by Koontz, Rena
But what if that son of a bitch Tony DelMorrie stood before her, the man who had virtually ruined her life? If he stood in front of her threatening Clay’s life or terrorizing Maggie and Jack, or if he screamed that he would end hers like he did the day she fled the convenience station? Could she pull the trigger then? She’d resolved that he wouldn’t push her around anymore, that he wouldn’t keep her in the dark. She reminded herself that enough was enough. She squeezed her eyes shut and envisioned Amber, smiling, laughing, wiping sandwich sauce from her lips. Her heart tugged.
“Cassidy, answer me.”
Instead, she raised the unloaded gun to the window, balanced her right hand in her left palm in a steady grip, and slowly squeezed the trigger. The decisive click cut through the anxiety in the room.
“Don’t worry Clay.” She inhaled, renewing her resolve. “If I have to, I will.”
• • •
The little shit had better be kidding. “What do you mean you lost her? You’re shittin’ me, right?”
Johnny Tanzini imagined Mittens squirming on the other end of the phone. He shoulda known better than to leave this kind of job to the manboy and some sweaty goombah he didn’t know.
“Our info was solid, Boss. But they didn’t get off the plane. Maybe she got sick or somethin’. Tony says he got eyes on every flight settin’ down in Arizona, and we got our guys watchin’ every plane coming back here.”
“Yeah, well, Tony has been followin’ her all over the freakin’ United States and he ain’t caught her yet. I don’t put much stock in his abilities.”
“I hear ya, Boss. I know you ain’t happy, but look at it this way: they ain’t got no place to go but back home. That’s where we control the situation. No fuckin’ pansies from the West Coast interferin’.”
“I hear ya. But I ain’t whackin’ a cop, you hear me? Just her. She’s the target. You kill a cop, we’ll have every freakin’ police agency all over us, includin’ the legit businesses. He’s off limits. Tell me you understand, Mittens. Tell me you ain’t gonna fuck this up.”
“I hear ya, Boss. Just her in the crosshairs. Got it.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
His pinging phone vibrating on the nightstand awakened them. Cassidy sat up, pulling the sheet and blanket to her shoulders. She slept in her panties and one of Clay’s T-shirts, having sent most of her clothes to the laundry. The shirt bunched around her waist.
Clay reached for his cell, which cast the only light in the darkened room, touched the screen, and smiled. He turned the screen to Cassidy.
“E.T. Go home!”
“Is it from Dan?”
Clay checked the screen. “No, it’s from Maggie. Something is still wrong. But something must be right or she wouldn’t have sent this text.”
“Are you going to answer?”
“No. Go back to sleep.”
“Does it mean we go back home tomorrow?”
Clay snuggled under the covers and plopped his arm over her bare thighs, pulling himself along side of her, electrifying every nerve ending in her body. “No. It’s the code to go to the safe house.”
“Where is the safe house?”
“You’ll see tomorrow. Go back to sleep.”
“Will you stay there with me?”
He raised his head from the pillow and stared at her through the darkness. “Of course I’ll be there with you. Why would you ask that?”
She slid down into the covers, pulling them to her chin. “I keep waiting for you to turn me over to someone else, Clay. That would be the safe, smart thing to do.”
He pulled her closer, dropping his left leg over both of hers. “No one ever accused me of being smart. I’ve got too much invested in you to turn you over to someone else. You feel incredible under these covers and it’s all I can do to keep from rolling on top of you right now and making love to you. I’m not letting that go. Go to sleep, hon. It’s going to be fine now.”
• • •
Lauren shuddered when her elbows stuck to the plastic red and white checkered tablecloth. Mittens had commanded this meeting at Ron’s Ragu Room, an Italian restaurant in a section of town she never ventured to. She doubted all four wheels would be intact on her Mercedes when she returned to it. The waiter lugged a gallon jug of the house red to her table and handed her an oversized menu encased in vinyl, just as sticky as the tabletop. She ordered the rigatoni, just as Mittens specified, and an iced tea, passing on the wine. Her taste ran toward, dry, fine cabernets, not brewed-in the-backroom-by-the-barrel concoctions. Besides, she needed to keep her head clear.
