Incognito

by Adrienne Giordano

  Holy. Moly.

  Lucie shot Tim a WTH look. She couldn’t blame him for his frustration, but he needed to give his uncle—and Mattie—a break. Not everything could be fixed by law enforcement. The Rizzo family knew that all too well.

  Lucie raised one hand. “Hang on.”

  “Damn.” Tim set his mug on the coffee table. “I hate when she says that.”

  Hardy-har. “Listen, smarty, I have an idea. She picked up the list of developers. We have names of the four developers we think are associated with Paul Landon. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”

  Ro smacked her hands together. “Yes. I like it. We’ll bribe them.”

  Ohmygod. “No! I’m talking about research.”

  “Research?” Ro forced a gag. “Blech. I kinda like bribery better.”

  Everyone’s a smartass today. “No bribery.” Lucie waved the list. “We’re going to scour the internet for any mention of these people. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Well, at least tell me what we’re looking for.”

  “I have no idea. Just start searching. Anything that seems weird, screenshot it, wave a hand, yell, I don’t care as long as you point it out.”

  Ro ripped her purse from her shoulder and added an eyeroll kicker before digging her phone out. “Some weekend getaway this turned out to be.”

  And there it was. Not only did Lucie and Tim’s vacation get derailed, so did Ro’s. It wasn’t that Lucie had asked her family to help. Her loved ones didn’t wait to be asked. They simply joined the mission, no questions needed.

  Good people.

  Dad’s profession notwithstanding.

  Lucie patted the spot next to her. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Thank you for helping us.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And, hey, look at it this way. The sooner we get going on the research, the sooner you’ll get that walk on the beach.”

  The hard stare Ro hit her with should have vaporized her. Yeesh. Crabby.

  Lucie patted the spot next to her again and Ro flopped down, swinging her hair back with a violent flick. Lucie scooted sideways, out of reach. Just in case.

  “You’d better move, sister. Now let’s do this. Give me a name.”

  They divided up the four names, each taking one. Uncle Henry disappeared into his home office to work on his desktop while Lucie, Tim and Ro made use of their phones. So much for leaving her laptop in Chicago. Her eyes might be bleeding by the time this was over.

  Thirty minutes into the exercise, Ro tossed her hands in the air. “Oh. My. God. There are, like, ten thousand mentions of Anderson Bort. You couldn’t give me someone who wasn’t so popular?”

  The fact that it had taken Ro thirty minutes to start whining was, in Lucie’s mind, a genuine show of patience. Lucie would’ve expected it as early as five minutes in.

  “Gee, Ro, I’m so sorry I didn’t know the man’s social status would create issues for you. Think outside the box.”

  “Ha! I always do. You just don’t appreciate it.”

  “Both of you,” Tim said from his spot on the armchair, “shut up.”

  Yikes. Ro stuck her tongue out at him. “O’Hottie is being O’Meanie today.”

  Lucie snorted. Couldn’t help it. When Tim glared at her, she mimicked Ro and stuck her tongue out. At that, Tim smiled. Knowing him, it had something to do with a sexual fantasy and Lucie couldn’t think about that right now.

  She focused on Ro and her mutinous long face instead. “Narrow your search. Do Anderson Bort and Paul Landon. See if you get any hits. If not, do Anderson Bort and That Girl.”

  Ro put her thumbs to work, and Lucie peered down the hallway toward the bedrooms. Had Henry fallen asleep? Not a peep out of him the whole time. “Henry! Did you find anything?”

  “Negative.”

  All righty. Onward ho.

  If the Boston district attorney’s office, with all their investigators, put in half the work Lucie and crew had, Paul Landon—or whoever was responsible for coming after Mattie—might be behind bars.

  But, hey, far be it from her, the mob princess, to question law enforcement.

  She went back to her phone and clicked on the next link referencing Fontina Capital, the company she’d assigned herself to research. A news article popped up regarding a function hosted by the Eloise Foundation that Grant Berwyn, Fontina Capital’s owner, had donated fifty thousand dollars to.

  Grant Berwyn.

  Lucie ticked back in her mental file. She hadn’t remembered seeing that name on any of the reports. She jotted down it down, just in case, but good for him supporting his community.

