Storm's Cage

by Mary Stone

  As he kept staring at her, she was tempted to punch him in the nose. She managed to bite back the urge by the skin of her teeth. She was prickly, and having his eyes on her so intently didn’t help. She tried to shake the feeling off. There was enough for her to stress out about at the moment.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You sure?” Joseph’s eyebrow arched curiously. “Because for a second there, it looked like you were going to turn into She-Hulk and punch a hole through my dashboard.”

  She couldn’t stop the laughter that bubbled up from her chest as she fastened her seat belt. She hated to admit it, even to herself, but the comment was one she’d expect from Zane. Over the past few days, Joseph had made more and more comments that reminded her of how he’d acted when they’d first met out in Boston.

  Truth be told, Amelia wasn’t quite sure what to make of the change. She told herself that Joseph was trying to mend fences with her as a friend, but then, there were the touches. The way he’d lean over her shoulder with his face so close to hers that she could smell the spearmint gum in his mouth.

  At least he’s got the courtesy to chew gum.

  Maybe that was the solution. If she ate curry, onions, and garlic for every meal, Joseph would have to keep his distance to avoid her personal brand of eau du funky spice. Maybe she could start farting too. Pick her nose.

  Screw that.

  It wasn’t her job to make herself less attractive. It was his job to think with his big brain and keep the little one firmly tucked in his pants.

  She silenced the thoughts and shook her head. “No, I’m fine, really. That was just…that was a really pointless two hours.”

  Joseph’s mouth was set in a hard line as he turned the key over in the ignition. “It most definitely was. Two hours that would’ve been just as productive if we’d spent them watching the damn grass grow.”

  He hit the nail right on the head with that comment. Amelia propped her elbow on the doorframe. “Pretty much.” She glanced at the digital clock in the center console. “Ten after five. Probably a little too late to swing by and talk to Russel Ulmer’s ex-wife. And all Cole Irving’s family is out in DeKalb. You think our CO will leave town now that we caught on to Waylon?”

  With his eyes fixed on the windshield, Joseph shook his head. “I’m not sure. I doubt it, though. Chances are, they probably have a contingency plan in case we found Mr. Erbach.”

  “Probably.” She massaged her temple. “And if they were going to run, they’d have done it by now.”

  Not that there was any guarantee that Russel Ulmer or Cole Irving were responsible. MCC Chicago was a massive building with hundreds of personnel on staff at any given time.

  Swallowing her frustration, Amelia kept the series of what-if questions to herself as her blank stare drifted back to the road.

  Thankfully, on the trip back to the FBI office, Joseph didn’t feel the need to strike up a conversation. Though she and Joseph were notorious for their clashes in musical taste, they’d finally found a handful of groups that appealed to both their sensibilities.

  As the newest Creedence Clearwater Revival tune faded out, Joseph pulled to a stop behind Amelia’s car. Grabbing her handbag, she waved goodbye and quickly exited the vehicle. The breeze that whipped past her in the parking garage carried a chill, though the weather promised high eighties by the end of the week.

  As she dropped into the driver’s seat of her car, Amelia groaned at the thought of more warm temperatures. She’d had her fill of the heat when she’d been deployed in the Middle East, and as she watched Joseph’s car disappear from the rearview mirror, she wondered why she hadn’t sought a position at the FBI field office in Alaska.

  At least there, she’d be free from the heat and Joseph Larson. Plus, the northern-most state of the country had no shortage of human traffickers, so the office’s caseload would make her feel right at home.

  With a groan, she pressed a button to bring the BMW’s ignition to life. After she’d settled on a playlist, she dropped her phone in the cup holder, backed out of the parking spot, and cruised to the garage’s exit.

  On the way out, she spotted Zane’s silver Acura, and a pang of guilt wriggled in next to her heart. Aside from a quick hello in the breakroom the day before, she’d barely seen him since she and Joseph had been partnered on the Enrico case.

