is a huge hurdle, and I can’t afford to put both of you on it when there’s so much more we need to follow up on.”

  “This is something we’ll want to add to the RICO case, though,” Zane argued. “Enrico was stabbed right before we could put him in protective custody. There’s no way that wasn’t the Leónes.”

  “That’s true.” Jasmine’s gaze shifted between Zane and Amelia. “But I still can’t afford to put you both on it. One of you needs to follow up on what Storey brought us. Storm, since the warden called you, MCC is yours. Go!”

  Amelia was about to voice her agreement, but Jasmine’s next words stopped her dead in her tracks.

  “Take Agent Larson. He just got back from a few days of vacation, and he’s already familiar with the Leóne family.”

  Son of a bitch.

  Her last encounter with Joseph Larson had been amicable enough, but she couldn’t help but think the man’s friendly demeanor had been a façade. There was a knowing glimmer in his pale blue eyes that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

  Rather than protest, she swallowed to return the moisture to her mouth. “Okay.”

  SAC Keaton gestured to Zane. “Agent Palmer, you’ll follow up with the flash drive that Ben Storey handed over this morning. Since you and Storm are split, I’ll see what I can do about moving Agent Kantowski over a little early to help with your workload.”

  “Are you sure?” As his gaze flicked to Amelia, she didn’t miss the worry that shadowed his handsome face. “It looked like Agent Storm wasn’t feeling so hot a second ago. I can grab Larson and head to the prison.”

  Even if he’d been the wartiest of warty frogs, Amelia could have kissed Zane Palmer for the suggestion. Zane was the only person Amelia had told about her discomfort being around Joseph Larson. Without a doubt, Zane had offered to fall on the proverbial sword so she wouldn’t risk being subjected to another of Larson’s unwanted advances. And considering the obvious contention that had existed between Zane and Joseph for the past five months, Zane’s offer hadn’t been made lightly.

  Just as Amelia was about to jump up to second Zane’s recommendation, Jasmine shook her head. “I’m sorry, Storm. I know that you’re both competent investigators, but I’d like to have Agent Palmer’s expertise on the records Storey gave us.”

  Amelia bit her tongue to stop herself from arguing. This was the FBI, and she had a job to do, even if that meant she had to be partnered with someone she despised. Just like her military days. When she was given an order, the only response was, “Yes, sir!”

  Do your job, soldier.

  She just had to focus on the task at hand. She could do it. She had to do it.

  Glancing at Zane, Amelia made her best effort to convey her appreciation. “That’s okay. I’m feeling better, so I should be fine.”

  For the most part, the words were true. As long as she and Joseph didn’t wind up alone together, she was confident she could at least count on the man to remain professional.

  She’d already been stretched close to her limit, and the last thing she needed was to be forced into an uncomfortable one-on-one situation with a colleague who didn’t grasp the meaning of the word “no.”

  Especially a colleague who was the sole witness to her exchange with Alton Dalessio.

  9

  Chasing the last bite of cheeseburger with a long drink from my thirty-two-ounce cup of soda, I let myself sink back into the driver’s side seat. I could have taken a half-day and gone home, and as I let my gaze drift around the relative shadow of the parking garage, I second-guessed my decision to come back to work so soon.

  My sergeant had offered me paid leave for the rest of the week, so I could grieve my friend’s death. Though I’d been prepared to accept the bereavement time, I decided at the last minute that I would work through my supposed hurt and sadness.

  The choice wasn’t unusual. Most detectives who lost a partner or a friend would continue to pursue casework in the days and weeks that followed the death. They needed the distraction.

  If I put Ian out of my head and tucked away the lingering sense of guilt, I could continue to do my job, and none of my fellow detectives would be the wiser. And as long as I was at the precinct, I could monitor the progress of Detectives Reyman and Yoell a
s they searched for Ian’s killer.

  Once they discovered the breadcrumb I’d left for them, their investigation would never come close to me.

  The plan seemed foolproof, but I couldn’t keep my mind from wandering. Not just to Ian, but to Carlo Enrico as well. As I’d driven to work that morning, I’d considered taking the turn that would lead me to O’Hare instead of the precinct.

  For all I’d known, when I stepped through the front doors of the brick and cement precinct building, I was about to walk into the arms of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. To my relief, however, I’d been greeted by coworkers.

