Hard As Ice (Fortis Series 1)

by Raven Scott

  “It’s not your fault, Nia. He did what any man would do. If they are still alive, they didn’t suffer enough. I would have killed them,” he whispered in a chilling voice.

  Nia closed her eyes, remembering the sight of Evan snapping that man’s neck with strength and agility that seemed effortless. She didn’t doubt his words for a second.

  They retreated to their thoughts for a few moments. Their embrace loosened, with Evan brushing his hands up and down her back. Nia was thinking that it was strange that he had caused such crushing pain and sadness, yet was also able to take it away so easily. At least temporarily.

  “Nia, we have to talk about last night,” he stated in a low, gruff voice.

  “No, Evan. I think we should just leave it. It doesn’t matter.”

  “Of course it matters,” he insisted more urgently. “Last night shouldn’t have happened that way.” He burying his face into her neck. “It was thoughtless of me.”

  “I was there too, Evan. We both participated.”

  Evan lifted his head, releasing her to cup her face gently in his hands.

  “The truth is, I was ready,” he insisted, as though he didn’t hear her words. “I wanted that intimacy and everything it meant. But I should have discussed it with you first!”

  She shook her head, too exhausted to think about it.

  “I promise it won’t happen again,” he insisted. “Nothing will ever happen unless you’re ready, okay?”

  Nia blinked at his words, irritated by his arrogance.

  “Evan, stop,” she insisted. “I’m not helpless. If I wanted you to stop, we would have. I’m not a victim, incapable of making choices.”

  “I know that. I didn’t mean to suggest anything like that!” He swore, harshly. “I’m trying to say I didn’t mean to take advantage of you, or the situation.”

  Nia pulled back, out of his arms, and took a step back. She felt hot resentment building in her chest.

  “Evan, let me explain this to you so you completely understand,” she stated in low, slow voice. “You deceived me about who you were in order to do your job. You slept we me while believing I was a thief. That’s unforgivable and I’m pissed off about it. I think I have every right to be.”

  “I know—”

  “Let me finish,” she insisted. “You lied to me, but I also know that you didn’t take advantage of me, then or last night. I am not a victim, Evan. I am not helpless. I’m on the pill and I know the risk in what we did. Everything that happened between us was with my consent. We’ve known each other for two weeks, and you didn’t make me any promises. So please stop acting like you had all the control because I never gave it to you.”

  He let out a deep breath then clenched his jaw.

  “What does that mean, Nia? Where does that leave things between us?”

  She shrugged.

  “I can’t trust you, Evan. So despite what happened last night, there is nothing between us anymore.”

  With no more to say, Nia politely said good night and left Evan on the terrace.

  It felt like she was running away, but it was too hard to be there with him, to resist wanting more between them than was now possible. She had done that already, followed her desire, and the pain of betrayal was still too fresh to ignore.

  Chapter 22

  After Friday evening, she and Evan fell into a routine over the next couple of days. Since she had not canceled her tutoring session with Meghan McFarlane at the center, Nia accepted his offer to take her there. The drive to the Dorchester neighborhood community center was awkward and stilted. She looked out the window of the rugged SUV and wondered what had happened to his sleek Bentley.

  “I heard you with the young girl the last time you were here,” he stated as they parked the car near the building. “Is she the only one you give music lessons to?”

  Nia looked over at him with a hard expression. It was a warm morning, yet he was dressed in all black, with cargo pants and a close-fitting cotton top that molded over his muscles. There was no sign of the wealthy businessman. Instead, he looked lethal and dangerous. How many more things would she discover had been happening in the shadows of her life since she met him?

  He sighed.

  “We had you under surveillance for the first few days, then full protection after the incident with the truck,” revealed Evan. “You can ask me anything, Nia. I will answer honestly if it’s within my ability to do so.”

  Nia pondered his response, wondering why any truthful answers would be outside of his control. She immediately thought of the gunshot wound on his leg and the explanation of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her gut said that was one of them.