  And it gave her another lead. She tapped Grant Berwyn into her phone. Voila. Twelve pages of hits. Excellent.

  Or not.

  Maybe Ro wasn’t far off with that whining.

  Lucie poked the first link. Condo building near the Boston waterfront. She skimmed the article. Three hundred upscale units overlooking the harbor. If you had at least a million bucks to spend you could call one your own. And that was only the starting price. Grant Berwyn didn’t fool around.

  Next link. Another charity gig. This one a Christmas gala to raise money for a battered women’s shelter. Possible fraudster or not, Lucie appreciated his philanthropic endeavors.

  Next. Ribbon cutting at a newly remodeled apartment building. Lucie scrolled, skimming the article and photos of smiling families. The apartments were part of a new program sponsored by the Eloise Foundation. Again with this Eloise Foundation? Berwyn had to be on the board or something. For this particular project, qualifying families were given the chance to move out of their crime-ridden neighborhoods into newly remodeled apartments in Dorchester, a diverse, family-friendly neighborhood. All subsidized by the Eloise Foundation.

  In the middle of the article, a black and white photo showed a thin woman dressed in a form-fitting dress accessorized with a single string of pearls. Her short blond hair, combined with the dress and pearls, gave her that I-have-money appearance rich people perfected. Flanked by three men and three women, the photo showed her cutting a ribbon. Out of curiosity, Lucie read the caption. Foundation director, Eloise Berwyn—aha!—surrounded by her husband, Grant, two daughters, April and Jess, sons, Stephen Berwyn and Simon Torrance.

  Torrance. Huh. Must be Eloise’s son from a previous relationship.

  Torrance, Torrance, Torrance.

  “You got something?”

  Lucie snapped her eyes to Tim. “What?”

  “You’re making that humming noise you do when you’ve figured something out.”

  Really? “I make a humming noise?”

  He laughed. “Yeah. Ro, tell her.”

  “O’Meanie is right, Luce.” She flashed a smile. “You’re a hummer.”

  Tim let out a laugh and Lucie once again imagined his mind going straight to the gutter.

  “Simon Torrance,” she said.

  “Boston DA.” Tim shot back. “What about him?”

  Lucie wasn’t sure, but her jaw may have dropped. She lifted her fingers to her chin, feeling around her face. Yep. Total jaw drop.

  “Luce?”

  Could this be a wild coincidence? Had to be. Ya think? She slouched back, blew air through her lips. “This could be a coincidence.”

  “Doubtful,” Tim said, “but go ahead.”

  “I’m researching Fontina Capital, owned by Grant Berwyn. Husband of Eloise. Father to April, Jess, and Stephen.”

  “And?”

  “He has a stepson. Simon.”

  Tim’s eyebrows hiked nearly to his hairline. “As in Simon Torrance?”

  “You got it, detective. Fontina Capital’s owner, who does business with Paul Landon and our registered agent, Helen Craft, is related to the prosecutor on Mattie’s father’s case.”

  “Oh, please,” Ro said. “There is no way that’s a coincidence.”

  Tim tossed his phone on the coffee table. “You’re sure it’s his stepfather?”

  She pointed to the
phone screen. “According to this picture.”

  The comment got Tim moving. He pushed off the chair and hustled back to their bedroom. He returned with the notepad he’d brought from Mattie’s the night before and set it on the table in front of them before sitting next to Lucie.

  On the first page was the flow chart he’d drawn connecting all the players to Helen Craft and Paul Landon. “Roll with me here.” He tapped Landon’s name then dragged his fingers to the developers. “He’s the middleman between the developers and That Girl. Eight months ago, his son and Mattie’s father were convicted on fraud charges.” He met Lucie’s eye. “Eight months ago. It’s taken us two days to find the Helen Craft-Paul Landon-Island Investments connections. Two days, Luce.”

  Exactly what she’d been thinking earlier. “Begs the question, why in eight months couldn’t the district attorney’s office, with all their resources, find what took us two days? Or maybe they did and there’s no proof?”

  “Or,” Ro said, “that prosecutor is a rat-bastard protecting daddy by burying evidence.”

  “Henry,” Lucie called, the high-pitched excitement in her voice booming. “You need to hear this.”

