by Mary Stone
After Cliff Allworth made a sound that was closer to a growl, the apartment lapsed into silence.
With one hand beneath her cardigan, Amelia shot Joseph an expectant glance and whispered, “We can’t just sit here and eavesdrop. It’s not like he’s going to say anything to incriminate himself in front of two homicide detectives, anyway.”
Straightening to his full height, Joseph cleared his throat and stepped into view before Amelia could stop him. “Detectives, this is Special Agent Larson with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. We—”
The clatter of wood against tile cut Joseph off before he could finish the introduction. Shoes scuffled on the floor as Amelia and Joseph exchanged fervent looks, and a man’s cry of surprise followed.
Amelia’s service weapon was raised and steady as she rushed into the living room. She’d only taken a couple steps when the crack of the first gunshot split through the air like a thunderclap. With a sharp breath, she spun around until her back was flush with the drywall beside Joseph.
“Idiot,” she hissed at him.
Detective Yoell howled in pain, and Amelia cursed herself for failing to look up the layout of the expensive apartment building. Not that she’d known that her partner would have behaved in so reckless a manner.
“Shit,” Joseph spat. Leaning to the side, he turkey-peeked around the corner. As his gaze snapped to Amelia, he jerked his head at the living room. He was already moving before he spoke. “Come on. Yoell’s down. Allworth’s fighting with Reyman.”
Tightening her grasp on the Glock, Amelia brought the weapon to bear as she followed Joseph out into the open…just in time to watch Cliff Allworth smack the side of Natasha’s head with the grip of a wood and steel finished handgun.
The woman stumbled, but before she could fall into the tall dining table, Allworth wrapped an arm around her neck and jerked her upright, pressing the barrel of the handgun to her temple. His desperate eyes shifted between Amelia and Joseph. “Don’t move!”
Amelia flexed her fingers against the Glock, but otherwise, she complied. Without pulling her attention from Cliff, she took stock of the living and dining rooms for any sign of Detective Yoell.
When she spotted his crumpled form beside the breakfast bar, she gritted her teeth. “What the hell are you doing, Allworth? Drop your weapon and let her go.”
Allworth tightened his grip on Natasha. “Not a chance. I know why you two are here, and I’m not going to prison. I’m going to walk out of here today, or…” He let the threat hang as his finger caressed the edge of the trigger.
“You’re the sniper, Storm.” Joseph’s voice was barely audible. “If you get a shot, take it.”
Though Amelia wanted to snap back to tell him the military didn’t outfit its snipers with Glocks, she bit her tongue.
She didn’t have time for Joseph’s shit. A pool of crimson oozed beneath Detective Yoell’s body. If Amelia hadn’t seen him writhe in pain, she’d have thought he was dead.
Returning her focus to Cliff, she gritted her teeth. “Or what, Allworth? Are you going to finish that sentence?”
Allworth opened his mouth, but Amelia cut him off.
“What do you think you’re going to accomplish here? Do you think we’re going to call a helicopter to fly you out to Panama so you won’t have to worry about being extradited? Or do you think you’re some kind of Wild West cowboy, like Wyatt Earp or Billy the Kid? You think you’re going to take me and my partner down so you can escape?” She scoffed. “Try it, asshole. See what happens.”
Diplomacy was the last tactic on Amelia’s mind. Between the last two days with Joseph, Alex and his family’s baggage, and the innocent man bleeding out on the floor, she was closer to her breaking point than she’d been since Trevor died. If she had a clear shot at Allworth, she’d have taken it.
But she was well-versed in the accuracy of a Glock, and even though Natasha and Cliff were only twenty feet away, she’d only fire if she was confident in the weapon’s aim.
If she’d had a rifle…well, Allworth would already be dead.
“I’ll kill her!” For emphasis, Cliff jammed the weapon harder into Natasha’s temple. “You know she’s got a kid, right? A twelve-year-old daughter. Are you going to orphan that girl? That girl’s dad, Reyman’s husband, he was a cop too. He got killed in a standoff a lot like this one. Are you going to take away that kid’s other parent?”
Amelia glared down the Glock’s sight. “How many years have you been a detective, Allworth? How many years have you been in the CPD? You know damn well how this is going to end! There’s no way we’re letting you walk out that door, no matter what kind of guilt trip you try.”
Cliff let out a bitter laugh and shook his head. “That’s your problem, Agents. Not mine! You’d better figure it out! I already told you, I’m not going to prison. I know what happens to…to cops in prison.”
“Cops?” Joseph echoed bitterly. “You mean pedophiles?”
Even from the distance, Amelia didn’t miss the way Cliff’s posture stiffened at the remark. “That’s not what I—”
“Save it!” Amelia narrowed her eyes, still looking for that clean shot. “I’m not interested in the excuses you tell yourself for the sick shit you do. Here’s what I’m going to do, Detective. I’m going to go through all your options and tell you how each of them is going to pan out.”
Allworth clenched his jaw. “The way I see it, Agent, I’ve only got one option right now.”
As much as Amelia wanted to tell him what a piece of shit he was, his tone had turned dangerous. There was no doubt in her mind that he would shoot Natasha if he decided he had no other way out of the apartment.
