In Too Deep_An Iniquus Romantic Suspense Mystery Thriller

by Fiona Quinn

  Lacey pursed her lips in concentration as she tried to remember the yellow paper stapled to the plastic garment bags he’d brought home. “I believe it’s my name.”

  “I think we have another fieldtrip to take later.”

  Lacey’s brow bunched, and she set her mug down. With crossed legs, she leaned over looking into the depths where her mini-marshmallows were melting, like she was using the surface to scry the future. “Deep, if they killed me at the news conference, how could they have continued their scam? Wouldn’t they need me alive to make that work out?”

  “I don’t know, sweetheart. I can’t guess at what they’ve got going on.”

  Hearing Deep call her ‘sweetheart’ blurred Lacey’s vision with tears. She was glad she was looking down, and Deep couldn’t see. The endearment twisted her gut with bitter-sweetness. If she weren’t in this mess, Deep wouldn’t be here with her. He’d be off on his vacation, having fun, resting and relaxing. It made her feel a little less guilty about how things were turning out now that he called her “sweetheart”. She swiped at her tears surreptitiously. He had told her a few times now that he believed they belonged together. And she had understood his feelings in a kind of distant, amorphous way. But hearing him call her ‘sweetheart’ suddenly made his words feel true. Solid. And Lacey’s heart expanded with gratitude. When she looked up her tears were shining her cheeks.

  Deep tipped his head, concern filling his gaze.

  “Those are thankfulness tears,” she said with a rueful smile.

  Deep suddenly turned his ear toward the front door. He caught Lacey’s eye and lifted his chin, pointing toward the bathroom.

  Lacey scrambled up, grabbed her mug, and tiptoed to the powder room. She was locking the door when the bell rang.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Deep

  Tuesday Morning

  “Dave, man, good to see you.” Deep spread his arms wide to hug Dave Murphy, one of Lynx’s oldest family friends who lived across the street and two doors down. It had been Dave who’d helped Lynx find this house, so he could keep a closer eye on her when she had a psychopath stalking her.

  Dave stepped back with a smile. “You’re up early.”

  “I haven’t been able sleep past zero-five-hundred hours since boot camp. It’s like my drill sergeant moved into my head.” Instead of inviting Dave in, Deep put his hand on the door and held it against his shoulder, effectively blocking the detective from peeking in.

  Dave gave him a knowing look and nodded. “I just stopped over for a second. I have a message for you from our girl.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “She’s fine, but somebody’s not. Falls Church PD brought a body in early this morning that they haven’t identified yet. Lexi picked up on it over the police band, and called me first thing this morning. She was afraid it might be a mutual acquaintance of yours. They’ve put out pictures to the PDs to see if anyone had a name or a missing person file that might make sense. I pulled a few of the images and brought them over. Lexi thought they might be of interest.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. Do they know what happened to the victim?”

  “Three shots to the chest, thrown on a train track. PD’s got the dogs out looking for her legs.” Dave handed Deep a sealed manila envelope. “But everything’s okay here? Lexi wants me to text her a thumbs-up. She says to let you know it would probably be a bad idea to contact her directly unless you need their help.”

  Deep nodded. “Yeah, everything’s good. Catching up on some computer stuff. Enjoying a little peace and quiet.”

  Dave grunted and moved on down the stairs.

  Deep went back inside, and with his back to the door he unsealed the envelope and pulled the photos out. Three. One of the victim’s face, and either side of her profile. Someone had beat this girl viciously. Still, he could see the victim was a dead-ringer for Lacey. Whatever role Fake-Lacey had played in the scheme, it was now over.

  Deep slid the pictures in the envelope, placed them on the dining room table, and strode to the bathroom to give a knock and let Lacey know she could come out.

  “Everything okay? Another neighbor inviting you for spaghetti?”

  “Lynx got in touch with a friend of hers after she heard some chatter on the police scanners. There was a murder in Northern Virginia, and they’re trying to identify the victim.”