  According to what she’d learned from a short conversation with Zane, he and an agent from the Public Corruption Unit had been stuck sifting through the flash drive councilman Ben Storey had given them. She and Zane hadn’t gotten the chance to delve into much detail before they’d been separated into two teams. Amelia with Joseph Larson, and Zane with the Public Corruption Unit agent.

  On the surface, Joseph appeared amicable and friendly. His understanding of personal space left a bit to be desired, but to an outside observer, he’d have seemed like an affectionate friend.

  Amelia, however, hadn’t forgotten his casual mention of Alton Dalessio or the way he’d insinuated that he’d lied to the FBI to cover for her “mistake.”

  Her instincts told her that all Joseph’s comments and movements were calculated. The sooner they solved Carlo’s murder and Amelia could go back to her and Zane’s bat cave, the better. She didn’t want to be stuck on a case with Joseph when he decided to push her boundaries a little more and then a little more.

  Amelia couldn’t shake the idea that Joseph was following her as she drove out from the parking garage. The thoughts plagued her for almost the entire drive home, and she’d finally eased the spell of anxiety as she pulled into her assigned parking spot behind the apartment building. As she double-checked the contents of her handbag, groping beneath a pair of heavy wool mittens, she pulled out her phone.

  She’d left it on silent for most of the day, dreading the messages that would be waiting. But curiosity got the better of her, and she quickly tapped the screen, bringing the little phone to life.

  A couple of missed calls from unlisted numbers. That was to be expected. But it was the text alert that had her groaning internally. Alex’s name stared back at her with one unread message. She hadn’t spoken to him since their last meeting.

  Unsure how she felt at seeing his name, she opened the message.

  Call me, please. I need to talk to you.

  The revelation that Trevor had been killed while in the middle of an off-the-books investigation into Gianna Passarelli’s kidnapping hadn’t plagued her mind while she struggled to navigate the awkward dynamic of working with Joseph.

  It threatened to plague her now.

  “One thing at a time, Amelia.”

  Though she was tempted to text him back, she pulled her big girl panties up instead and jabbed the green call button. The conversation would be over faster if she just called.

  The line clicked to life before the second ring. “Yeah?”

  She hated that his voice still brought up memories of their time together. A decade had passed, but that calm baritone she’d loved so much back then hadn’t changed.

  Everything else had changed, though. They were hardly friends anymore, let alone lovers. As fondly as she remembered those years, any sense of contentment now was nothing more than a memory.

  All she had to do was picture Alex’s father, Luca Passarelli, and the pseudo-affection disappeared.

  Amelia tapped her thumb on the steering wheel, needing the movement to settle her nerves. “You wanted to talk to me?”

  The rustle of wind followed, and then the hiss of a sliding glass door. “You got my message?”

  This was not the night for long, drawn-out conversations, not with Alex or anyone else. She groaned internally, needing to speed things up and get to the point. “That’s why I’m calling you.” She’d tried to conceal the annoyance from her tone but wasn’t sure how successful she’d been.

  “Right, yeah, I guess so.”

  He said nothing else, and the silence went on for so long that Amelia pulled the phone away from her ear, checking t
hat the call hadn’t disconnected. Seconds still ticked away on the call timer. “Alex? Hello?”

  His response was almost immediate. “I’m still here. I…I need to talk to you about something, but not on the phone. I need your help.”

  Her jaw clenched of its own accord. “My help? What the hell for? You don’t pay me, remember? I—”

  “I know, but just hear me out.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Not here. Can you meet me?”

  Of course, he would ask that. The last thing she wanted to do at that moment was get back into her car and face traffic. Why couldn’t he just be a normal guy who could drop by her place when he needed to ask a favor? “I’m not driving forty-five minutes to the edge of town, and I’m not driving forty-five minutes to downtown.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve got somewhere we can meet. It’s a halfway point for both of us. I’ll text you the location. Can you leave now?”

  Great. Amelia bit back the sarcastic reply. “Okay. Fine.”