She inwardly grimaced when she saw Mittens bounce in the door, nodding and shaking hands at every table, but forced a smile and pasted it on her face. He acted like a movie star greeting his fans, patting the men on the back and kissing the women on each cheek, throwing his head back to laugh loudly and too often. There was something to be said about being a big fish in a small pond, but someone needed to tell Mittens he was a minnow in a fishbowl. Definitely small time.
Surveying the food on her table, he smiled. “Whaddaya think? Ain’t it the best rigatoni you ever ate?”
She smiled, remixed the sauce-covered noodles of the untouched entrée with her fork, and nodded. “This place is fantastic. A well-kept secret.”
His head bobbed. “Yeah. You’re right.”
Automatically, a waiter brought him a tumbler of wine. Mittens drank half of it, smacked his lips, and pulled out a chair. “Let’s git down to business. Did you bring your wallet?”
She cocked her head and smirked. “Not so fast, Mittens. The last time we talked, you didn’t know where she was. I told you, no money until I see some results.”
He nodded and bobbed his head. “I know, I know, we had some complications. But that’s all changed. My source in the police department came through for me. In fact, your ex and,” he paused, glanced from side to side and cleared his throat, “your friend should be arriving at a designated location even as we speak.”
“Where?”
“Ah, I can’t reveal the exact address. But it’s what they call a safe house. Actually, it’s not too far from here.”
She leveled her gaze at him. “And do you have a plan?”
He grinned stupidly and spread his palms wide. “Of course I do. But it’s better if you don’t know the details.”
“I’m paying for the details,” Lauren snapped. “Tell me.”
The price was twenty thousand. Lauren would have gladly doubled that to extinguish Clay’s little slut. She wasn’t convinced this little man could pull it off even as she slipped Mittens a bulky envelope. “Half now. Half when I read the obituary.”
He dipped his head in acknowledgement, salivating as he eyed the packet but smart enough not to grab for it and gawk at its contents.
“When this is all done, why don’t you and me have a celebration dinner here together? We make a pretty good team, I think.”
A shudder snaked down her spine. She wanted a shower the minute she got home. His expression was ludicrous, his eyes twinkling and the grin dissecting his little face into two tinier halves. She’d like to laugh out loud but she didn’t dare offend him. Not yet.
She smiled the phony sophisticated smile she’d perfected in her teens. “We’ll see. How soon do you think you will complete our business arrangement?” The quicker she could hurt Cassidy and console Clay over his loss, the better. She’d already fantasized about their reunion after she offered him an understanding shoulder to cry on.
“Soon. I’ll reach out to you. Meantime, you enjoy the rest of the meal. They give ya a lot, don’t they? Take it home. It’s just as good warmed up the next day. Don’t worry ‘bout the check. Dinner is on me.”
“I’ve eaten way too much already,” she said, rising with her clutch in her hand. “I’ll wait to h
ear from you.”
Mittens stood as well, clucked like a chicken, and winked. “Later, babe.” She felt his eyes on her back as she exited the restaurant, along with most of the men sitting at the other tables. She was beautiful and she knew it. She had more class than anyone in that place. Now all she needed was Clay.
• • •
Mittens bounced through the double doors into the kitchen, his cheeks hurting from the face-splitting grin he couldn’t suppress. Ten thousand smackers nestled safely in his suit jacket. He’d picked up the envelope like it was nothing, cool as a cucumber, like he handled that kind of dough everyday and smoothly slid it inside his coat. Then he’d winked at Lauren and watched her tight ass walk out the door. Like nothin’. The bulging bills rested against his heart, generating a bulge of another sort. Man, it was like takin’ candy from a baby. As soon as one of the boys called from the safe house to say Cassidy and the cop were there, boom! Ten thousand more buckos in his hands.