“I’m not going to prison.” He pulled Natasha up a little straighter.
Now that the daze from the blow to her head had worn off, the first inklings of sheer terror made their way to Natasha’s wide eyes.
I’m not going to prison.
Those were the same words Alton Dalessio had uttered in the basement of the Kankakee County warehouse. Right before Amelia had shot him in the chest.
If Cliff Allworth made good on his promise to kill Natasha, and if Floyd succumbed to his injuries, Amelia would be left with only a single witness to the day’s events.
Joseph. Again.
The taste on her tongue turned bitter, but she ignored the mounting trepidation. She was more worried about Natasha’s kid becoming an orphan than she was about her fellow agent blackmailing her.
“There are two of us and one of you. So, you think that if you shoot her, we’ll kill you, right?” Amelia glared at him hard. “You think that we’ll end it all for you, so you don’t have to sit in a courtroom and face up to what you’ve done? So you don’t have to share a cell with a guy who’ll do to you what you did to all those little girls? Is that what you think?”
Amelia swore she could hear Cliff’s teeth grind together.
She didn’t give him time for a rebuttal. “No, Detective. Here’s the thing, and I want you to listen to this part very carefully. If you shoot her, I won’t kill you. I’ll take you down, but I won’t kill you. I’ll hit you in your shoulder, sever one of the nerves that’s letting you keep your grip on that weapon. While you’re still screaming, my partner and I will haul your ass out of here and make sure you stay alive. And when you get to prison, I will personally make sure you’re kept in gen-pop. No protective custody for you.”
The color drained from Cliff’s face. “You won’t…you can’t do that. They’d kill me in prison, they’d…they’d…”
She bit her tongue to keep a slew of four-letter words at bay. “They’d what? They’d make you their bitch?” She let out a derisive snort. “Yeah, they sure will. And none of the guards will do a damn thing about it. That’s how you’ll spend the rest of your miserable life. Locked in a cage with a man who’ll use you like a cheap napkin until he gets sick of you and slits your throat. That’s how you’ll die. Facedown in a pool of your own blood.”
A
s the room lapsed into silence, the faint wail of a siren drifted in through an open window.
Joseph frowned. “Someone in the building must’ve called the cops. You’d better make your decision fast, Allworth. Otherwise, your brothers in blue will make it for you.”
Afternoon sunlight caught the sheen of sweat on Cliff’s forehead as he looked to the window. “What happens if I listen to you…if I drop my weapon? What then? How will that be any different?”
Amelia could feel Joseph’s gaze on the side of her face, and she took her cue. “You worked with the Leóne family in Kankakee County, and you worked with them before then. That’s not a question. We know you did. You are going to prison, but you get to choose what that’s going to be like. Drop your weapon, and I’ll set you up to testify for the U.S. Attorney. If you give us information to use against the Leónes, you’ll go into witness protection. Probably to a Supermax prison in Colorado or California under a new identity.”
Cliff flexed his grip on the handgun as the siren grew louder. “You’re sure? If I drop my weapon, you’re sure that’s what’ll happen?”
Amelia nodded. “Yes.”
Not that you deserve it.
She kept the second part to herself.
Maybe Cliff didn’t deserve to live out the rest of his days in relative safety, but Natasha’s daughter deserved to see her mother again. Floyd deserved better than an agonizing death on the dining room floor of a traitor’s apartment.
“Okay.” With a deep breath, Cliff pulled the wood and steel handgun away from Natasha’s head. Stepping away from the detective, he leaned forward to set his weapon atop the table.
Amelia followed each motion with her Glock. She didn’t permit her glare to waver until Cliff stuck both hands high in the air.
Joseph tucked his service weapon back in his suit jacket before he retrieved a pair of silver handcuffs. As he made his way to Cliff, Natasha rushed around the table to kneel beside her fallen partner.
The wail of sirens had reached a crescendo, and the first red and blue lights flashed against the drywall. Lowering her aim to the floor, Amelia allowed herself to relax as Joseph pinned Cliff Allworth’s arms behind his back.
This nightmare had ended, but another was right around the corner.
26
Leaning back in his office chair, Joseph drummed the fingers of one hand against the tabletop. The rays of light that spilled into the conference room had turned a dark shade of gold, and within the hour, the sun would finish its descent below the horizon.
The setting sun seemed appropriate as Joseph watched Amelia erase the names and dates that littered the whiteboard. Their time working so closely together was about to end.
Likewise, his window of opportunity would soon close.
She’d be back at Palmer’s side, and he’d be tasked with an unrelated investigation into the Russians, the Armenians, or any of Chicago’s other organized criminal enterprises.
Sure, he’d still be able to find her in the FBI office if they weren’t partnered on a case, and maybe they’d be paired up on a future investigation. But there was something to be said for the connection they’d established over the past week.
If he didn’t take advantage of the relative closeness, he wasn’t sure when he’d have another chance.
Stretching both arms above his head, Joseph arched his back until he felt a light pop. “Have you heard anything about Detective Yoell?”