  “I’ll see you there. Stay safe.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Ending the call, Amelia closed her eyes until the phone buzzed in her hands with the promised location. So much for her plans to enjoy a night free from Joseph Larson and the tedious research they’d slogged through for the past five days.

  As much as she wanted to tell Alex to go fly a kite, she was pointedly aware that he knew far more about the days and weeks leading up to Trevor’s death than the FBI or the Chicago Police Department.

  Amelia didn’t want to become a D’Amato lackey, but she did want to learn the full truth about what had happened to her brother. She’d reviewed Trevor’s case and vetted the two detectives who’d conducted the investigation, but now that she knew how deeply Trevor had been involved with the D’Amatos, the narrative had changed.

  And if she wanted any hope of unraveling the secrets she knew were buried with her brother, she’d be best served by maintaining a good standing with Alex and his cohorts.

  The line she walked was dangerous, but she’d be damned if her history with Alex turned her into another D’Amato puppet.

  She owed that family nothing, and she’d use them just like they’d used her brother.

  The drone of traffic overhead drowned out the hum of the approaching car’s engine, but as Alex spotted the familiar black sedan, his posture relaxed. He’d parked beside one of two massive cement pylons that supported the busy expressway overhead. A steep incline between the columns was covered with drab stones of varying sizes—everything from pebbles to boulders half the size of Alex’s car.

  He’d spent the time waiting for Amelia to arrive in observation. His keen eyes scrutinizing every shadow of the cement landscape, Alex felt confident that neither he nor Amelia were being watched. A handful of homeless people milled about on the opposite side of the overpass, but their presence was expected. This wasn’t Alex’s first trip to the overpass, and he doubted it’d be his last.

  Crossing his arms, he leaned against the rear fender of his car as Amelia’s came to a stop beside his. When she emerged from the driver’s side, the waning sunlight cast a long shadow of her willowy frame. Pulling her windblown hair into a low ponytail, she made her way around the back of the sedan.

  After their turbulent meeting in Adams Park, Alex had vowed to only reach out to her for help as an absolute last resort.

  Now, just a few days later, here he was. Standing beneath god only knew how many tons of concrete as Amelia’s scrutinizing gaze fell over him.

  He’d tried to come up with a solution to take care of the bogus charges against Gabriel Badoni. He’d reached out to other homicide detectives who were friendly to the D’Amato family, including a man in the precinct nearest to Ian Strausbaugh’s, but none of them were capable of intervening on his behalf.

  Though he still didn’t have the first clue how Amelia could reach further than anyone else he’d contacted, she was his last resort. Just as he’d promised himself.

  “Evening, Alex.” Her clipped tone pulled him back to reality.

  Clenching his jaw, he met her gaze.

  To his surprise, dark circles lingered beneath her forest-green eyes. Any time he’d met with Amelia over the last few months, she’d appeared sharp and well-rested. Though the keen edge remained in her expression, he wondered how much she’d slept over the last week. “Hey. You look…tired.”

  “I am.” She tightened her knit cardigan and fiddled with the bottom button. “So, let’s make this quick. What do you need my help with?”

  He forced a practiced steeliness into his expression. The cold demeanor was one he reserved for conversations with other members of organized crime hierarchy—allies and enemies alike.

  Even as a voice in the back of his head told him Amelia wasn’t one of them, that she was different and special, he pushed the sentimental thoughts away.

  “One of my guys was arrested a few days ago. Gabriel Badoni.” Alex’s tone was as cool and composed as it was in any other of his work-related meetings. He’d never wanted to use his mafia persona with Amelia, but a lot had happened that he’d never wanted.

  “Yeah?” Kicking at a rock, she leaned on her car. “Okay. Well, I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me what he was arrested for?” He was sure she’d noticed his demeanor, but she gave no indication that the change had affected her.

  Alex uncrossed his arms and stuffed both hands in the pockets of his slacks. “He was arrested for murdering a Chicago homicide detective.”

  Amelia’s foot froze in place midway through shoving aside another rock, and her gaze lifted to meet his. “Who?”

