His Brother's Wife

by Mia Ford

  Finally, he pulled away and put his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes.

  “Hi, baby.”

  “Hi.”

  “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you too.”

  Under his spell, that magnetic pull we seemed to have between us, I simply stared into those dark eyes, feeling his breath on my skin.

  And then it hit me.

  I tugged my hands free and pushed him away. “What are you doing here?”

  He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious? I followed you. The better question is, what are you doing here?”

  I pulled my purse tighter against me. “None of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I started down the hall, but he spun me around.

  “I don’t excuse you,” he said, holding me in place.

  I cast a glance toward the door for Armor Security. “Can we at least get in the elevator please?”

  His gaze slid to the door then back to me. “Shall I go in and find out why you were here?”

  My heart lurched and ended up somewhere in my throat. I could barely get the word out, but out it finally came after a choked gasp. “No!”

  He twined his fingers through mine and led me to the bank of elevators. He hummed a bit as he pressed the button.

  We made it to the lobby in blessed silence, but I knew it wouldn’t last. He put his hand around my waist outside and started down the street. I had no choice but to keep walking with him.

  “So,” he said conversationally, “we could play a guessing game, but that’s such a waste of time, and I suck at games. Besides, I have to be at work soon. Why don’t you just tell me?”

  He’d never let it go. Thoughts flew through my head so fast I couldn’t even latch onto one. Finally, I just blurted out, “I was meeting my boyfriend.”

  He stopped dead on the sidewalk. I waited for the questions to start, but he burst out laughing.

  “Honey, I’m your boyfriend.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Oh, I am, and I know you’re not the cheating type. If you’d had a boyfriend when we hooked up for that one afternoon of glorious sexcapades, you’d have dumped him the morning after. Believe me, I can tell a one-man woman once she’s hooked.” He leaned closer and whispered, “And I’ve hooked you.”

  “I am not hooked.” My voice had risen, and a man turned from the parking meter and glanced in our direction. He and Danny exchanged a look I couldn’t begin to decipher, but it pissed me off.

  “Yes, honey, you are.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead.

  I wanted to deck him. “Oh, so you’re that sure of yourself, are you?”

  He just smiled and said, “I am. I’m also sure that the best thing to do is tell me what you were doing in that office.”

  I clenched my fist around my purse strap and lifted my chin. I caught the way his gaze shifted for just a split second to my purse. He took my hand and started walking again. We made it all the way to a grocery store before he stopped, tugged me to him, and held me loosely around the waist.

  “Hannah,” he said lightly, “there are good choices and bad choices in life. This”—he gestured between us with his free hand— “is a good choice. But what you did today was probably a bad one.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he kept talking.

  “I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say that Richie is involved in whatever this is, and I can guarantee you that my aim, even in the dark, is pretty damn good. This is bad, Hannah. You need to back away.”

  “I can’t,” I whispered, though I couldn’t meet his gaze.

  He drew in a deep breath and hugged me. “Then I’ll help you.” He lifted his chin toward the parking lot. “Come on. My car’s here. I’ll give you a lift and let you out a couple of blocks from the club.”

  Being with Danny had both calmed my nerves and rattled my thoughts. He was good for me. I knew that. I just hoped when this was over—whatever it was—he looked at me the same way.

  Chapter Twenty-one: Danny

  Around eleven that night, Archie Dee, as squirrelly as ever, bounced into the club, glanced around, and came right in my direction at the edge of the stage. He shouted to be heard over the blaring speakers.

  “Hey, Danny, how’s it hangin’?”

  “Good, Arch, you?”

  “Ain’t complainin’.” He rocked on his feet. “Saw you with Hannah today.”

  I shifted my glance from the dancer on stage to him, my antenna up. “Oh, and where was that?”

  “Uptown a bit.”

  Jesus.

  He leaned forward, preparing to whisper but then realized he still needed to shout. “Not a smart move, Danny. She’s off-limits.”

  “She’s an adult, Arch. Don’t see where what she does is anyone’s business but her own.”

  Archie laughed. “Sure, sure, Danny, you just keep on believin’ that.”

  He gave Brittany a little wave and headed across the room. Something snagged his attention, and he paused at the doorway. His glance shifted between a man in the corner and me, and I got a bad feeling. The man was Stan. Archie was talking to him. Fuck.

  I mouthed, “Piss break,” to Dougie and strolled toward the restrooms. My heart beat louder than the drum through the speakers.

  Archie and Stan were chatting it out like old buds. Archie. turned to me when I approached. “Hey, Danny, come here. Small world, right? You guys know each other?”

  I gave Stan a cursory glance, and Stan did the same.

  “Don’t think so,” I said. Stan shook his head.

  “Well, if this ain’t fuckin’ funny,” Archie said.

  “What’s funny?” I asked, dreading the answer, though also curious about how Archie viewed the world.

  “’Because he was in the pool hall the night of the fight. You were there. I was there. And now look,”—he spread his arms— “here we are in another fucking place, together like old pals.”

  “I see a lot of fights,” Stan said. “Which pool hall was that?” He put a little slur into his words, but I knew Stan. He could drink a gallon of liquor and hold his shit together. It was the reason he was hired for assignments like this.