  Within seconds, his head popped out of the doorway. “What is it?”

  Tim waved him to the living room. “We think the Boston DA is somehow involved.”

  “The DA? No fooling?”

  “No fooling, Unc.”

  Tim vacated his seat next to Lucie and sat on the arm of the sofa, so Henry could sit. She updated him on Grant Berwyn’s company, the charity run by his wife and the photo with his stepson, Boston’s top prosecutor.

  When they were through, Henry ran his hands through his shock of white hair and let out a long sigh. “This is nuts.” He looked up at Tim. “What do we do? Who do you go to when the person who’s supposed to be above reproach turns out to be—”

  “A rat-bastard?” Ro added. Lucie shot her a look that clearly failed to inject any fear because Ro waved her off. “You know it’s true.”

  The doorbell rang. Who the heck was this now?

  Ro held up her hand. “Allow me.”

  “Go ahead,” Tim said, “Make yourself at home.”

  “Why, thank you, O’Hottie. I will. Besides, it’s just Joey and the ‘rents. He texted me. They’re bored.”

  Lovely. Now they’d have to deal with Dad and Joey, too. Mom, Lucie didn’t mind. Her mother might be the only sane one of the bunch.

  Ro strutted to the entryway, swinging her hips as she went and drawing Henry’s stare. Ah, to be a man-killer.

  She stopped at the door, flipped her upper body forward to give, as she liked to say, the girls a boost before standing tall again and smoothing her clothing. Lucie smiled. No matter what, Ro always fixed herself up before Joey saw her. There was something oddly sweet in the gesture. Considering the two of them were complete maniacs who would, more than likely, wind up killing each other one day.

  But love came in all different forms. Her brother and BFF seemed happy, so why not?

  Ro opened the door and swung her arm in a dramatic arc. “Helloooo.”

  “Hey.” Joey strode by Ro, smacking her on the ass as he went. “How was the walk?”

  “Hands off. We didn’t go.”

  “Joseph,” Mom said, “is that nice?”

  Dad, looking dapper in pressed cotton shorts and a white T-shirt, waved to the room at large. “Morning. Is coffee on?”

  What was with her family making themselves comfortable in Henry’s house?

  “In the kitchen,” Henry said. “Help yourself.”

  Joey waited for Mom and Ro to sit then dropped into the only open wingback chair. “What happened with the walk?”

  “We got sidetracked with research,” Ro said. “Turns out the Boston DA is dirty.”

  For crying out loud. All they needed was to get Joey and Dad on a rant about dirty politicians and cops. They’d be here for days.

  Lucie gritted her teeth. “We don’t know that.”

  “Sure we do,” Ro said. “You just don’t want to believe it. I love that about you.”

  Henry cleared his throat. “Tim, please, tell me what we should do. Can we go over the DA’s head?”

  “There’s a couple options. We could go to the Massachusetts State Police. Their U.S. Attorney might also be a possibility. Hell, this thing involves multiple states, so the FBI might want a piece of it. Let me make some calls. I was on a task force last year with a federal agent. He might be able to help.”

  Before Tim could pick up his phone, Henry shook his head. “Wait. We have to ask Mattie.”

  Tim let out the famous O’Hottie sigh. Poor guy. Every move was put on stand-by and Tim didn’t appreciate that mode.

  He met Lucie’s gaze, more than likely hoping she’d jump to his rescue, but…

  She scrunched her nose. “Sorry, honey. I have to agree with Henry on this one. It’s Mattie’s future. She should decide.”

  Rather than pout or kick up a fuss, Tim sat quietly, a whole lot of nothing masking his emotions. This is what she adored about him. No irritation that she sided against him, no ego trip, no pouting.

  Finally, he nodded. “All right. Point taken. But let’s go talk to her now, because somewhere in the next few days, I’d like to get back to my vacation.”

  He headed toward the door, pausing at the entryway table to grab car keys.

  “Ho.” Dad appeared at the kitchen doorway, mug in hand. “Where we going? I just got my coffee.”

  Lucie gathered their notes and followed Henry to the door. “Mattie’s. You all stay here.”

