No Good Deed

by Susanne Matthews

  Andy’s lips pursed, and he lowered one eyebrow. “If they wanted to do that, destroying all trace of the faces the way they did would make sense, but why?”

  “Anonymity. Freedom. Those men have no records, nothing to link them to organized crime. They could come and go at will.”

  “I don’t know. It’s an interesting idea, but that would require the doctor’s cooperation. From what I can see, where Fields is concerned,” Andy continued, “everything looks on the up and up, but sometimes things look too good, if you know what I mean. You’re right about the money, though. He inherited a bundle when his wife died—she was almost ten years older than he was—and it appears he’s invested wisely. He pays his taxes, moves with the right crowd, does tons of charity work, but keeps his personal life off the radar. On the surface he’s the perfect citizen, but as I said, looks can be deceiving. I had my contacts dig into the dead wife. Do the names Todisco or Renzulli mean anything to you?”

  “Todisco? Renzulli? Maybe, but I can’t place them.” Mike scratched his head.

  “Let me refresh your memory. Anatoli Todisco was the Philadelphia mob boss assassinated by his own inner circle about thirty years ago. Rumor had it that the man who dealt the killing blow was eviscerated in front of the others by Todisco’s nephew, Toli Renzulli. He took over the family business. Camilla was his daughter. Some say Toli had a hand in his uncle’s demise. Who knows?”

  “Is there any way to connect the wife to Zabat?” Mike asked. If his wife and her family had known Zabat, it could explain the relationship.

  “Maybe. Nicoli Zabat was born in Chicago, and his father was part of Renzulli’s circle until he died. His mother stayed tight with the mob, which explains why Nicoli grew up on the inside and was sent to Canada about ten years ago—the same time Fields moved north. Coincidence?” He shrugged. “The wife’s been dead almost twenty years, but maybe the doctor kept in touch with the family. But that’s not all I’ve found. The Fields Clinic doesn’t seem to bill OHIP. That could be because none of its services are covered under the provincial insurance, or it could be because of the clientele. There’s a bank across the street with an ATM, and I was able to get some footage of people coming and going the last few weeks. Don’t ask how. You don’t want to know.” He held out a picture. “Recognize this guy?”

  “That’s Tony Flores, the head of the Sicilian mob. Interpol keeps tabs on him. He doesn’t make a move without someone knowing about it. When was this taken?”

  “Four weeks ago.”

  “That isn’t possible. Flores is on the no fly list. They would never let him into the country.”

  “Through normal channels, no, but we both know there are ways around that.”

  Mike frowned. “I’ll admit the bastard’s an ugly son of a bitch, but why is he visiting a plastic surgeon?”

  “You tell me. Maybe the brunette with him wanted a boob job,” Andy joked.

  “Maybe she did,” Mike agreed, “but either way, this implies the good doctor keeps less-than-stellar company. Alexa suggested as much. If the doctor’s doing business with Flores, you can bet your ass he’s kept in touch with other members of the mob family. If Zabat knew his former boss’s son-in-law was looking for a runaway girlfriend who just happened to walk in on him . . . ”

  “He might keep her on ice for him in exchange for future considerations, like new faces for wanted men,” Andy finished the thought. “Flores and his woman went in . . . so far they haven’t come out, but there could be a back door.”

  “Let’s hope to hell there is. Crime bosses running around with new faces would create all kinds of nightmares for law enforcement worldwide.”

  “Agreed. Do you think Richard Fields realizes Zabat had her shot in the first place?”

  “I don’t know, but if Richard wants her under his thumb, that bullet would keep her right where he wanted her.” Mike’s stomach roiled, threatening to return Colette’s delicious meatloaf. “Hell, if he did put out a missing person’s report on her to the underworld, from what she told me, I wouldn’t be surprised, and her walking in on that execution was a lucky break for Zabat. But she’s a material witness. Eventually, the police would find her.”

  “Not if he gets his hands on her first and puts her under the knife. You saw how easily Colette did it with makeup. Imagine what an expert like that could do with a scalpel.”