  “Rack ’Em Up,” Archie said. “Don’t you remember? My pal Danny here drove Otto’s head into the jukebox like a bowling ball.”

  Stan narrowed his eyes. He knew I’d stuck around too long too. “Sure. I remember. Been there lots of times. Not a fan of Otto’s. He got what he deserved.”

  “We’re all in agreement with that?” Archie said with a stupid grin. “But, hey, guess we all have the same interests.” Once again, I waited with dread for words to tumble from his mouth. He smiled brightly. “Pool and pussy, right?”

  “Sure,” Stan said with a nod. “Pool and pussy.” He lifted his glass. “And drinking. Want one?”

  Archie lifted his good hand in a pass gesture. “Can’t. Got a big meeting.” He glanced at the glass of Crown Royal in Stan’s hand. “After, though, sure. That’d be great.”

  I waited until Archie went through the door into the hallway. I spared one glance toward Stan, who had turned his attention back to Brittany as the song ended.

  I walked into the john to the tune of Livin’ on a Prayer.

  I usually didn’t believe in destiny, in fate, in any luck I didn’t create for myself. Life was a series of events, and I usually felt in control, even under cover. Archie was a wild card. Would he view this as a chance coincidence, or did he actually have enough brainpower to add a few numbers and get the right result?

  I got my answer when Dougie’s two-way squawked around midnight. He told me to head to Richie’s office.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  When I stepped over the threshold, I felt as though I’d been dropped into a remake of The Usual Suspects. The gang was all here.

  Butch, the one-trick pony, was performing his usual stunt of holding up the wall. The four bruisers I’d encountered throughout the last few days sprawled on the sofa and chairs, and Ri
chie held court from behind that massive mahogany desk, the king of all he surveyed. Archie Dee darted around the room, passing out bottles of beer like we were all friends having a barbecue.

  My eyes caught Richie’s. Unlike Archie, Richie didn’t wear his enthusiasm on his sleeve. Those dark eyes just peered into mine like he was trying to read my deepest thoughts. I practically felt him prodding through my recent memories—hooking up with Archie at the pool hall, my afternoon with Hannah, my phone calls with my father, the office on South Wabash, and finally talking with Stan tonight.

  As I took a beer from Archie’s hand, he flashed me a smile. “I was telling Richie about Rack ’Em Up.” Archie shook his head. “What a coincidence, huh?”

  My throat dried up. I drained half the bottle in a gulp. Jesus fucking Christ.

  “I also told him how nice it was you offered Hannah a ride today. You know, because you saw her uptown and all.”

  What a fucking nightmare. I drained the rest of the bottle.

  “Sit, O’Shea,” Richie barked. “I want you in on this.” He paused and gave me a hard glance. “If you think you’re man enough for a challenge.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.” I found the only empty seat and sat.

  Richie sat forward in his seat. “I have a few things to go over before tomorrow.”

  Chapter Twenty-two: Hannah

  Despite what Richie had told me, I knew he would never keep his word. He would use any infraction to raid my possessions again. My courier services wouldn’t matter at all. It was just a way to control me, to make me cautious about any move I made and to hold any information I heard to myself. Who exactly did he think I would tell about his business? It wasn’t like I ran in circles where illegal activities were frowned upon. I didn’t even have a circle, and that admission made something die inside of me.

  I longed to go downstairs and talk to Danny. His offer of help this afternoon had touched my heart, even though I knew they were only words. He could do nothing to help me—not with my life, my finances, or with Richie’s dominance. I’d been trapped the moment my father’s will had been read. Everything to Richie, nothing to me.

  My future rested in my hands alone—and I’d finally figured that out.

  I sat at my desk and stared at my collection of flash drives. Courses I’d already completed in business, hospitality, human resources, marketing, and my half-finished course in accounting. My future rested in these pieces of plastic. Yes, I knew the lessons by heart, but these drives were tangible proof of the progress I’d made toward someday owning my own restaurant. Not a strip club or a fancy five-star place. I wanted a tavern or a neighborhood bar and grill, something friendly and fun, filled with nice people who cared about other nice people. Lately I’d been toying with the idea of an Irish pub, but that was probably Danny’s influence. O’Shea’s Pub had a nice ring to it, but there were those dreams again coming up to bite me in the ass.

  Still, these little pieces of plastic were my talismans, symbols of my hopes for the future. I hated that Richie had even touched them. They’d become insignificant to me now, tainted somehow, but I would keep them because they offered a bit of camouflage for what really mattered now.

  I swept them up and put them all into my purse, along with another one. Richie could never be trusted, but he was often impulsive. He’d forced me into playing a part in his latest endeavor so he could gain back control of my life, but I never blindly walked into anything. Richie thought he saw everything, but when it came to me, he wore blinders. I was just Hannah, his day-shift manager, a woman like so many others in the neighborhood, to be used, abused, ignored, or forgotten.

  He was wrong about me.

  I knew what he planned, and I knew who was involved. I’d read all the messages. I’d kept copies of all of them, both for myself, as well as passing the information on to someone I thought I could trust. No matter how things went down, I had proof of this conspiracy in case I needed leverage for something in the future.

