Kayla held a finger to her lips and pointed to the window, motioning for me to open it. I did, still half expecting it to be locked, in spite of her assurances that she'd unlocked it earlier. It gave way without issue, and I jerked my chin to gesture her through. She climbed over the sill and lowered herself into the small office. I followed her in a second later.
The space was sparsely furnished and our eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that we were able to get through the space quickly, but we both halted for a long moment at the door to the hallway. My heart kicked like a bass drum and we locked eyes.
This was it.
The one moment in the entire plan where we literally had no control over the situation. There was a camera at the center of the hall sweeping back and forth over the area. From Kayla’s calculations, we knew that the entire sweep took eighteen seconds from one end of the hall to the other before doubling back again. For four of those seconds, the office door we were standing behind would be in view.
Our whole plan was riding on the hope that, when we finally decided to open the door, it was during any of the other fourteen seconds. We’d attempted to time it out precisely based on some notes about the location of the camera at various points in the day, but each pass was off by a fraction of a second, throwing off our math enough that it was a total crap shoot at this point.
I said a silent prayer that the gods gave us one more reach-around here, and held up a finger to start the count to three. I’d barely gotten to two when Kayla went rogue, palmed the knob and tugged the door open. Before I could even process what had happened, she was grabbing at my hand and yanking me into the hallway.
“Go, go, go!” she hissed.
We dashed the few steps to the next door, and she fumbled with the key she had chained around her neck.
“How long?” she whispered furiously as she finally got it loose and jammed it into the lock.
I looked over my shoulder up at the little mechanical alien head panning the area, which seemed to speed up with every passing moment.
“Eight seconds. Maybe less.”
I kept my tone as calm as possible, knowing she was going as fast as she could and not wanting to add pressure. When the camera was pointed straight at the office door we’d come in through, though, I tapped the small of her back. “That’s it. Out of time. Let’s run down the hallway and wait in the stairwell until-”
Click.
The door swung wide and we piled in. I closed it behind me with what I hoped was a second to spare.
“Holy shit,” she murmured, gasping for air.
I gave her a curt nod in agreement, trying to hear over the rush of blood pounding in my ears. No alarms sounded. No footsteps thumping up the staircase.
Okay, so the most dangerous part was over, and it looked like we were in the clear so far. Now all we had to do was find some dirt on Mick. Even if it wasn’t conclusive, if we could just get something juicy enough for the DA to issue a warrant, that would be a win.
With Kayla working there, they wouldn’t even question how she’d come across the evidence. And once they got in the door, they’d surely find all sorts of shady dealings going on. Hopefully enough to tie Mick up for a very long time.
We didn’t celebrate our mini-victory very long, though. Kayla headed straight for Mick’s computer. She’d gone into his office earlier in the week and asked him a question she’d known he would need to access his computer to answer, and then watched as he’d entered his password. As it stood, she was pretty sure he’d typed in the word “Boston”, but if it was alphanumeric, she hadn’t caught the number portion. We just had to hope it was that simple. If not, then we’d forget the computer and work strictly from the paper files.
While she booted up the PC, I got to work taping a large piece of black construction paper over the back window to block any light from exiting in case one of the goons did an unscheduled walk of the grounds. Once I was done, I flipped on my tiny flashlight and moved to stand next to Kayla.
A second later, the room was bathed in an eerie glow as the PC flared to life.
"Wish me luck," she whispered.
I watched, my stomach in knots, as she tapped on the keyboard and then paused.
“Shit,” she muttered. “Not it.”
“Try it with the number one after it,” I murmured. It made all kind of sense to me—he loved his home town like crazy—but apparently it didn’t make sense to Mick, because the computer spat it right back out.
“Nope, and we only have one more shot. After that, it’s going to lock me out.”
She didn’t need to say the rest of it. And if that happens, we’re fucked.
We’d already decided what to do if this happened. Rather than risk it and raise suspicions when Mick got an error message the next morning about exceeding his login attempts, we’d abort and move on. But something inside me wouldn’t let it go.
I closed my eyes and tried to think. Boston…
“Is he a big baseball fan?”
She nodded. “Yeah, huge.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood up and I leaned closer. “Try Boston and then the numbers two, zero, one, three.”
She hesitated but then slowly began to type in the characters. She faced me, finger hovering over the enter button, and winced. “Here goes.” Then she pressed it.
Time stood still for that moment until, suddenly, the screen flashed and Mick’s home page filled the empty space.
I sucked in a breath through my teeth as some of the tension flowed out of my shoulders. Jesus, that had been scary.
Kayla held her hand out for a high five. “Awesome.” She was breathless and I could see the relief in her eyes in the dim light. “Last World Series win in twenty thirteen. You’re a genius. I never would’ve thought of that.”
I smiled at her and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Let’s just hope it nets us something.”
Her smile dimmed and she was all business again. Determined and focused. “Let’s hope.” She turned her attention back to the screen as I faced the squat file cabinet and drew open the top drawer. According to Kayla, this was where all the real dirt got swept.