  The reality of what Andy was saying hit him. If Richard got his hands on Alexa, he could make her into a completely different woman, one without a past and without a future—a woman who’d be at his mercy and absolutely no threat to Zabat or anyone else. No wonder she was terrified.

  “I won’t let anyone get their hands on her.”

  Andy pursed his lips. “You’re taking this case rather personally, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, his stomach doing flip-flops once more.

  “I mean you care about this woman. Don’t deny it. I can see it on your face when you talk about her, in the way you look at her. While I’m glad to see you’ve crawled out of your self-imposed grave, I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

  Mike hung his head. Andy was too perceptive by far.

  “I feel sorry for her. She’s had a hell of a life—her dad died when she was just a kid. I know what that feels like. But, there’s more. She’s gone to hell and back with this Fields guy, and yet he hasn’t broken her. She reminds me of Thea—you know, the way she was when we first met: stubborn, independent, prickly on the outside.”

  Andy nodded. “Be careful, my friend. Until you’re both safe, you’re vulnerable, and you can’t afford to let down your guard, not even for a minute. Now, you’d better go and tell her what I’ve got planned for tomorrow.”

  Mike nodded and stood. “Yeah, and she won’t be thrilled about it.”

  • • •

  “Lex, are you decent?” Mike asked, knocking on the door.

  Crap. Was he a damn mind reader? She almost dropped the pink cast she’d just removed.

  She hadn’t expected to see him again tonight. Reaching for her crutches, she stood. Despite her five-hour nap earlier today, she was tired, sore, and edgy, not the best combination for her.

  “Yes, please come in.” At least her voice didn’t betray her frazzled nerves.

  The door opened. Mike entered, dressed in a Montreal Canadiens’ sweatshirt and torn jeans, his short hair tousled and gelled. His feet were encased in moccasins similar to the ones Colette had given her. He looked younger and so appealing that her stomach flipped over. The Glock in his shoulder holster, there for her protection, added to his allure.

  At the chalet, it had been easy to convince herself not to let his rugged looks suck her in, to focus on his size and bossiness, but that had been before he’d held her, before he’d wormed his way through her defenses, before she’d seen pictures of a sad little boy sitting next to Colette’s two children. How was she supposed to keep these wayward yearnings under control when she would be with him every day?

  It was probably only a bad case of hero worship—he had helped her escape that prison—but the desire to be in his arms again was stronger than any craving she’d ever had. The fact that she would rather die than let him know it didn’t make much difference. Her fingers itched to run through his hair and sooth the wrinkles on his brow. She held her crutches tighter. As long as there were people around, she should be fine, but when it came to Mike, she might be far weaker than she wanted to admit. She would just have to make sure they weren’t alone for extended periods of time.

  He grinned at her, the smile transforming his face, making him look more attractive, if that was possible.

  “You took the cast off. I’ll bet it itches.”

  “Not really, but I suppose it would if it were real. I’ll have to remember that.”

  “I still can’t get over how good you look—not that you didn’t before. Colette really knows her stuff. And Andy’s got quite the plan set up for our safety. As I promised, I’m here
to fill you in on what he and I discussed.”

  She sensed his unease, heard it in the slight hesitation in his voice. He should be used to doing things like this. He was an undercover police officer, for God’s sake. Playing make-believe was his bread and butter.

  Shaking off her apprehension, she shrugged. “I noticed that all this seemed very familiar to Colette, too, as if hiding people on the run were an everyday thing,” she said, hoping he didn’t notice the way she’d reacted to this new him.

  Mike chuckled and sat down on the bed closest to the door. “They spent years working for CSIS as members of Canada’s diplomatic corps, attached to one embassy or the other. Andy would never admit it, but I heard my uncle and him discussing what happened in Tehran. He’s supposed to have been retired for ten years now, but somehow I think he’s as involved in things as ever—he’s just changed location.”

  “You mean they’re spies? Like the CIA?” she whispered.

  “Something like that—maybe even like James Bond and MI-6.”