Johnny Tanzini nixed his original idea to whack Cassidy when she got out of the car. Too noisy and too risky, he decided. Instead, they’d cut the power lines to the house. While the cop was in the basement checking the circuit box, they’d sneak in the unlocked back door wearing their high-tech night vision goggles and find her. Mittens liked this plan better. It was more exciting, more like something Al Capone would do. He just had to bide his time and wait for the phone call. What the hell was takin’ so long? They shoulda been there by now.
Patting the envelope inside his coat reassuringly, he emerged from his small pantry office and returned to the dining area. He looked up like he always did when the hinges on the front door squealed and then froze, caught in a moment of surprise, uncertainty, and fear all in the same instant. Long blond hair, fat glasses and a coat she could swim in — Cassidy Hoake. The guy beside her was enormous, ten times bigger than the picture he’d seen in Johnny Tanzini’s office, but it was him, Lauren Cestra’s ex. Clay Cestra surveyed the dining area and nudged Cassidy toward a booth against the wall.
Mittens jumped back behind the kitchen door and observed them through the crack. Cassidy reached for a menu, speaking unheard words. The cop surveyed the room, assessing every table with narrowed eyes like some giant overlooking the land below.
Mittens snatched a wet towel from the sink and strolled through the swinging doors, putting his hand to the kid’s chest heading toward the table to stop him. “I got this one.” He bounced to the table for his first up-close look at them both, as lightheaded as if he was high on drugs.
“Hi, welcome to Ron’s Ragu Room. Can I start you off with some house wine?”
Through the fog in his brain he saw the cop focus on his face, saw Cassidy’s lips moving as if in slow motion, and realized her words sounded distorted in his ears. Involuntarily, he stepped one pace backward. He should drop the towel, reach to his ankle holster and come up shooting, firing his automatic right in the big guy’s face. Two pops and then the girl. Bang! Bang! Deader than roadkill.
But Johnny Tanzini had declared the cop off limits and this restaurant was one of his semi-legitimate businesses. He wouldn’t appreciate a table shooting, especially not one involving an off-duty police officer, and Tanzini likely would not understand if Mittens argued there was no way to get to the girl without wiping out the behemoth, too.
His lifetime goal was to become a made-man, to be accepted into the Tanzini family, but this wasn’t the way to do it. No, a public execution like this would surely backfire.
“Are you all right?” the cop asked.
What the hell, he was in a stupor. The room spun and his legs had morphed to rubber, his chest so tight he could barely breathe. “Yeah, sorry. For a minute I thought I recognized you.” Jesus, his voice cracked like a girl’s. “How are ya doin’ tonight? Can I recommend the rigatoni? It’s the best. What can I get for youze?”
The cop eyed him, making him feel inadequate. Three shots, that’s all it would take.
“I’ll have some coffee,” he said. “I’d like some iced tea, please,” she added.
“Comin’ right up. I’ll give you some time to look over the menu.” He pivoted and sauntered toward the drink station, his heart thrumming in his ears. He needed to call Tony. Right now.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Clay twisted in the bench seat, following the waiter’s disappearance through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. What was that about?
“What’s the matter?” Cassidy whispered.
A bus boy arrived with paper placemats and silverware and Clay turned back to face her.
“Is everything all right?” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and waited for him to answer.
Something about that guy bothered him. Or was he so mentally fatigued, he’d turned the corner from protective caretaker to obsessive companion? After all, they were in a public restaurant in a part of town Cassidy had never been to. The chances of someone recognizing her were nil. Still, something about that guy was out of sync.
“Clay? Is everything all right?” she asked again.
“Yes. Just getting paranoid, I guess. What are you going to order?”
But it wasn’t paranoia, it was that sixth sense. That waiter’s hand trembled when he ran the wet cloth across the table. His voice warbled when he spoke. “I thought I recognized you,” he said. Recognized who? Cassidy or him? From where? The guy resembled some knock-off hoodlum.
The bus boy returned with their drinks. “What’ll you have?”
“Where’s the other waiter?” Clay asked.
The kid shrugged. “In the back, I guess. This is my station anyway.”