  Before Lucie cleared the sofa, Ro vaulted from her seat. “Not a chance, sister. I lost my walk this morning to help this broad. We’re not missing anything.”

  Tim once again shot Lucie a look. As if she could control her family? He should know better.

  He held the door open. “Fine. Just…please…let us do the talking.”

  Good luck, fella.

  Tim, Lucie, and Henry piled into the Lexus while Joey, Ro, Mom, and Dad, still carrying his coffee, decided against their rental in favor of the golf cart Ro had driven over earlier.

  When this was over, Lucie had no doubt Ro would insist on cruising the streets of Franklin in an Escalade golf cart. And nobody would think twice about it. Everyone knew she was nuts. Why question it?

  “Don’t worry,” Ro said, “We’ll keep up. It has a turbo engine.”

  “Swear to God,” Tim said, “I’m in hell.”

  A little dramatic for sure, but given the restraint he’d shown thus far, he deserved to spout off. Lucie climbed into the backseat and Henry started the car, letting them get buckled before moving. Safety first. Always.

  After backing out of his driveway, he motored down the street, his pace far from hurried.

  “What’s the speed limit?” Tim asked.

  “Thirty-five. I’m going thirty-four.”

  Oh, boy. Lucie imagined the top of his redhead blowing clear off.

  Henry tapped the steering wheel. “When we get there, we should be careful about how we tell her. She’s a little high-strung.”

  Ya think? Lucie peered out the window at the passing palm trees and bit her lip to hide the smile.

  “You know her best,” Tim said. “You tell her. Or at least start the conversation. You’ll know what to say. Lucie and I can fill in anything you miss.”

  “All right.”

  Giving up on the palm trees and sunny morning they’d all but missed, Lucie studied Henry’s profile. The sagging cheeks, the throbbing muscle in his jaw.

  The misery.

  He too deserved some slack. His world had been turned upside down. Lucie thought back to the day her father had been convicted of tax evasion. For years she’d lived in a swamp of denial, putting her father’s lifestyle out of her mind and holding her head high. Rising above it all. At least until she saw his picture on the front page of a tabloid the day after his sentencing. Handcuffed and being led away by a ba
iliff, that image would stay with her forever. There was simply no way to flush it out. Worse was the headline.

  JAILBIRD.

  Her father’s life had been summed up in one word. Eight measly letters.

  Hers had been shattered that day. But this wasn’t about her. This was about Henry.

  On impulse, she unclipped her buckle, ignored the warning bell for belt violations, and reached between the seats, squeezing Henry’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Henry.”

  “A few days ago, we were happy. Living the dream. What happened?”

  “Life did,” Tim said. “And you know as well as anyone life can suck.”

  Well, thank you, Mr. Sensitivity.

  Lucie shot Tim the side-eye. Between Mattie’s over-the-top personality, his mother hounding him for details, and the whole on the lam thing, she imagined he’d be conflicted. The cop in him felt the need to serve, to find the truth, but even if they proved Mattie’s innocence, she knew him well enough to know he wasn’t sold on her as a love match for his straight-laced uncle.

  “It sure can,” Henry said. “I love her, but I don’t know. This is a lot.”

  Tim nodded. “I agree.”

  Here we go. She braced herself for Tim’s lecture. The one that would convince his uncle to walk away. To avoid the drama this woman brought. Dammit. It didn’t seem fair. Outside of being naive, none of this seemed to be Mattie’s fault. Now she’d lose everything.

  Again.

  No.

  She wouldn’t let him convince his uncle to abandon the woman he loved.

  “Tim—”

  He held up his hand. “Wait. I have something to say.” He angled sideways in his seat and faced his uncle. “It is a lot. It’s your life and you sure as hell didn’t sign up for this. You see what I deal with from Lucie’s family.”

  “Hey!”

  He snapped his gaze to her. “It’s true. You know it is. I’m a cop in love with a mob boss’s daughter. I mean, it doesn’t get more twisted than that. I take heat for it every day at headquarters. It probably cost me a promotion or two.”

  A crushing weight forced Lucie’s head to drop forward. Lost promotions. Because of her. Ohmygod. A spurt of tears filled her eyes. She loved this man. Adored him. And his love for her could wreck his career. “Tim, I’m—”