The Warning Sign

by Mia Marlowe

  If his uncle’s enemies really wanted to get to him, they could, but he didn’t have to make it easy for them. Now his security precautions would protect Sara as well.

  So long as Sara stayed inside his condo. She’d convinced him she was the target of the Maine attack and he convinced her in exchange that she needed to stay with him for a few days until they sorted this whole thing out.

  She had huddled in the locked residents’ lounge, wearing a spare set of scrubs while her wet things dripped into the sink. After Ryan finished his rounds, he called for a limo with darkened windows so Sara would feel safer. It picked them up at the hospital and took them back to his place.

  He hadn’t made a grocery run that week so he was thinking about ordering a pizza while Sara put her clothes through a cycle in his dryer. But first he had another call to make.

  Uncle Nicky.

  He pulled out his cell and punched in the number he’d never been allowed to commit to paper, but had known by heart since he was a child.

  “Ryan.” His uncle obviously had caller ID. “This is…an unexpected pleasure.”

  Since Braxton was supposed to relay Ryan’s message, and he’d never known that little Englishman to be anything but scrupulous in fulfilling his duties, Ryan was sure his call wasn’t all that unexpected. He’d bet it would bring neither of them any pleasure either.

  “You’re back from…your vacation?” Ryan said.

  “You should see my tan.”

  “Braxton has spoken to you?” He’d been schooled early on to conduct conversations with Nicholas Garibaldi as though every word being listened in on by other ears. Whether in a poorly disguised service van filled with Feds or through a listening device hidden by one his uncle’s ‘competitors,’ there was probably a tape rolling someplace.

  Ryan rolled a little tape himself. It was a mental translation of the subtext simmering beneath the spoken conversation with his uncle.

  “Yes, he keeps me informed of the coming and going around the place. I see you took the boat back to Boston,” Nick said. Translation: I know all about your accident.

  “And you’ve talked to Grellner?”

  “Everyday.” If I knew more, I’d tell you.

  “Does he think one of your friends was trying to send you a message through me?” Ryan suggested.

  “No, my friends know how to contact me without going through you.” You’re not important enough for someone to kill just to upset me.

  “Maybe you were sending me a message.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a few heartbeats. “I know your number. I can reach you anytime.” Ryan , you are my blood. How can you ask such a thing? Besides, if I wanted you dead, we wouldn’t be talking right now.

  “Well, the car was insured.”

  “Yeah. Glad you and your girl weren’t hurt.” I know about her too, so watch yourself.

  “Well, uncle, there was another accident recently and the guy did get hurt. In fact he ended up in a river.” Ryan knew he was treading on thin ice, but he needed to know if the Garibaldi family was involved somehow.

  “It distresses me to hear it.” And distresses me more for you to bring it up. “But accidents happen to people who aren’t careful.” Consider yourself warned.

  So Uncle Nick knew more about the Valenti killing than he could say. Ryan didn’t think one of his uncle’s ‘people’ did assassinations any more. But it wouldn’t be the first time Nicholas Garibaldi had acted as a broker for murder. He had all the underworld contacts on the east coast to pick from. When Uncle Nick had told him once he had some creative ‘artists’ in his portfolio, Ryan knew he wasn’t talking about the Matisse he’d acquired on Barbados.

  “My girl almost had an accident today on the T,” Ryan said.

  “She did?” Either his uncle had become a better actor or the news genuinely surprised him.

  “And she’s the careful type.” She has nothing to do with anything that will hurt you, so call off your dogs.

  “These things happen sometimes for no particular reason.” I did not order it. “I’ll look into it.”

  “Thank you, uncle.” The words stuck in his throat, but he managed to pry them out. “I appreciate it.” Yes, you bastard, now I owe you.

  “I know you appreciate everything I do for you. That’s why I do it.” Don’t worry. I’ll collect on your debt when it suits me. “Give my love to your mother.”

  “Good-bye, Uncle Nicky.” Stay away from my family.

  “Take care of that girl of yours. She seems…accident-prone.” Definitely a target. Take precautions.“Good-bye, Ryan. Don’t be a stranger.” There’s still room for you in my organization, you know.