  “Lynx thought it might be me?”

  Deep nodded, then realized that he was blocking Lacey from coming out of the bathroom. He knew he’d have to tell her about the other woman, and he didn’t want to add this stress in with the rest. For a split second, he considered shoving the envelope into a drawer, but he also knew that Lacey was holding something back. This morning, she had said there had been four attempts to kill her, but only named three. He needed to know about the fourth attempt. He needed to know everything. Honesty and trust on his part might make the difference to Lacey when she was making her choices about whether to trust him with her story. He stepped back.

  “Deep, you’re scaring me. Who was at the door?”

  “Dave Murphy. He’s a detective who lives in the neighborhood. He came over with photographs of the victim and to make sure everything was okay. Lynx was asking for a thumbs up.”

  Lacey’s gaze darted to the table where the envelope lay. “Is it her? Is it Fake-Lacey? Oh goodness, we can’t ever call her that again. It seems so . . . so . . .”

  “Disrespectful. I know. It looks like her. But we can’t jump to conclusions. The girl was pretty banged up, and it could be another lookalike.”

  “You don’t believe that,” Lacey said, walking over and putting her hand on the envelope.

  Deep’s gut contracted. He didn’t want her to see those photos. Knowing that someone was trying to kill you and seeing that they could be successful only added to the level of psychological torture. He didn’t think Lacey needed her nerves ratcheted any tighter.

  “Is it okay if I don’t look at them?” Her brows pulled tightly together, making lines crisscross her forehead.

  “It won’t inform you in any way. I’d leave it alone. But if you think you need to see them, I’m putting them away here in this drawer.” He moved into the room and picked up the envelope, sliding it in one smooth action into a credenza drawer and closing it away.

  “Her being dead, if it is the stand-in from those pictures—what does that mean to the scam that’s being pulled?”

  “I’m not sure. You have to be careful about how you line up your thoughts about crimes and criminals. This isn’t a novel plotline.”

  “I don’t understand,” Lacey said.

  “Come on, let’s get our coats on and head over to the dry-cleaners. We can talk in the car.”

  Going forward, their fact gathering was going to be a little tricky. Deep wished he had a couple of his Iniquus pals at his back. Heading in to the dry-cleaners could be a non-event. But then again, he’d been in enough situations that he knew not to assume anything. He’d have gone himself and left Lacey back at the house, but he wasn’t willing to let her out of his sight. Things felt too shaky, especially now that he had stashed the manila envelope with the dead woman’s photos in the credenza drawer. Besides, Lacey was the only one who could legitimately pick up her clothes — if there were any there.

  He wasn’t sure why snagging Lacey’s freshly-pressed dress needed to be done. But he felt in his bones that this move was important. And if he learned anything from working with Lynx, it was to follow his gut like a bloodhound on the trail. Home in, put his head down, and go.

  The question was, would anyone else know that Lacey might show up at the dry-cleaners—or maybe they might think the other woman would—and be staking it out? The thought might seem a little paranoid, but Deep had seen weirder things go down.

  When he was in his room going through his tactical decisions, his plans had come down to winging it. I have to keep Lacey bundled up as much as possible, he had thought as he slid a .380 into his an
kle holster, and pressed his Glock into the conceal carry pocket on his tactical jacket, his normal level of protection.

  When he jogged down the stairs he had a pair of pants and a blouse in his hands from Lynx’s closet. He saw Lacey focus in on them.

  “What’s up with those clothes?” she asked.

  “I don’t want people to know we’re together. Couples don’t normally go to the cleaners together and the workers will be used to associating your name with Steve. So I’ll follow you into the cleaners as a customer while you do your thing.”