When I saw the sheer amount of paper, my spirits took a nosedive even as my adrenaline spiked. There were half a million sheets in just the one drawer. Maybe more. How were we going to find what we needed in the short time we had? Especially since the folders weren’t labeled in a way that made sense. Rather than being alphabetical, they had numbers on them, and seemed to be in totally random order.
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying to think it through. We couldn't give up now. Not after all this. If we failed, it couldn't be for lack of trying.
I shoved aside my concerns and stared down at the manila folders, willing them to offer up some guidance. If only one of them would start glowing or something...
I tugged the first one from the row-- 011396-- and laid it on top. With a flip of my fingers, I opened it and began to leaf through the contents. On top sat a hand-written receipt signed by Jimmy “The Face” Riley for $15,000. Beneath that, a bullet point list with dates and times, along with little notes.
10.12.2010 4:41 PM Contacted LMF, mentioned job in Queens went south. Sent Bobby for a talk.
10.31.2010 11:57 PM Drunk, called and left message for ex about getting out of the game. Sell some secrets and they can run away to Paris.
11.5.2010 early AM 50 large missing from numbers run. Called it in.
I set that file down and picked up the next, an icy sense of certainty forming a ball in my belly as I read on.
Hits.
Both of them. No question about it. But there was no indication of who the victim was or when and where it had happened. If we could get this in front of a judge, what could come of it? Even with names, it was all circumstantial and half in code. Without a name to tie it all together? It was useless.
Maybe, if the police were willing to work with us, we could use those dates and match them up with missing
persons reports or unsolved murders. Of course, that was assuming the hits even happened in Boston. Mickey had his fingers in a lot of pies and they weren’t all on the east coast.
“Ten more minutes before he does the next walk through,” Kayla whispered.
I flipped through the folders, letting my fingers riffle across the tops, hoping something brilliant would come to me.
And then I saw it. 060993.
Heart hammering in my chest, I reached for the folder, yanking it from its space with a shaking hand. With a silent prayer under my breath, I thumbed the cover open and a thick stack of receipts fell into my hands. Most were signed by one Roxanne James. They seemed to be in varying amounts, all small, all monthly. I picked through to the last one, which was the odd man out.
Twenty-five thousand dollars, signed by DeeDee and Calvin Reynolds.
Not random numbers. Dates. This was Kayla’s file. 06.09.93 was her birth date. The receipts in the folder must have been Mick’s version of child support. And the money to her Aunt and Uncle? Dated right about the time she’d been shipped off there to live when her mother went to jail.
Payoff money.
"What was your mother's date of birth?" I hissed urgently, so close now and so afraid it would slip through my fingers that I felt like the devil himself was breathing down my neck.
"March eleventh, nineteen seventy-five. Why?"
It took a few minutes of shuffling around, but eventually, I found it. I dumped its contents onto the top of the file cabinet and looked down at it.
Staring back up at me was a tiny, wallet-sized photo of a woman who looked so much like Kayla, it was like a kick to the gut. Gorgeous, red curls cupped her high cheekbones, and her full lips were upturned in a winning smile. There was no question I was looking into the face of Roxanne James.
"I never saw her like that.”
I hadn’t realized that Kayla had moved to stand beside me, and she reached down and touched the photo with a trembling finger.
“In all my memories, she was broken down. Beat up. Tired all the time. Like she'd spent the past ten years in a wrestling match with life and had lost."
I laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Red. Jesus-”
A loud bang echoed down the hallway cutting off that train of thought, and I shot a glance at my watch. “He’s not supposed to be on the move for another five minutes.”
She grabbed the folder, stuffed its contents back inside, and plucked up the other two that were left out. Then she stuck the stack of them into the waistband of her pants before whirling around, fumbling with the PC. “Straighten the rest of the files and make sure it looks neat.”
The plan had been to take pictures of any damning evidence on the off chance that Mick went looking for something, he wouldn’t find it missing. Taking the file outright-- especially that one-- would guarantee that, if he did get suspicious and go looking, he’d know exactly who was responsible for it being missing. Apparently, we were both done giving a shit.
If this went south, we were fucked. Until then?
We were all in.
Kayla turned off the PC and pocketed her flash drive as I straightened the folders and slid the drawer shut as quietly as I could. By tacit agreement, we both flipped off our flashlights and held our breath. As long as we stayed quiet, there was no reason to worry. He’d do his walk up and down the hall and then head up to the third floor.
Kayla took a step closer to me and I slung my arm around her waist. “Everything is okay,” I murmured in her ear.
Her hair tickled my chin as she nodded. It was tense as hell, but a minute later, the stairwell door banged a second time and we both let out a breath.
Until we got to look at everything in Roxanne’s file and whatever Kayla had managed to get from Mick’s computer, there was no way of knowing if we had what we needed, but one thing was for sure.
It was time to go.
The guards changed in half an hour. When they did, the new outdoor guard would do a quick loop around outside. We needed to be out of there before then, with all our stuff and the fire escape stairs back up the way they usually were.
We’d already stayed longer than we should have, and had one surprise. I wasn’t about to wait around for another.