  They were walking into the building as she replied.

  “Only Meghan right now. I occasionally get one or two more who want to try the program.”

  “You’re very good,” he stated.

  She looked at the ground uncertain of what to say in response.

  Music had always come naturally to her. The notes and melody made sense in her mind and her body learned quickly how to express it through an instrument.

  From what Nia had discovered over the years, her mom, Simone James, had once been a singer with great potential in the Detroit underground music scene. But poor choices in men and broken promises had destroyed her ambition early in her career.

  Her mom had once told Nia that her real father was also a musician, though the rest of the story was inconsistent. When Nia was younger, Simone claimed the mystery man was the love of her life, but later it seemed he was a band performer who had passed through town when they met at a party. Either way, Nia always felt music was the only legacy she had from her parents. Later, after the incident when she was expelled from the scholarship program, it didn’t seem worth very much.

  At nine o’clock, Meghan arrived for her music lesson. Nia was getting everything ready at the piano, while Evan was planted in the hall just outside the doorway.

  “Hey mister, you’re back,” the young girl said, looking up at him.

  “I am,” he stated, looking amused. “You’re on time.”

  “Yup,” replied Meghan as she strolled by him.

  The lesson went well, though Nia found it hard to concentrate knowing Evan was right there listening in. Meghan had been practicing over the last two weeks and it showed in her ability to complete some of the more complicated sections of the songs. Near the end of the hour, Nia played another pop song, this time by a new boy band. Meghan giggled through the whole thing. The eleven-year-old skipped out shortly after, promising to continue working on her chords.

  Nia sat behind the piano for a few moments, trying to decide if she should stay for practice. It had a become a weekly routine, thirty minutes of private indulgence where she lost herself in the rhythm of whatever songs came to mind. Or, it was an opportunity to play around with the songs in her imagination, express the music that she would never compose on paper. Occasionally, the lyrics would come also, and Nia could sing them ad-lib. She never wrote them down, either.

  Today, there was an audience. She didn’t want to perform. Yet her fingers trailed over the keys, almost of their own accord. There was a new melody in her head, one that had been hovering in her subconscious for days. It was a ballad, made up of simple but dramatic chords laden with emotion. The notes were in fragments now, but Nia knew the sections would merge over time.

  Nia played a section, connected another, toyed with a chorus. Her throat tightened as the feelings the notes conveyed coursed through her body. There was sadness, disappointment, and hurt in the aftermath of betrayal. The loss of something incredible that she didn’t even know she wanted. A raw, lingering need that would never again be satisfied. The music left her naked and vulnerable, stripped of all protective skin. It was always that way, and often more than she could bear.

  Her eyes welled up, and Nia abruptly stopped playing. She rested her clenched hands in her lap, staring at the ivory keys for long moments with familiar r
egret. It would have been a great song, if she were really a songwriter. But she wasn’t. She was a successful manager and salesperson, with a responsible career and financial stability. That had to be enough. Anything else was a pipe dream. Her mom’s life was a testament to that.

  Nia closed down the piano and left the room. She was so caught up in her own thoughts that she didn’t notice how withdrawn her bodyguard was during the drive back to the hotel.

  For the rest of the weekend, she was left alone in the suite while Evan and the team followed the trail to the broker, Walsh.

  By the time he and Nia returned from the music lesson in Dorchester, there was a cryptic voice-mail message from Craig Kelsey, the concierge at the Opal Hotel. His order would be ready for Sunday afternoon. A fifty percent deposit was required up front, then Evan would get a call within the next twenty-four hours to confirm a time for the final delivery.

  Evan called Lucas.

  “We have a bite on the broker,” he stated immediately, and provided the details.

  “What do you need?” Lucas replied.

  “Three men, including Lance. We need to set up the sting at the Opal Hotel for tomorrow.”