  Deep put his hand on her back and ushered Lacey out the door. They crossed the backyard quickly with their heads bowed and slid into the garage, separating to get into their respective sides of Deep’s car. Deep pulled the door shut and looked over to find Lacey smiling at him. God, she’s beautiful. Deep felt the full weight of her confidence in him, not just here today, but in the whole mess. While she seemed secure in his abilities, Deep wished she’d be a little more forthcoming, so he could feel the same level of conviction that they’d get this figured out.

  They were buckled in and heading down the road when Lacey turned to Deep. “I can’t think about this like a novel, you said. What does that mean?”

  “A novel, a movie, it’s all nice and neat. You know what you’re supposed to know, and everything progresses in a linear manner. There might be some red herrings thrown in to take you off the path, but for the most part there’s a straight trajectory: a bad person acts, good guy figures out how to stop the bad guy, the bad guy goes to jail. Real life doesn’t work that way at all.”

  Lacey swiveled in her seat, and Deep felt the intensity of her focus without shifting his gaze off the traffic in front of them.

  “First off, in real life, if law enforcement gets some of their questions answered, they’re lucky. If we catch a bad guy, we may have to let them back out on the streets. Sometimes the bad guys are really good at what they do, and we don’t find them at all.”

  “Sometimes they’re powerful with friends in the right places, and their criminal behaviors are part of the status quo and brushed under the carpet,” Lacey added.

  Deep glanced her way, then focused back on his driving. “You’re thinking about your Uncle Bartholomew and the Assembly.”

  “I am.”

  “Let’s revisit that in a minute when we talk about families. I want to explain three very broad groups of criminals. I’m talking in generalities, so you can kind of get a feel for what we’re dealing with here. There are crews, families, and gangs.”

  “Are we dealing with a gang, since Special Agent Higgins was at the bar?”

  “You can’t jump to conclusions. The guy might have been at the bar for a drink.”

  “He was staring at my lips the whole time.”

  “Well, you can’t blame a man for that. They’re beautiful lips.”

  Lacey reached out to swat at Deep, then folded her arms across her chest. As he changed lanes, he caught a little smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

  “Okay, so a crew is a group of criminals—anything more than someone working as an individual—who come together because they see an opportunity. Usually, crew members are chosen for their skillsets. For example, someone might be good at popping locks, and someone might be good at intimidating security, and someone might be a good driver. There, you put that crew of three together and you’ve got a quick breaking and entering team. They can get a lot more complex, depending on the job and the dollar amount involved. If we’re dealing with a crew, then a criminal picture is harder to put together. They come together, then they blow apart. It’s difficult to find them and make the connections. See?”

  “Yes, I’ve got it.”

  “When you pull a crew together, there’s danger because each person is in it for themselves. There’s no loyalty. And each person might have their own agenda. You have to remember that criminals, in their minds, know that they are doing something wrong in that they’re breaking laws and can be punished. But at the same time, they also think that their actions are justified – they’re out there hustling, trying to make a life for themselves. Sometimes they think that they have to bend some rules to overcome where they’ve come from. Sometimes they feel they get to bend the rules because of who they are or where they come from. “

  “Yes, like my Uncle Bartholomew—he was a member of the Assembly. They truly believed that they were God’s chosen and that the rules were in place for the everyman. The rules kept the sheep together. But the Assembly, they were above the rules and could act with impunity.” Lacey’s voice was small, and she looked out the side window instead of at him.

  “The Assembly have members in high-ranking places that make sure their members suffered no consequences from their improper actions. That reinforced the idea that they were special – secretively special – but a special part of society.” Deep sincerely hoped this didn’t hook into the Assembly somehow. Even though Iniquus had been instrumental in exposing the Assembly and their crimes – they still had an enormous amount of political and financial power. Going up against them was like going up against a Moby Dick. A severely wounded Moby Dick – but a monster of a problem all the same.