Clay straightened his shoulders and nodded toward Cassidy. She ordered a pasta dish and salad. “Make that two.” He followed the waiter’s path to the kitchen, looking away only after he’d moved through the swinging doors, and then turned to find Cassidy staring at him intently.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“I can’t put my finger on it, Cass.” He pressed his neck muscles between his thumb and forefinger, squeezing to relieve the pressure. “I’m at a loss as to why in the hell we haven’t heard from Dan. He should know better than to go silent like this for so long. We’re defenseless, hanging out here like sitting ducks.”
“That brick house we drove past three times, was that the safe house?” she asked. “Is that where we were supposed to go?” He nodded.
“Why didn’t we go in? Isn’t that what Dan’s message said to do?” Heavy circles ringed her eyes and the strain of the day creased her forehead. He wasn’t helping, dragging her to this restaurant without explanation, keeping her in the dark. But he got spooked when he didn’t see the signal to enter the house. Not knowing where to go and realizing they were both tired and hungry, he’d opted for this neighborhood eatery. Maybe he should have driven them directly to the police station instead. Maybe exhaustion was coloring his judgment.
“There should have been a light on in the front room.” It was as simple as that, the tiniest hint that something was amiss.
“Maybe we were too early, or it burned out.”
“No, that’s not it, Cass. I can’t explain it, so don’t ask me.”
She offered a weak smile. “It’s okay, Clay. You’ll figure it out.”
There was her blind trust again, following his lead without question, putting her life in his hands. Had it been a mistake, thinking he could protect her like some one-man army instead of enlisting help from his fellow police officers? Had he wanted her to perceive him as her hero, the guy who swoops in and saves the day and, because of his ego, he’d put her in imminent danger instead? He eyed her, sitting patiently, returning his gaze, ready to blindly fight the unknown.
She had no doubts, why did he doubt himself? He was good at what he did and he’d never questioned his instincts before. This wasn’t the t
ime to start.
He glanced toward the round windows on the kitchen doors and saw the smaller waiter duck out of sight. Something definitely was not right.
“I’m sorry, Cass, but we’re not staying here. Get up as casually as you can when I signal and go straight to the car. I’ll be right behind you.”
She didn’t question him, just nodded, reached for her purse, and didn’t flinch when he eased the gun from the back of his waistband and concealed it in his pocket. On his signal, she slid from the seat and headed toward the door.
Clay followed, grabbing her elbow and pushing her to the car. He didn’t wait to open her door, just whispered “Hurry” and ran around to the driver’s side. Looking into the rearview mirror as he peeled out of the parking lot, he spotted the small waiter standing at the front of the restaurant, waving his arm and yelling into his phone.
They sped out onto the street and merged into traffic. Clay extracted his cell phone from his pocket and handed it to Cassidy. “Find the last number called. It should be Dan’s. Text this message: Jack jumped over the candlestick. Quickly, Cass.”
• • •
Her fingers trembled, working to betray her efforts to tap the letters on the screen, but she followed his instructions. A tiny whoosh indicated the message was delivered.
“Is it safe to text Dan?”
“Honey, I’m not sure what is safe anymore.”
All thoughts of dinner dissolved into her fear of the moment. Clay was driving too fast, clutching the steering wheel with both hands. Her mouth was dry, her throat tight, her chest caught in a vice-grip. The car zoomed along a street that seemed familiar. “Where are we going now?”
“We don’t have a choice, we have to return to the safe house. That message can only be issued from there. But we’re not going to stay at the house.”
Well, that was confusing. Why would they drive someplace they couldn’t stay? She didn’t dare ask. Clay looked like a madman behind the wheel, executing turns faster than he should and stepping on the accelerator at a yellow-lighted intersection to speed through it. And then just as suddenly, they slowed to a crawl and she recognized the cobblestone street where the safe house was located. At barely a two-mile-an-hour pace, the car eased down the street toward the driveway on the right side of the house. There were more cars parked along the curb than when they drove by earlier. Maybe more of the residents on the street were home now. Funny that they didn’t park in their driveways.