  A dial tone sounded in his ear. The glass door slid open behind him and Sara stepped out onto the balcony beside him. She was swimming in one of his jogging suits, but managed to look totally adorable in it anyway. Her little pink toenails peeped from beneath the folds of too-long jogging pants. They way they bunched over her naked feet struck him as strangely erotic.

  She leaned on the railing, the light breeze coming off the water lifting her hair. “This is beautiful.”

  The last ray of sun bronzed her face. “Yes,” he nodded, never taking his gaze from her. “Certainly is.”

  Then he gave himself a mental shake. The goal was to keep her out of sight. If someone knew of Ryan’s connection with Sara, might they be spying on his balcony with a set of binoculars this very moment?

  “We need to go in,” he said softly. “Maybe later when all the lights are off, it’ll be safe to be out here.”

  “Oh! You’re right. I wasn’t thinking.” Sara padded back inside his condo. “Should we close the blinds?”

  “Not unless the guy after you has wings,” he said, trying to make light of things. She rewarded him with a flat grimace.

  “No, horns and a tail is more like it—oh, Lulu!” Sara blurted out. “I almost forgot about her. I have to let her out.”

  “How about if I go to your place and pick her up? This is a pet-friendly building. Lulu can stay, too. Give me your keys.”

  Her brows tented across her forehead. “They’re in my purse.”

  He handed her the phone. “Call your super. Tell him I’m coming and it’s ok for him to let me in.”

  “Deaf girl, remember?” she said, pointing to her ear. “I only use a cell phone to text and frankly, I’m not sure Mr. Kaplan is all that keen on texting. I’ll write a note for him. Mr. K. can compare the signature to my lease agreement.”

  Ryan wanted to kick his butt up between his shoulder blades. He’d been trained to be sensitive to people with impairments. How could he have forgotten such an important thing?

  Maybe because Sara wasn’t a deaf girl to him. She was just…Sara.

  “You’ll need to pack a few cans of Lulu’s food. There in the kitchen cabinet, under the counter on the right side of the sink,” she said, obviously not letting his gaffe bother her. “And her bowls. And her carrier is in my bedroom closet. The leash should be on top of it. Oh! And she has a little raincoat in case—“

  “As long as I’m packing the dog’s bags, want me to bring anything for you?” he interrupted.

  “Well, now that you mention it…” She smiled up at him. He loved to see her smile. “I can think of a few things that would come in handy.”

  “Maybe you’d better write a note for me, too.”

  Chapter 19

  “Wouldn’t do this for just anybody, you know.” Mr. Kaplan grumbled as he trudged up the steps to Sara’s third floor walk-up with Ryan behind him. “Miz Kelley’s a special case. Been here a number of years, even before that no-account husband of hers got itchy pants. Glad he was the one that left, not her. Always pays her rent on time. Picks up after her dog. They’re all supposed to do that, you know, but they don’t. So who ends up scoopin’ the poop around here?”

  He didn’t wait for Ryan to answer.

  “Me, that’s who. And with my bum back, too. Should
a retired to Florida like my Maisie wanted, but she’s gone now so it wouldn’t be the same. Probably just end up scoopin’ cat poop outta the sand at one of them homes for old farts. Still, you’d think a…” here the super’s voice dropped into incoherent mutterings, but he finished his thought strong. “But that Miz Kelley’s different. She never gives me a bit of trouble.”

  The old man turned a rheumy eye on him. “See that you don’t give her any now, young man.”

  “No, sir. Wouldn’t dream of it,” Ryan said, digging for his wallet. “Since she lost her key, I wonder if you could replace her lock.”

  The super stopped and accepted the crisp twenty Ryan offered him. “Might be more.”

  “No problem,” he said, forking over another twenty. “If you do it tonight, I’ll pay double. Sara’s security means a lot to me.”

  “And you think it don’t to me?” The old man demanded as he resumed his shuffling climb.

  “I’m sure it does.”

  “Damn right it does,” Mr. Kaplan said. “I even made that cable guy show me his ID before I let him in.”

  “Cable guy? When was this?”

