by J. R. Ward
Sure as shit in another couple of years, he was going to want something bigger and better than what he was building now and that was another thing he was coaching Baby-face Tom on: Tom was the one who was buying the duplex at the Commodore.
Nothing like bringing the next generation along.
Vin picked up the phone and called his lieutenant, prepared to advance the ball even farther with the Connecticut project.
“Thank you, ma’am. I think that’s all we need right now.”
Marie-Terese frowned and glanced at Trez, who was sitting next to her on one of the club’s velvet couches. As he uncrossed his legs as if he were getting ready to stand up, he seemed utterly unsurprised at how little time the questioning had taken—almost as if he’d prepped the police officer into keeping it short and sweet.
She looked back at the cop. “That’s it?”
The officer closed his notebook and rubbed his temple like it hurt. “Detective de la Cruz is in charge of the investigation and he might have more questions later, but you’re not a suspect or anything.” He nodded at Trez. “Thank you for cooperating.”
Trez smiled a little. “I’m sorry those security cameras weren’t working. Like I’ve said, I’ve been meaning to get them fixed for months now. I have a log of malfunctions that I’d be happy to show you, by the way.”
“Well, I’ll take a look at it, but…” The man rubbed his left eye. “But as you say, you have nothing to hide.”
“Not a thing. Let me see her out first and then we’ll go to my office?”
“Sure. I’ll wait here.”
As Marie-Terese walked off with Trez and they headed down the back hallway, she said quietly, “I can’t believe they aren’t going any further with this. I don’t know why I even needed to come.”
Trez opened the rear door and put his hand on her shoulder. “I told you I would take care of things.”
“And you really did.” Her eyes searched the parking lot and she hesitated in the doorway. “So you saw that Vin came by.”
“That his name?”
“It’s what he said it was.”
“He makes you uneasy.”
On a lot of levels. “You don’t suppose he and his friend—”
“Killed those guys? Nope.”
“How can you be so sure?” She got her car keys out of her pocketbook. “I mean, you don’t know them. They could have gone back and…”
Except even as she said the words, she didn’t believe them: She couldn’t imagine Vin and his friend being the killer or killers. They’d fought with those boys, sure, but they’d done that to protect her and had stopped before they seriously hurt them. Besides, Vin had been with her right afterward in the locker room.
Although God only knew exactly when the shootings had occurred.
Trez leaned in and gently stroked her cheek. “Stop it. You don’t have to worry about Vin or his buddy. I get feelings about people and I’m always right.”
She frowned. “I don’t believe those security cameras are broken. You’d never put up with that—”
“Those two guys took care of you when I wasn’t here. And so I take care of them.” Trez put his arm around her and walked her over to her car. “You see your Vin again, tell him not to worry about anything. I’ve got his back.”
Marie-Terese blinked in the bright cold sunlight. “He’s not mine.”
“Of course not.”
She stared up at Trez. “How can you be so certain—”
“Stop worrying and trust me. When it comes to you, that man’s heart is not dark.”
After everything she had been through, Marie-Terese had learned not to put her faith in what was said to her. What she listened to was the security alarm in the center of her chest—and as she looked into Trez’s eyes, her inner warning bell was utterly silent: He knew exactly what he was talking about. She didn’t have a clue how, but then Trez had ways, as they said…ways of finding things out and fixing problems and taking care of business.
So yeah, the police weren’t going to see anything he didn’t want them to. And Vin hadn’t killed those two boys.
Unfortunately that pair of convictions gave her only a measure of relief.
He’s coming for you….
Trez unlocked her door for her and then gave her back her keys. “I want you to take tonight off. This is tough stuff.”
She got in, but before starting the engine, she glanced up and spoke her greatest fear. “Trez, what if those killings have something to do with me. What if someone saw them with me, someone other than Vin? What if…they were shot because of me.”
Her boss’s eyes grew sharp, like he knew every single thing she had never told him. “And who in your life would do such a thing.”