  After I’d been told about Carlo’s meeting with the Feds the day before, I’d reached out to an old Leóne contact. Of course, I hadn’t mentioned my personal stake in the matter, but my contact didn’t need to know.

  All he needed to know was that Carlo Enrico was about to turn on the Leóne family. Such an affront was punishable by death, and my contact had assured me the Enrico problem would be solved within twenty-four hours.

  I checked the time. Almost ten past noon. Twenty-five hours, and still no confirmation on Carlo. Hell, he might have been in a meeting with the Feds right now.

  At the thought, the taste on my tongue went sour. Gritting my teeth, I reached for the soda and took a sip.

  Maybe I should have lied and come up with a more pressing reason for my contact to eliminate Carlo Enrico. The family took snitches seriously, but Carlo was in a Federal prison. How many connections could the Leónes have in MCC Chicago?

  I shook my head.

  Plenty. Even in a Federal prison, cash was still king. Line the right pockets, and the cards would fall into place every time they were needed. Hell, if the rumors were true, the D’Amatos had owned the previous warden of MCC Chicago. Granted, allegations of misconduct were a large part of why the man had been removed from his post, but the D’Amatos had ruled that prison for years.

  Now, however, the warden was affiliated with neither family. I wasn’t sure if he was backed by any of the other syndicates in the city, but if he wasn’t now, he eventually would be.

  Midway through my stroll down memory lane, a plastic buzz ripped my attention out of the reverie. My heart knocked against my ribs as I took in a sharp breath and snatched the prepaid phone from the cup holder.

  Letting out a groan, I rubbed my forehead with one hand as I reached for the cheap device with the other. I flipped open the screen, checked the number, and pressed a button to answer the call. “Yeah?”

  “It’s me.”

  At the familiar voice of my Leóne contact, the voice I’d been waiting to hear all damn day, I straightened in my seat. “What’s the status?” I didn’t have to elaborate. He knew there was only one status that concerned me right now.

  “Car’s in the shop. Must have been some accident. Body is all banged up. Tires won’t hold air. Check engine light is flickering. Mechanic hasn’t said it’s totaled yet, but I expect him to report it shortly. My best guess…it won’t be leaving the shop ever again.”

  I bit my tongue to keep a relieved exclamation to myself. If Carlo had been put in the hospital, there would be a snowball’s chance in hell he’d ever see the light of day again. Problem solved. “I appreciate you taking a look at it. Keep me posted if the mechanic comes back with a different verdict.”

  “No problem.”

  After a polite goodbye, I flipped the phone closed, let my head fall back, and muttered a silent thank-you to my contact.

  I took a few minutes to clear my head of the fog of paranoia about Carlo before I grabbed my drink and made my way back inside. As I stepped off the elevator and onto the second floor, the somber atmosphere greeted me like a slap to the face.

  Enrico might have been dead, but the fact remained that Ian Strausbaugh’s body had been found a little over a day ago. Those who could place me at the Kankakee County farm had been taken off the board, but a nagging sensation at the back of my neck said I hadn’t cleared the minefield yet.

  As I made my way down a short hall and into the open area that housed the precinct’s homicide detectives, I spotted a pair of familiar faces seated across from one another at a desk two rows away from mine. Floyd Yoell and Natasha Reyman were focused on a handful of papers as they conversed in hushed tones.

  Speaking of landmines.

  Clearing my throat, I acknowledged them with a raised hand.

  Floyd’s pale blue eyes flicked up from the paper he’d been showing the other detective, and Natasha twisted in her chair and gazed up at me with sympathy in her eyes.

  As I maneuvered past two empty desks, Natasha stifled a yawn with the back of a hand. “Morning, Detective. Or is it afternoon yet? I keep losing track.”

  “Afternoon, but just barely.” I gestured to the mostly empty room. “Which is why there’s no one here, I’m guessing.”

  Floyd’s faraway gaze drifted back to Natasha. “Hear that, Reyman? Lunchtime. Maybe that’s what we should do.”

  “Okay, okay.” Natasha rolled her shoulders. “We’ll grab some food. We’re at a good stopping point, and I could use some coffee, honestly.”

  As Natasha swept the papers into a pile, I pointed to the manila folder near the edge of the desk. “How’s the case going? Any leads so far?”