  Richie continually underestimated me. For a smart man, he really wasn’t all that bright when it came to me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three: Danny

  As I hit the sidewalk in front of the club, I glanced up at the windows of Hannah’s apartment. A dim light shone through the window shade. Four thirty in the morning and she was awake. Part of me wanted to go back inside and up those stairs. The other part said I had work to do and couldn’t allow distractions.

  Work had always won out when in conflict with personal. Shit, if I were honest, I had no real personal, at least none I hadn’t grown up with. This level of personal, of truly caring for someone who wasn’t a Dutton, was a new thing for me. I began to wonder how any cop balanced work with a happy, normal life. Maybe they didn’t. Maybe that was why so many cops were divorced.

  I waited until I was back in my stifling hellhole to make the call. The really hot temps had finally broken, but my apartment hadn’t gotten the weather report. It must have been a thousand degrees in there. I grabbed a bottle of tepid water out of the fridge and drank half of it before I sat on the ratty couch and dialed the number, the one that would signal the go.

  “Domino’s Pizza,” the familiar voice said. “May I take your order?”

  “Armored car hit,” I said. “Tomorrow, one o’clock.”

  The line was silent for a second. “Money? Bearer bonds?”

  “No, that’s the odd part. Our friend is branching out and breaking into jewel heists.” We never used Richie Silvestri’s name on cellphones. He was always “our friend”.

  “Lots of value there. Could be hard to fence though. Our friend is one of the few criminal elements in the city without ties to import-export.”

  “Maybe this is his way in. He likes his fingers in all sorts of pots. Great diversifier.”

  “Still, though, he doesn’t have those contacts yet.”

  “I got the vibe he was the logistics and the distribution was someone else’s problem. He is probably in on the action for a hefty cut, to get his name out there and cash in later. He’s a young guy. Plenty of time to get in the game.”

  “So, what’s the target?”

  “The Field Museum’s been showcasing unique diamonds and jewelry, and part of the collection is on loan. The exhibit ended last weekend. All of the local items are being returned to their owners.”

  “Are we lucky enough to have that list?”

  “No. But I expect you can get it from the museum.”

  “Have any idea how many homes are involved, what neighborhoods?”

  “No, though I’m pretty sure none of them are mine.”

  My commander chuckled. “I’ll get the list.” I heard the click of a lighter over the line then a heavy breath as he exhaled. “Tell me you have the company name.”

  “Our friend is being stingy with the actual details until it’s time to get into the van, but I have a guess.”

  I filled my commander in on how I’d followed our friend’s sister to Armor Security. I only had to listen to several minutes about letting pussy distract me from my assignment, and I took it with grace. I knew I’d fucked up, but I also knew my fuck-up had led to some pretty good intel.

  “I’ll get eyes on them as of right now,” he said. There was a pause, and I waited, knowing what was coming. “This girl part of it?”

  “If you want to know if he used her, then yes. If you want to know if she was doing something illegal, then I don’t know the answer to that. A messenger doesn’t always know the message, but she looked pretty spooked. I think, though, I can guarantee she’s not directly involved and will play no other parts in the heist.”

  “Are you requesting immunity for her?”

  I sighed. “Not exactly. Not yet. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m just bringing it up for discussion.” I didn’t know the extent of Hannah’s involvement. Not really. “I guess I’m saying if she’s an innocent pawn being coerced, then yes.”

  “There are a lot of ifs in your thought pro
cess.”

  “WE don’t really discuss our friend’s business dealings.”

  “I imagine not,” he murmured.

  “But if things work in our favor, I might be able to convince her to testify.”

  “How much do you think she knows?”

  Jesus. How much did Hannah know?

  Good question. I had no fucking idea. I suspected she knew more than Richie thought she did, but probably not enough to bring him down. If, however, we brought him down, any details Hannah had would just nail that fucking coffin shut.

  “I can’t answer that for sure,” I said, “but I suspect as much as any one person knows with the exception of our friend’s right hand man.”

  “Is he part of this plan?”

  “Yes, because—”

  I snapped my mouth shut. My blood started to boil. Here was that personal bullshit rising up. Damn. I drank the rest of the water in gulps.

  “Because why?”

  “I’m pretty sure our friend is offering up his little sister as incentive to his right hand, probably on a fucking silver platter.”

  “She happy about that?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Should I guess how you feel about it?”

  “Please don’t.”

  “This is dangerous territory, you know that. You’ve seen it happen before. Cop falls for girl. Girl’s bad. Cop takes a fall—and that’s the lucky outcome. Sometimes he falls so hard he doesn’t get back up. My advice—don’t go there. It’s a been-there-done-that scenario you can’t win.”

  “I’m already wearing the T-shirt, boss,” I muttered.

  “Then you need to rip that fucker off,” he said forcefully. “I’ll have teams in place tomorrow. How many players involved in this?”

  “Five including me.”

  “Hopefully there won’t be more than a couple of drop-off locations and I can stack the deck in our favor at each scene. Our eyes on the armored car will be in contact with all teams in the event they detour. Think there’s a chance of that?”