  “Oh, maybe a week or two ago,” Mr. Kaplan said. “Kind of late on a Saturday afternoon. Surprised me that he even came then, you know. Them cable repairmen think they’re brain surgeons or something. Always make you wait. ‘Specially if the Red Sox are playin’. Probably supposed to come Friday and farted it off till Saturday. But Miz Kelley was gone that weekend somewheres. So she must have not been expecting him either.”

  The weekend they’d gone to Maine, Ryan would bet.

  “Did Sara know you let him in?”

  The old man frowned and scratched his bald, freckled head. “No. Guess I forgot to tell her. I’m damn near 80. I can’t be expected to remember everything, you know. But I imagine I’d have heard about it if I hadn’t let him in. You miss a chance with one of them guys and it’s a month before you see ‘em again. Here we are. Apartment 310.”

  Mr. Kaplan pulled out his master key and unlocked the door. “I’ll just run down and get a new lock. Tell Miz Kelley she’ll have to see me to get in again. Pull the door closed behind you when you leave and it’ll lock.”

  “Thank you.” Ryan handed him a business card and two more twenties. Since Sara lost her purse somewhere in the T, there might be some other crazies out there with her address now in addition to Valenti’s killer. “Call me if anyone wants in again. Even a cable guy.”

  “Sure, sure,” Mr. Kaplan said as he headed back down the stairs. “You know, you’re not a bad sort. But kinda quiet. Oughta speak up for yourself more.”

  Ryan grinned at the old man’s retreating back. Then he pushed the door open and entered Sara’s dark apartment. He closed the door behind him and heard the latch click.

  Then he heard another sound.

  The safety being slipped off a handgun at very close range.

  The sound came from his right, but he didn’t turn to peer into the shadows. He only had a half second to surprise his assailant. In a martial arts move he hadn’t practiced in two months, he leaped into a spinning kick and knocked the gun from the man’s hand. More luck than skill, he realized, but his muscles remembered the training and it worked. Even better, the gun didn’t discharge.

  He didn’t have a moment to gloat. The guy tackled him and dragged him to the carpet, punches flying. Ryan struck back, landing some solid blows to the man’s torso and deflecting the ones coming his way. Then a lucky fist came hurling through the dark and connected with Ryan’s jaw, making his ears ring. His assailant straddled him and continued to pound.

  Ryan bucked him off with a kip that sent him flying into Sara’s dinette set. The wood crackled into kindling.

  Great. Now the guy’s probably got a chair leg to swing at my head.

  “What the hell’s going on in here?” Mr. Kaplan’s croaking voice sounded. The light flipped on and Ryan saw the other guy clearly. Sure enough, he was brandishing a length of maple. But he wasn’t what Ryan expected of an assassin who laid in wait. He was wearing a rumpled brown suit. His dark hair stuck out at all angles and blood oozed from one nostril.

  “Police officer,” the man barked. “You’re under arrest.”

  “Oh,” Mr. Kaplan grunted. “It’s you, Matthew.”

  So this was Sara’s cheating ex. Ryan’s lip curled with dislike.

  Matthew lowered the chair leg, but only a little. “On the ground now, or I’ll charge you with resisting as well as trespass.”

  “No, you don’t,” Mr. Kaplan said. “Don’t be going around arresting people who were let in legal-like. You don’t live here anymore. Appears to me, Officer, that you’re the only one trespassing.”

  “It’s detective. What are you doing here?” Matthew demanded as he bent to retrieve his Glock.

  “I’m picking up Sara’s dog,” Ryan said. As if on cue, Lulu crawled out from under the sofa where she’d hidden during the fight. She skittered to Ryan, wagging her entire body in a frenzy of dogly bliss.

  “Why are you taking Lulu?” Matthew asked.

  “Because Sara asked me to.” Ryan noticed that Lulu completely ignored Matt Kelley. Evidently fishing the dog from the cold Atlantic had won him a friend for life. Either that, or Lulu really was a good judge of character.

  Matthew grabbed Ryan by the arm. “You’ve seen her? She’s all right?”

  “Yeah, I’ve seen her.” Ryan shrugged Matthew’s hand away. “She was nearly thrown under a subway train, but I guess you were too busy to be bothered when she needed you.”