  A metallic creak sounded out as Floyd leaned back in his office chair and shook his head. “Not much so far. Ballistics is still working on the bullet that was recovered from the scene, but there wasn’t much else there for us to look into.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “Nothing? That makes it sound like it might’ve been a hit.”

  Floyd’s grim expression confirmed it before he opened his mouth to speak. “That’s what we’re thinking. None of the neighbors heard a gunshot, so we’re pretty sure the killer used a sound suppressor. That alone makes me think it was a hit.”

  Rubbing my chin, I leaned against the adjacent desk as I pretended to mull over Detective Yoell’s words.

  The weapon I’d used to kill Ian was one I’d long kept for a rainy day. Ever since the Portelli case—where a Leóne soldier named Gerard Portelli had been shot and killed by a higher-up in the D’Amato family—I’d kept my eye out for an opportunity to use the nine-mil to frame the D’Amato man.

  Though the ballistics themselves would point in the direction of the D’Amato man, I’d taken the extra step to leave the handgun near the crime scene. All I needed now was for Natasha and Floyd to find the damn thing.

  I took a drink of my soda. “Where have you guys looked for the murder weapon?”

  Drumming her slender fingers against the metal desktop, Natasha raised a shoulder. “We checked around the property, looked in the drains and yards of the neighbors in case the killer might’ve tried to toss it somewhere before they took off. Didn’t find anything, though.”

  I pursed my lips together to appear thoughtful. “If it’s a professional hit like you guys are thinking, which it sounds like it is, then the perp probably would’ve quickly disposed of the murder weapon.”

  Floyd wheeled away from the desk and stretched his legs. “I doubt it’s anywhere on that property. You don’t try to throw away a murder weapon by leaving it somewhere at the scene of the crime, you know?”

  Cradling her cheek in one hand, Natasha scrunched her face as if contemplating her partner’s words. “Yeah. I think I have to agree with Yoell.”

  “You’re right about leaving it near the scene.” I glanced from one detective to the other, forcing myself to appear casual. “But you’d be surprised how often they dispose of it in a place where it might move on its own.”

  Both detectives looked at me quizzically. They weren’t taking the bait. I had to feed them a little more, but short of coming right out and telling them where it was and incriminating myself, what could I say? Filled with nerves, I drummed my fingers on the desk as I scrambled for the right words. And then, just like lightning, it hit me.

  “Are there any dumpsters nearby?” I asked the most leading qu
estion I could to help spark their train of thought. “Or any businesses with dumpsters? Anything like that? When is the scheduled trash pickup in that area?”

  Natasha’s dark eyes drifted to Floyd’s before she turned back to me. “Nothing closer to the house than a couple miles, but there are trash bins in that neighborhood. It’s a pretty nice part of town, so folks around there don’t tend to keep them locked up in the warmer months.”

  I rubbed the side of my face to give my fingers something to do other than continue playing the rhythm of my frantic heartbeat on the top of the desk. “It can’t hurt, especially if there aren’t any other leads right now.”

  Floyd sat silently for what felt like forever as he contemplated my clue. I held my breath in anticipation. If I had given too much away, the clue would lead them straight back to me. But…if they found the gun, the ballistics could get me off the hook.

  Detective Floyd sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands. I waited and watched them both, praying they’d see the sense to conduct a scavenger hunt.

  “He’s got a point. The perp probably tossed the gun in a river, but it’ll feel good to be doing something besides going over and over the same reports.” Floyd pushed to his feet. “Come on, Reyman. Let’s go do raccoon duty and see what we scrounge up.”

  Natasha looked momentarily horrified but still managed a chuckle. “My twelve-year-old calls them ‘trash pandas.’” She cringed as she stood. “I don’t even like shaking people’s hands, but sure, partner. Let’s go dig through some trash.”

  I gave them a sympathetic smile as they donned their jackets. “Good luck, Detectives. I hope you find something.”

  “Me too.” Natasha fastened the buttons of her gray peacoat. “I appreciate your help, Detective. We’ll look around and see what we find. But even if we don’t find anything today, we won’t stop until we figure out who did this to your partner.”

  I dropped my gaze and stared at my shoes, making sure to give off the impression that I was struggling to hold it together. “I appreciate your hard work. I know Ian’s case is in good hands.”