“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered, taking Kayla’s icy hand in mine.
We’d given it our all. Now we just had to hope it was enough.
Chapter Five
Kayla
My legs were still shaking by the time we got back to Matty’s truck, but I’d managed to keep it together, and for that much I was grateful. He’d already seen a lifetime’s worth of tears from me. The last thing he needed was another round.
Besides, I should have been thrilled. The night could’ve ended up a total nightmare. We were out, we were alive, and we had what looked like a very promising start in the effort to collect some damning evidence against Mick.
Evidence that very well might prove he was responsible for murdering my mother.
I bit my lip hard and kept my gaze trained on the windshield.
“I’m so proud of you, Red. You held up like a champ.”
“You too.” I worked up a shaky smile and shifted in my seat, causing the file folders stuffed down my pants to scrape against the tender skin of my stomach. I was tempted to yank them out and paw through them even as we drove. Imagining all the things that could be in the one about me was driving me bat-shit.
“Let’s wait, okay?” Matty said softly.
I didn’t even bother to argue, knowing he was probably right. The night had been an emotional rollercoaster and I still didn’t have my land legs back. Waiting until I was on more stable ground before I poked that wound any harder was probably a good idea. That photo had nearly done me in.
“I can’t go home.”
I hadn’t even realized I felt that way until the words were out, but as soon as they were, I knew it was true. The thought of going back to the apartment that Mick had basically paid for over the past ten years…the apartment filled with memories of Christmas visits and birthday dinners?
“I can’t stay there,” I whispered.
How could I? Because right on the heel of those fond memories with Mick was the one of my mother in prison, the last time I saw her before she passed. She’d lost so much weight, her skin hung from her bones like wax melting from a candle. Her pink scalp was punctuated by patchy clumps of hair that she’d tried in vain to comb into some version of a style. I remembered wishing she would just shave it all off. Somehow the sad little tufts made her look even sicker.
The idea that Mick was behind that made my stomach pitch with revulsion. What kind of person could do that to another? Resign them to months of suffering? She may not have been mother of the year, but she didn’t deserve that. No one did.
“I don’t feel like going home either,” Matty said finally. “So let’s go somewhere, get a room and we can spread this stuff out on the floor and see what we’ve got. Or not. We can stop at a diner, order mounds of pancakes to go, and sit on the bed and watch terrible movies until we fall asleep. And then, tomorrow, we can face this again after we’ve had a chance to come down.”
We reached a stoplight and he turned my way, his expression solemn.
“You tell me what you want to do, Red, because I will do just about anything to make you feel even a little less sad.”
The desire to touch him was almost overwhelming then, but I resisted. I’d jerked him around enough emotionally and I wasn’t about to make it worse because I wanted him to comfort me. The truth was, he’d said he loved me, and as much as I knew I loved him too, I had nothing beyond that to give right now. I could barely get out of bed and function since this had all started, and the way I was feeling, it was hard to see how I ever would.
I just hurt so much, it took my breath away.
So how to deal with the problem at hand. I couldn’t go home. I didn’t want to be alone. But taking Matty up on his offer
to basically babysit me through this seemed unnecessarily cruel.
“I’m realizing now, as we’re sitting here, that I lied,” he said, facing front as the light turned green again. “When I said I’d do almost anything, there’s one thing I won’t do. I’m not going to leave you by yourself tonight. I will sleep on the floor next to you. Hell, I’ll sit outside the room on a chair. But where you go, I go. At least for tonight.”
His tone was so matter of fact, I didn’t question his conviction. He was stubborn. Almost as stubborn as I was, and he meant every word he’d said.
Those confounded tears welled up again and I choked back a sob. Leave it to sweet, ornery, cocky, fabulous Matthias McDaniels to stomp my reservations into dust like the knight in battle-tested armor he was.
“Okay, then,” I said. “Let’s go to the hotel on Cornerstone Road. They have twenty-four hour room service. We can get our pancakes there.”
He popped off a little salute and shot me a smile. “You got it.”
It was a short ride to the hotel and when we got there, I was relieved to see the green Vacancy sign lit. It wasn’t fancy-- a tall building in beige faux-brick-- but it was clean and reasonably priced. A fine place to lay our heads down and hide from the world after a hell of a night.
We checked in without issue and took the elevator to the eighth floor. Our room was a little dated with its paisley comforter and mauve walls, but boasted a huge flat-screen TV and a bed big enough to fit us both without us ever having to even come close to touching.
I shoved aside the twinge of disappointment at that and sucked in a breath. “How about I order the food and you grab some ice and a couple of waters from the vending machine?”
Weird, whether it was the sudden dip in adrenaline or relief at the reprieve from having to face the rest of this tonight and alone, I was famished and dying of thirst.
“Sure. Make my pancakes chocolate chip.”
I eyed him disapprovingly, knowing he expected it, and he laughed. “Back on egg whites and fruit tomorrow, boss. Promise.”
Trust Me: Matty and Kayla, Book 3 of 3 (The McDaniels Brothers 7) Page 4