  “I can believe it. By the way, I’m packed, or at least I think I am. Colette said she had a few items to add to it in the morning.” She indicated the large red suitcase next to the door. “I thought you said we’d stay here for a couple of days.”

  “That’s what I’d expected, but Andy says we have to move while we still have the advantage. By now, someone will have reported the fire. Once whoever was keeping tabs on you realizes you weren’t in the chalet, they’ll do the math. It won’t take long for them to figure out I got you out of there, and even less time to realize I spent a lot of time around here as a kid, and that my uncle Paul and Andrew Gaudin were friends.”

  She nodded. “You didn’t say Zabat. Does that mean you think I’m right about Richard’s involvement?”

  “I honestly don’t know, but it’s looking like a distinct possibility. What do you know about Richard’s wife?”

  “Camilla?” She frowned. How could a dead woman be involved? “Not much. He rarely talked about her, although when he was really angry or tired, he would call me by her name. When we first met, he showed me a picture of her. In some ways, she and I could be distant relatives, but the resemblance was superficial. I hope to hell he treated her better than he treated me, but I doubt it. A tiger doesn’t change his stripes. Richard did say that she was the only daughter of a very wealthy man. I assumed he got something when she died, but he never mentioned any other family. I know he still has friends in Philly, but I never met any of them.”

  “She may be the glue that holds all this together. Her father was definitely a wealthy man. He was the head of the Philadelphia mob, and Zabat’s father was one of his lieutenants. Did you ever meet any of Richard’s private patients? Even when you were out socially? You said you dined a lot in restaurants. Did anyone come up to the table?”

  “Richard was always talking to people. I suppose some of them could’ve been patients, but if you mean did he introduce me, then the answer is no. The only patients I ever met were some of his pro-bono cases when they made an appearance at a fundraiser like the one where we met. His private patients and those he tended to when he went out of town were never discussed. Why?”

  “No reason, really, I was just curious about the kind of work he did.” He shrugged. “I guess it was lots of nose jobs, tummy tucks, and boob augmentations.”

  Alexa laughed bitterly. Mike wouldn’t miss her disdain.

  “When we first met, he claimed his job was to improve on Mother Nature, and because he was a wealthy man, he could indulge his passions as needed. I took that to mean his real calling was his charity work. Now, I’m not so sure I knew him at all.” She sat on the bed, tucking her legs up under her. “Where are we going tomorrow? You should see some of the clothes Colette packed for me. And the jewelry. Richard gave me several pieces—many I didn’t like. They weren’t my style, but of course my style wasn’t his . . . Those were real and these are paste, but you’d never know it.” She held up her right hand so that he could see the topaz ring on her finger. “I must’ve tried on a dozen rings before she settled on this one. Look at the filigree on the band. That’s real craftsmanship. I look like a rich woman on a very expensive holiday.”

  “More or less,” Mike answered so softly she almost missed it.

  He rose and paced the room anxiously, the way he had in the cabin. What was he afraid of?

  “As far as where we’re going,” he continued, his voice almost too cheerful, his slight accent more pronounced than usual. “We’ll all be leaving together—you and I are going with Andy. Colette will follow in her own car, but once we’re in Ottawa, we split up. Andy and Colette go to Florida, while we take her car and drive to Cornwall and eventually to a resort north of Quebec City. We’ve got ten days to get there. In the meantime, I thought I’d show you some of Quebec’s ski resorts.”

  She swallowed the dread rising in her throat. Being alone with Mike for ten days would strain her emotional control. “Why not go directly there?”

  “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “but Andy must have a good reason. Maybe it’s to make sure we aren’t followed and to establish our identity when someone comes looking for you. It’ll give me time to contact my partner and find out what he knows. I want him to look into Richard and see if he’s been doing any business for the Philadelphia mob and Zabat. The man’s wife isn’t hard on the eyes, but maybe she wanted a lift. Richard would’ve kept your picture in his office, right?”

  “Yes. He had a picture of us taken when we were in Paris last year.”

  “Then that could be how Zabat recognized you. Here.”