  “The Assembly, though, functioned like a family.” Deep glanced quickly her way then over her shoulder as he changed lanes and let the Jaguar asshole blow on by. “A criminal family works like a genetic family. There’s the head that steers the members in certain directions. They think longer term and try to position the group in such a way that their tasks are easier and more lucrative. It used to be back in the day that they would have certain gigs.”

  “Like the Mafia and their protection money and bootlegging?”

  “Right, protection – you pay me X amount of dollars each month, and no one burns your store down. Couple that with running drugs, and you can keep a family well-fed. In modern-day crime, the big thing in both gangs and families now is diversification, a broader portfolio, so if things get too hot in one area, they can lean on another.”

  “And gangs work like families, too, don’t they? That’s what I’ve read.”

  “They have elements of families – all those things I already said but, and this is a big but, they also are in tight. It’s not healthy for a gang member to try to pull a private crew together or try to eat a piece of pie without sharing. A family is more like a nuclear family. Sure, Mom and Dad try to steer the kiddos toward the same values and get them to work together. The reality is, the kids like the security of the nest, and they want to fly out and do their own thing at the same time.”

  “Gangs don’t do that?”

  “Not if they want any kind of life expectancy.”

  “And with the art, what do you think we’re looking at here—crew, gang, or family?”

  “I don’t have enough information yet to tell. Even though Higgins’s task unit is Violent Gangs – families fall under their roof. So, I’d speculate that this isn’t the Crips or Bloods – this doesn’t feel like gang activity. It’s not a matter of sophistication. Gangs can be highly sophisticated. Here, the education level’s too high, and a sniper rifle from the roof isn’t really their MO. It’s not what families usually do, either. The sniper has me confused. But this seems to be a little too complex for a crew looking for an opportunity – they like things streamlined. In and out. So I’m guessing family.”

  “A dysfunctional family.” Lacey grimaced.

  “Could be,” Deep said.

  “Huh.” Lacey pinched at her nose.

  “Okay, what was that thought?” Deep asked.

  Lacey didn’t want to share, so she pointed out the window, “Looks like we’re here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Deep

  Tuesday

  Deep was glad when he found a parking spot near the Metro entrance. In the almost non-existent on-street parking of DC this was a real coup, and Deep chose to take it as a good omen. Lacey got out, according to their plan, and started down the stairs to t
he underground shops to the side of the Metro entrance. Deep waited a beat, then followed after, his eye scanning for nonchalant individuals standing alone anywhere in the corridor.

  When he got down the stairs, Lacey was already in the cleaners, apologizing for losing her receipt.

  “You haven’t been in in almost a week. We were wondering what happened. You’re usually here like clockwork.”

  Lacey offered up a smile, the slightest upward tip at the sides of her mouth, as another person came forward and took Deep’s clothes and started a ticket for the items.

  “I got behind on a project at work, and it’s taken over my life,” Lacey said.

  “Oh, I thought it might have had something to do with that guy getting killed. Wasn’t that you on the news the other day?”

  “Same name, different woman,” Lacey said with a trace of hesitation.

  The worker went away and came back with a suit and blouse. She hung it up on the rod and read the receipt. “You left something in your pocket,” she said and moved to a side table where there was a box of junk. After rifling through, the worker came back with a coin purse and compared the numbers, then held it up for Lacey’s inspection. “You recognize this?”

  “Oh, yes, thank you kindly. I was wondering what happened to that.”

  “You left twelve dollars in your pocket as well.” She used a key dangling from an elastic on her wrist to open the cash register. And began to count out the money for Lacey.

  “Thank you, but why don’t you keep it? Have lunch on me,” Lacey said, lifting the clothes from the rod.

  The woman looked up with a frown. Deep walked out of the store.

  “Please,” Lacey said. “I so appreciate your good service. Have lunch on me.” She gave a little wave and headed out the door where Deep was bent over, pretending to tie his bootlace three steps away. Lacey held the change purse by the tag that had been safety-pinned to the hole at the top of the zipper pull and walked right by Deep, up the stairs, and to the car.