  “You got it. I’ll send Abe, too, and Ned can fly them in with one of the choppers. There’s a helipad in South Boston. They should be there by early this evening.”

  “Good. Send me the coordinates. Michael and I will meet them,” Evan replied. “If we do this right, we could have Walsh within a couple of days.”

  For the next twenty-four hours, Evan and the expanded Fortis team paid Kelsey the deposit and set the trap. Like Evan, Abe Smith was former CIA, with a specialty in interrogation techniques. Ned Bushby was a former Secret Service agent, and deadly accurate with a gun. With Michael taking over the stakeout of Coombs, Lance and Tony were the other two men in the plan.

  At two-fifteen Sunday afternoon, they got the call. The package would be delivered to Evan’s hotel room at the Opal in thirty minutes.

  Tony, Abe, and Lance would cover the entrances to the hotel, looking for whoever would deliver the ten-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch. Ned would stay close to the concierge, Kelsey, for the hand-off to Evan, and Raymond would watch video coverage from the control center. They were all connected with tiny earpieces for communication.

  Abe was the first to report in.

  “I have a delivery truck pulling into the service bay through the alley,” he reported, dressed as a hotel employee having a smoke break.

  “Got it,” Raymond confirmed. “The company’s called Gleason Courier. They’re a midsize delivery company for several hotel and hospitality supply companies.”

  “A lone man is walking in, carrying a square package wrapped in plain brown paper,” continued Abe. “He’s heading in through the employee entrance. Lance, he should come through one of the service doors in about two minutes. The one next to the restaurant.”

  There were a few moments of silence.

  “Got him,” Lance whispered. “He’s approaching Kelsey now. The package has been handed off.”

  “Abe, you detain our driver. Take him to our truck. Tony, meet them there for the discussion.”

  “Got it,” Tony replied.

  “Ned, Kelsey’s heading to the elevator.”

  “On it,” Ned replied. “I’m joining him for the ride.”

  “Lance, take the next ride up.”

  “On my way.”

  Evan stood tall, feet spread wide, waiting for his package to arrive. His gun was holstered in reach under his loose cotton shirt next to his spine, and his slim knife strapped to his right ankle. Even in this seemingly small-time takedown, you could never be too prepared. He took a deep breath and waited.

  “The delivery is almost at the door,” Abe stated.

  The knock came seconds later.

  “Hi, Mr. DaCosta, I have your delivery,” stated Kelsey, clearly pleased with his accomplishment, and the promise of his cut of a five-thousand-dollar job.

  “Excellent!” Evan stated, clapping his hands together with a big smile on his face. “Craig, right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Come in, let me have a look at it.”

  The young concierge paused for a moment with caution. Evan sensed his hesitation, so he walked away from the door to tap his fingers on a thick white envelope sitting on the television console nearby. Kelsey stepped inside and closed the door.

  “Here you go,” he said, handing over the brown box so Evan could open it.

  “Macallan fifty-five-year-old scotch,” Evan confirmed in a low voice. “One of the best bottles of single malt at half the price. That’s quite an accomplishment, Craig.”

  Whatever Kelsey was going to say was interrupted by the two large men who walked into the hotel room. Ned and Lance stood in front of the door, looking very threatening, and effectively blocking his exit.

  “Why don’t you tell us how you made it happen?” Evan continued as he placed the box of rare liquor next to the white envelope on the console. Kelsey followed his movement, clearly still hoping he’d walk away with payment for the job.

  “I have a lot of contacts, that’s all,” he stammered, looking at the men, then back at the envelope.

  “Good. Let’s talk about these contacts of yours. One in particular. I want to hear what you know about Walsh.”

  Kelsey’s eyes opened wide with surprise. His mouth opened and closed a few times.

  “Who?” he finally croaked.

  “Come on, Craig. No one has time for games. Just tell us what you know about Walsh and we won’t tell the police about your theft of a ten-thousand-dollar bottle of scotch. That’s a felony charge, by the way.”