  Alexa reached for the passport he offered her. “What’s this?” She flipped through the pages, surprised by the number of stamps there, and stopped at the identification page, stunned to see one of the pictures Colette had taken next to a name she’d never heard. “Who’s Laura Sykes?”

  “You are. It’s your temporary identity—at least for the next month or so. I don’t know what’ll happen after that.”

  “My God. It looks so authentic.”

  “It does. Don’t ask me how Andy did it. Here’s mine.” He held up a wine-colored one. “I’m Lucien Gravelle from Lyon. I’m thirty-five years old. Nice to have a few years shaved off instead of added.” He handed her a sheet of paper. “And we just got married.”

  She didn’t even look at it, his words exploding in her head. Her face heated, and her heart thumped so hard she was certain it would pound its way out of her chest. Married? He couldn’t be serious. This was why he was antsy. He had to know she’d never agree to something like this.

  “Married? Are you insane?” she whispered loudly, trying to keep her voice down so as not to disturb Andy and Colette. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m afraid not. Congratulations, Mrs. Gravelle.”

  She used the furniture to walk over to the window, trying to school the emotions she was sure were plastered on her face: shock, fear, and anger. How dare he put her in this position. If Richard was looking for her, he would . . . she couldn’t even imagine what he’d do to her, but he would tear Mike limb from limb—or rather he would have some goon do it for him—and he would watch and force her to watch, too. She turned to face him.

  “What could possibly make you think I’d agree to such a thing?”

  “Calm down, Lex. I knew you were going to overreact.”

  “Overreact? You think I’m overreacting? This isn’t overreacting. This is plain, ordinary panicking. Have you any idea what Richard will do when he gets wind of this?” Her words ended on a squeak.

  “He won’t do a damn thing because he won’t know. Andy’s gone to a lot of trouble to save our asses, and you could be a little more grateful. Besides, we don’t have any choice. This isn’t my idea. It’s Andy’s. For the next little while, we’ll be staying in hotels, motels, and wherever else he’s sending us. There’s no way I’ll leave you alone in a room where anyone and his dog can get at you. I told you we’re joined
at the hip, and I meant it. Marriage legitimizes our need to be in the same room. Do you honestly think that one word will make your psycho fiancé any crazier than he already is?”

  “Married would, believe me. I told you. He almost killed a man just for bringing me coffee.”

  That word would definitely put Richard over the edge. The man was insanely jealous. Hadn’t Mike listened when she’d explained that?

  “It’s for your safety, Alexa. Nothing more. We’re trying to keep you alive here. Cut me some slack, will you?”

  “Fine,” she answered, clenching her teeth. What he said made sense, but she hated it all the same. She’d shared an isolated chalet with him, but sharing a hotel room was too intimate, too personal, and if Richard did find out . . . There was no place to hide, no place to be alone. “But there damn well had better be two beds in those rooms, or you’re sleeping on the floor.”

  “Not a problem. I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep anyway,” he answered. By the edge to his voice, he was having a hard time controlling his frustration, too.

  “And as far as tonight goes, you’d better not be planning on sleeping in here.” She indicated the twin bed he’d sat on earlier, her barely controlled panic egging her on. “I’m perfectly safe in this house, and you know it. Besides, I sleep with a gun under my pillow.”

  “You’ve got it.” He threw up his hands in surrender. “But you’d better get used to the idea because this is the last night you’ll be in any room alone, gun or no gun.”

  “What? Are you going to follow me to the bathroom, too?” So what if she was being unreasonable? She was scared, and damn it all, she had a right to be. He’d all but confirmed Richard was the one behind all of this.

  “If I have to, I will.” He huffed out a breath. “Lex, be reasonable. Zabat and his men mean business.”

  “I’m not being irrational, you are. Why does everything need to be so complicated—new names, new faces, and now this charade? What makes you think Andy’s plan is any better than the one you had originally? I mean, look at me. I’m not blind. I saw myself in the mirror. I’ve never looked sexier in my entire life. I’m going to attract attention, and believe me, it isn’t the kind I need or want. Maybe Colette’s wrong. Maybe we should find some isolated place and just lie low.” Preferably one with at least two separate rooms.