He’s coming for you….
God, Trez knew about Mark. He had to. And yet Marie-Terese forced herself to say, “No one. I don’t know anyone who would do that.”
Trez’s stare narrowed like he didn’t appreciate the lie, but was willing to respect it. “Well, you decide to answer that in a different way, you can come to me for help. And even if you decide to pull out of town, I need to know if that’s the why.”
“Okay,” she heard herself say.
“Good.”
“But I’ll be back at ten tonight.” She pulled her seat belt across her chest. “I need to work.”
“I won’t argue with you, but I don’t agree with you. Just remember, you see your Vin, you tell him I got his back.”
“He’s not mine.”
“Right. Drive carefully.”
Marie-Terese shut her door, forced the Camry to start, and turned around. As she came out on Trade, she put her hand in the pocket of her fleece.
Vin diPietro’s card was exactly where she’d put it after she’d found it tucked in her duffel, and as she got his information out, she thought of the way he’d looked this morning with his beaten up face and his smart, concerned eyes.
It felt odd to realize she was frightened more by what he might know, and not of what he might be.
The thing was, she was a Scully kind of girl, a nonbeliever in all that X Files–esque stuff. She didn’t believe in horoscopes, much less…much less whatever could turn a grown man into some kind of channel for…yeah, whatever. She didn’t believe in that.
At least, not usually.
The trouble was, after having spent most of the night replaying what had happened in the locker room with him, she wondered if it was possible that something you didn’t believe in could in fact be real: He’d been terrified in the midst of that trance, and unless he’d pulled off an Oscar-worthy performance today, he honestly had no clue what he’d said to her and he was honestly worried about what it all meant.
Taking her cell phone out of her purse, she dialed the number at the bottom of his card that didn’t have cell or fax written next to it. Except as the ringing started, she remembered it was Saturday, and if this was the office number, she was going to get voice mail. What could she say?
Hi, I’m the prostitute Mr. diPietro helped out last night and I’m calling to reassure him that my pimp is going to take care of everything. He doesn’t have to worry about those two dead bodies in the alley.
Perfect. Just the kind of a Post-it note he’d want his assistant sticking to his desk.
She dropped the phone from her ear and put her thumb over the end button—
“Hello?” came a male voice.
She scrambled to get the cell back into place. “Hello? Ah…I’m looking for Mr. di—”
“Marie-Terese?”
Oh, that deep voice was dangerous. Caught up in the sound of it, she almost said, No, it’s Gretchen. “Ah, yes. I’m sorry to bother you, but—”
“No, I’m glad you called. Is there anything wrong?”
She frowned and hit her directional signal. “Well, no. I just wanted you to know—”
“Where are you? Still at the club?”
“I just left.”
“You have breakfast yet?”
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“No.” Oh, God.
“You know the Riverside Diner?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll see you there in five minutes.”
She glanced at the clock on the dash. The babysitter was supposed to be at the house until noon, so there was plenty of time, but she had to wonder what kind of door she was opening. A big part of her wanted to run from Vin because he was too handsome and too much her type and she was an idiot if she didn’t learn from the past.
But then she reminded herself she could bolt. At the drop of a hat. Hell, she was on the verge of pulling out of Caldwell completely anyway.
He’s coming for you….
Remembering the words he’d spoken to her gave her the impetus to meet with him. Attraction concerns aside, she wanted to know what he’d seen and why he’d said those things.
“Okay, I’ll see you there.” She ended the call, flicked her directional signal to the other side, and headed for one of Caldwell’s landmarks.
The Riverside Diner was just two miles away and so close to the Hudson’s shoreline, the only way it could get any nearer was if the booths were anchored by buoys and floating in the current. The dining car had been rolled onto its blocks in the 1950s, before the EPA laws, and still had original everything, from the Naugahyde twirling stools at the Formica counter, to the jukebox extensions at each table, to the soda fountain from which the waitresses still pulled Cokes for customers.