  “I didn’t steal anything!” insisted Kelsey.

  “No, but you certainly planned to profit off the robbery. That makes you just as guilty,” Evan replied smoothly. “Don’t worry, we don’t want you. We know you didn’t actually steal the bottle. We just want Walsh. Tell us everything you know about him, and you can go back to work.”

  The young man swallowed, clearly weighing his options.

  “I don’t know who he is. I only have a phone number,” he finally admitted. “I call it when I have a special request.”

  “What kind of request?” probed Evan.

  “Anything I can’t get through regular channels, you know,” Kelsey explained.

  “Like what, specifically?” pressed Evan. “Don’t worry, it’s just between us men.”

  Kelsey squeezed his eyes shut, clearly uncomfortable with saying it out loud. Evan took a step toward him, and it was like the dam burst open.

  “I haven’t done much, just some weed here and there. A little blow. One guy wanted a young male hooker. That’s it!”

  “How much do you make off the deals?”

  “It depends, but usually twenty percent. Walsh takes the rest.”

  “And how does Walsh get his payment?” Evan continued.

  “The driver picks it up. He’s waiting for me downstairs right now.”

  Evan looked at Ned and Lance.

  “What about gems, like diamonds, Kelsey? Ever been asked to get your hands on something like that?”

  “No! I don’t know anything about stuff like that,” he denied. “I told you, I’m only getting small stuff.”

  “Okay, okay. What about your deliver guy? Do you know him?” Evan continued.

  “No. I mean, I don’t know his name or anything, but it’s the same guy all the time.”

  “Good. Thank you, Kelsey, you’ve been very helpful. Now, we only need that phone number for Walsh.”

  The concierge swallowed hard and stammered out the numbers. Evan turned away from him. Ned and Lance stepped aside from the door.

  “What about the payment?” Kelsey squeaked out.

  “Sorry, Craig. I think you’ve already made enough off this deal.”

  Kelsey left the room, clearly terrified by the failed job and what would happen to him when he didn’t deliver the balance of the money
.

  The interrogation of the courier van driver was equally successful, and with an added bonus. Abe was waiting for a nervous young man at the front of the delivery van. Once Tony arrived, they escorted the driver to their truck, and made a persuasive case for why a quick, informative chat was better than a charge of trafficking in stolen goods.

  “He doesn’t know Walsh either,” Tony explained on the drive back to the Harbor Hotel. “And he’s only paid a hundred dollars for each pickup and drop-off. There’s a locker at the courier company depot that’s been set up for the exchanges.”

  “Does the driver only deliver to the Opal? Kelsey said it’s the same guy all the time,” Evan told them.

  “He delivers to a few hotels, any that are along his regular route. And that’s where it gets good,” Tony added. “He specifically remembers a pickup at the King Edward Hotel back in March that was unusual. He picked up a deposit for a job, a pretty sizeable one at that, but never got contacted again for the final delivery.”

  Evan and Tony exchanged meaningful looks. If the regular driver didn’t do the final delivery, then it was probably something too valuable to be handled by him. Maybe something so valuable that Walsh delivered it himself?

  “Raymond,” Evan called into the earpiece. “I need you to do a search of the guests booked into the King Edward back in March, then cross-reference it with anyone who was back within days of the robbery. That should narrow down our potential buyers significantly. And I’ll send you the phone number that Kelsey gave us for Walsh. It’s a longshot, but maybe we’ll be able to tie it back to Morton or someone else involved.”

  “Sure thing, Ice.”

  The investigation came together quickly after that. Within a couple of hours, Fortis had the name of their buyer.

  Based on backdoor access to the hotel reservation system, they found Sean Holstein. He was a fifty-two-year-old executive at a small venture capital firm based in Staten Island, New York. The slight, sheepish-looking man visited Boston twice in the last three months, and could be seen on the hotel surveillance camera communicating with the King Edward concierge just over three weeks ago. It was the day after the Worthington heist.