  Though initially, Alex thought he saw surprise in her narrow glare, Amelia’s stony expression could easily have been disdain. Somewhere in the ten or so years, he’d lost the ability to read her face.

  He clenched one hand into a fist to avoid running his fingers through his hair. Another nervous tic he avoided when he was on the job. “The detective’s name is Ian Strausbaugh. On the force for sixteen years, in homicide for twelve.”

  “Uh-huh.” Her tone was as flat as a day-old glass of soda. “Well, did he do it?”

  When he threw both hands out to his sides, he knew the impassive façade was over. “Of course he didn’t do it, Amelia! Why would I be here if he was guilty?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right. Whatever. What evidence do they have?”

  He gave in and raked a hand through his hair. “Ballistics. From what his lawyer told me, the CPD matched the bullet in Strausbaugh’s body to a weapon that Gabriel used in self-defense a few years ago. The thing is, the CPD kept that weapon. Gabriel never got it back, even after the murder charges were thrown out due to self-defense.”

  As she drew her brows together, he almost sighed in relief. She was Amelia, after all, not some android that had been programmed to replace her.

  She tucked a piece of dark hair behind one ear as she shook her head. “How’d he get the weapon if the CPD had it the whole time? Or how do they think he got the weapon?”

  Alex shrugged, hoping to downplay the true stress he felt over this situation. “Gabriel’s lawyer says they’re theorizing that he had someone in the police department steal it back for him.”

  “He stole a handgun he’d used to kill a guy in self-defense so he could use it to kill a cop?” Disbelief further creased her brow as her tone turned sarcastic.

  “I know!” Alex hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he was finding it hard to downplay his true feelings with Amelia, even if the feelings weren’t for her. He took a moment to rein himself in before continuing. “It doesn’t make any damn sense, but it’s still physical evidence.”

  She flashed him an expectant look. “What about an alibi?”

  Rubbing the back of his neck, Alex searched for the right words to explain the situation without having to say too much. “That’s the thing. He was running one of our…” He paused, glancing around as if he expected to find a spy lurking behind on
e of the boulders. “One of our gambling matches. It’s all underground. Illegal, you know?”

  “Sounds like fun.” She narrowed her eyes. “What did he tell the CPD? And what does his record look like? If he’s got a rap sheet, then it’s going to take an act of God to spring him loose.”

  Alex shook his head. “No, no rap sheet. Just a few DUIs. He hasn’t had a license for the last three years, but in Chicago, it’s not too much of a hindrance. He didn’t want to install a breathalyzer in his car for a restricted license, so he just uses rideshares and takes the L.”

  “He doesn’t drive? How do the cops think he got to Strausbaugh’s house?” She tapped a finger against her upper arm as her brow furrowed with suspicion. “It doesn’t matter. Do you know how he got to that gambling match?”

  “I’m not sure. Either an Uber or the L.”

  The intensity of her stare settled on him. “And he was there all night?”

  Alex stuffed a hand in his pocket. “Until close to seven. The games ended at five, but he stayed while everyone left, shot the shit with a few of his guys, and took off around sunrise. Strausbaugh was killed between one and two, and his body was found at eight.”

  “Why doesn’t he just tell the police where he was?” She lifted her hands, bobbing them like she was weighing two objects. “A charge for being at an illegal gambling match versus charges for killing a cop? Is he crazy?”

  Alex’s entire body went cold. He lowered his voice, making it as serious as his expression. “Do you know what would happen to him if he confessed to being at that match?”

  Amelia studied his face for a very long time. “Something worse than charges for killing a cop, I’m guessing.”

  “Yes…and I wouldn’t be able to protect him.”

  Almost another full minute passed before she nodded. “What do you need me to do?”

  Relief so sharp it was almost painful went through Alex. “I have an idea, but I’ll get the specifics to you soon.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I won’t put my job on the line for this.”

  Alex held up both hands. “I wouldn’t ask you too. It would simply involve you having a conversation with him, sharing his new alibi so he knows he’s safe to use it.”