  “That’s not how it was,” Matthew said, raking his hand through his hair. “There was a mistake.”

  “Yeah, pal. Plenty of them. And you made them all.” The pain he remembered in Sara’s eyes made him want to beat her ex senseless. He took a step toward him, walking stiff-legged as a mastiff ready to tear Matthew Kelley’s throat out.

  “Lookee here, boys,” Mr. Kaplan said still standing at the door. “I’m not going to let you mess up Miz Kelley’s place any more than you already have. If you can’t behave civil-like, you can both leave. In fact, Matthew, I think you should leave anyway. This is Miz Kelley’s place now.”

  “It’s all right. I still have a key.” Matthew fished it from his pocket and dangled it before the old man. “There’ll be no more disturbances,” he promised.

  Something in Ryan’s gut sizzled at the thought of Sara’s ex with a key to her apartment. Even though she’d come to the hospital in a panic, he’d hoped she turned to him because she was over Matt Kelley. If the man still had a key to her place, he was still in her life.

  And maybe her heart.

  Ryan made no promise of avoiding further mayhem, but Mr. Kaplan seemed to take his silence as agreement with Matthew that the fight was over. The old man backed out of the apartment and closed the door behind him.

  ~

  Matthew eyed Ryan Knight through narrowed lids. He could handle himself, Matt would give him that. That flying kick and kip was something he wished he could do. He’d never had time for the discipline of martial arts. His two fists and a Glock were usually enough.

  “How do you know Sara?” he asked.

  “We nearly got killed together in Maine.”

  “So, you’re Ryan Knight,” Matthew said.

  Ryan nodded curtly. “Congratulations, detective. You solved that mystery. Now get out of my way.”

  He strode to the kitchen and started pulling cans of dog food out from under the counter.

  He knew exactly where to look.

  Matthew felt like he’d taken a punch to the gut. Had this guy been staying here?

  “Where is Sara?” he asked.

  “Someplace safe.” Ryan Knight loaded the dog food and Lulu’s bowls into a plastic bag. Then he walked past Matthew as if he goddamned owned the place and headed for the bedroom.

  Matthew said, dogged his steps. He noticed that Sara’s wedding ring set was still on the holder by her side of the bed they used
to share. She hadn’t hocked it after all. “Is she all right? I need to see her.”

  “That’s up to Sara.” Knight didn’t waste words, that was for certain. He opened the closet door and pulled out a suitcase, which he flopped on the bed. He rummaged through the drawers, pulling out jeans and tops and tossing them into the suitcase.

  “How long does she plan to stay away?” The words stuck in his throat. Was she staying at Knight’s place? The thought of Sara in bed with someone else made him want to puke.

  “Don’t know.” Ryan pulled open Sara’s lingerie drawer and scooped up the entire contents. Bras, panties, that sexy little teddy Matthew gave her for their second anniversary—it all went. Matthew narrowly resisted the urge to rip the flimsy bit of satin from this stranger’s hands.

  “She can stay as long as she wants,” Ryan said.

  So she was staying with Knight. Matthew drew a steadying breath. “I need to know what happened to Sara today.”

  “I don’t know the whole story. Ask her yourself.” Ryan pulled a slip of paper from his pocket and Matthew recognized the ‘Palmer-Method-Perfect’ teacher’s handwriting as Sara’s. Knight seemed to be mentally ticking off the items on the list. He turned to go into the bathroom to grab Sara’s toothbrush and make-up kit. “If she lets you see her.”

  “Of course, she’ll see me. I’m her husband.”

  Ryan rounded on him, grabbing his lapels and pinning him to the wall. “Look, detective, in case you missed the memo, you banged your way out of that position. Sara is no longer your wife. She doesn’t owe you anything and she sure as hell can’t count on you.”

  He threw Matthew a look of disgust and released him.

  “Thanks, Knight,” Matthew said, his tone dripping sarcasm. “Now I can arrest you for assaulting a police officer.”

  The man actually snorted at him as he shoved Sara’s running shoes into the suitcase and zipped it closed. “And leave Sara without protection? You haven’t exactly done a stellar job in that department lately.”