Amelia brushed a piece of hair away from her forehead. Eraser in one hand, she retrieved her phone with the other. “Yeah, actually. Just a bit ago.” She scanned the glowing screen. “Detective Reyman sent me a message. I guess the bullet hit Yoell in the side, just above his hip. It missed any vital organs but nicked an artery.”
“That explains all the blood. What’s his status?”
Her green eyes flicked to him and then back to the phone. “Cautiously optimistic. He lost quite a bit of blood, but he got to the hospital in time for a transfusion to prevent his blood pressure from dropping too quickly. He had a few transfusions, actually, and a short surgery to remove the bullet, but he’s stable now. Reyman said he was awake for a bit, but the nurse chased away his visitors so he could sleep.”
Blowing out a low breath, Joseph rubbed his forehead. “That’s good. That could’ve gone a lot worse. Good thing Allworth was more willing to listen to reason than Alton Dalessio, right?”
A muscle in Amelia’s jaw twitched, but otherwise, her expression changed little. “Yeah. I was banking on a cop, even if he was dirty, being willing to listen to reason.”
“Oh, definitely. It’s a lot less stress for you to carry around too.” Joseph folded his hands atop the circular table as he offered Amelia a curious glance. “This might seem off topic, but I was wondering if you’d thought about what I said last night. It’s been a stressful day, but I’d say the result is worth a little celebration. Just a little something to help release some stress, you know?”
He let the room lapse into silence and held her gaze. As much as he wanted to stride over to pin her against the whiteboard, he reminded himself that they were still in the FBI office, and the door to the conference room was unlocked.
Besides, if he got that close to her now, he doubted he’d be able to stop at whispering in her ear or touching her face.
Clearing her throat, she returned the eraser to its holder. “I told you that I wanted to keep our relationship strictly professional. I don’t sleep with people I work with.”
Her tight little ass looked so good as she stretched to reach the top of the board. She was just teasing him, he realized. She wanted him to talk her into bending her own silly rules.
Moving until he was behind her, he watched her freeze.
“Let’s talk about this, Amelia.” He stepped closer until his dick was almost pressed against her ass. “Come to my place tonight. We can sit down and talk all our options through.”
She stepped to the side and turned to face him. “Options. Is that what it’s called these days.”
He smiled. She was such a spirited little thing. “My place at eight? I’ll have dinner ready.”
He watched her watching him, saw her throat move as she swallowed, witnessed the inner workings of her mind sort through her choices.
Spoiler alert: both he and she knew she didn’t have one.
Amelia raised her chin. “Sure. Tonight at eight.”
His dick pulsed in his pants. He didn’t think he’d ever been this turned on. Winning always did that to him.
Though he wanted to take her right then and there, waiting would be even more satisfying.
Not wanting to push his luck, Joseph strode to the door. “All right. See you later, Storm.”
The warmth of anticipation buzzed through his veins as he made his way out to the hall. If he didn’t leave that room, he’d be liable to lock the door and bend her over the damn table.
Soon, he told himself, glancing to his watch.
Quarter past six.
The start of a satisfied smile worked its way to his face as he rounded a corner to the pair of elevators.
In less than two hours, Amelia Storm would finally be his.
Shoving the lid of his matte silver laptop closed, Zane glanced to the analog clock mounted above the wall-spanning whiteboard.
Half-past six. Great.
He rubbed his eyes and groaned. Glenn Kantowski had left more than two hours earlier to pick up her son from school. Zane had been sifting through old Leóne cases for so long he thought his eyes would glaze over.
RICO investigations sounded sexy, but the reality was far less glamorous. Once the fieldwork was finished, all that remained was organizing old files to establish a pattern.
Thanks to Amelia and Joseph’s arrest that afternoon, they could now officially add bribery and corruption of law enforcement officials to their list of offenses. Not to mention the murder of a federal witness and a police detective, both of which had been carried out in the interest of prot
ecting the Leóne family.
Zane nodded to himself and stuffed the laptop into a black canvas case. As he rose to his feet, he swept his gaze over the collection of broken chairs and then the rest of the room. A few papers were still strewn over the table, but he ignored the slight clutter.
“Good enough,” he muttered.
Tucking the laptop case under one arm, he flicked off the overhead lights and set off for the elevator.
For the past day, he’d been in a constant battle to keep his thoughts from drifting to Senator Stan Young. He’d reached out to his old friend and primary CIA contact, Nate Tennick, but he had yet to hear back from the man. Long before Zane had turned in his resignation, Nate had given up his high-risk position as a covert operative in favor of a career as an intelligence analyst.
As Zane waited for the elevator to reach his floor, he wondered if he should have done the same. He’d been under the impression that a career as an FBI field agent would be safer and less life-altering than his work at the CIA. Though his assumption was still technically correct, he questioned exactly how much safer he was in the FBI’s Organized Crime Division.
Either way, he felt like he had a target on his back.
He shook off the thought as a silvery ding announced the elevator’s arrival. With a mechanical whir, the doors slid open to reveal a woman he’d seen surprisingly little of over the past week.
Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled away from her face as neatly as ever. But between her weary eyes, paler than usual complexion, and black-on-black ensemble, Amelia looked like she was about to head to a funeral.