She’d been there once or twice before with Robbie. He liked the pie.
When she walked in, she saw Vin diPietro right away. He was sitting in the last booth over on the left, and facing the door. As their eyes met, he got to his feet.
Even with the shiner, the bruise on his cheek, and the swelling on his lower lip, he was stunningly sexy.
Boy…as she walked over, she wished she had a thing for accountants, podiatrists, or chess players. Maybe even florists.
“Hi,” she said as she sat down.
On the table’s countertop, there were a pair of menus, two sets of stainless-steel silverware on paper napkins, and a pair of thick ceramic mugs.
It was all so down to earth, homey, cute. And in his black cashmere sweater and his toffee suede jacket, Vin looked like he should have been at a fancy café, instead.
“Hi.” He lowered himself slowly into his seat, his eyes locked on her. “Coffee?”
“Please.”
He lifted his hand and a waitress with a red apron and a red-and-white uniform came over.
“Two coffees, thanks.” As the woman left to go get the pot, Vin tapped his red-and-white menu. “I hope you’re hungry?”
Marie-Terese opened hers and looked at all the choices, thinking that every single one of them was appropriate for a Fourth of July picnic. Okay, maybe not all the breakfast items, but this was the kind of place where the word salad always had a modifier like chicken, potato, egg, or macaroni, and lettuce was only for sandwiches.
It was glorious, actually.
“See anything you like?” Vin asked.
She did not take the opportunity to look across the table at him. “I’m not a big eater, generally. I think for now I’ll just stick with coffee.”
The waitress came back and poured. “You know what you want?”
“You sure you won’t do breakfast?” he asked Marie-Terese. When she nodded, he took both menus and handed them to the other woman. “I’d like the pancakes. No butter.”
“Hash browns?”
“No, thanks. The pancakes are quite enough.”
As the waitress headed for the kitchen, Marie-Terese smiled a little.
“What?” he asked as he offered her the sugar.
“No, thanks, I take it black. And I’m smiling because my son…he likes pancakes, too. I make them for him.”
“How old is he?” Vin’s spoon made a clinking sound as he stirred.
Although the question was casual, the way he waited for her answer was anything but. “Seven.” She glanced at his bare ring finger. “Do you have kids?”
“No.” He took a test sip and sighed like it was perfect. “Never been married, no children.”
There was a pause as if he were expecting her to quid pro quo the info.
She picked her mug up. “The reason I called you was because my boss…he wanted to let you know he’s taking care of everything….” She hesitated. “You know, about what the security cameras might have caught last night or…things like that.”
Although she was worried he might not appreciate someone obstructing justice on his behalf, Vin just nodded once, like he was the kind of man who’d handled things in the same way Trez did. “Tell him I appreciate it.”
“I will.”
In the silence that followed, Vin ran his thumb up and down his mug’s thick handle. “Listen, I didn’t do anything to those two guys last night. Well, other than what you saw me do to them. I didn’t kill them.”
“That’s what Trez said.” She took a sip and had to agree with him: The coffee was superb. “And I didn’t mention anything about you or your friend when I spoke with the police. I didn’t tell them about the fight at all.”
Vin frowned. “What did you say?”
“Just that the two guys had been harassing me. That Trez spoke with them, and when that didn’t work, they were escorted from the club. Turns out that was what the two other witnesses who’d come forward maintained as well so it all matched.”
“Why did you lie for me?” he said softly.
To avoid his eyes, she looked out the window next to them. The river, which seemed close enough to touch, was sluggish and opaque, thickened by the rain they’d had earlier in the week.
“Why, Marie-Terese?”
She took a deep drink from her mug and felt the coffee warm its way down into her belly. “For the same reason Trez did. Because you protected me.”
“That’s dangerous. Given what you do.”
She shrugged. “I’m not worried.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Vin rub his face and wince as if the bruising hurt. “I just don’t want you risking more trouble down the line for my sake.”
Marie-Terese hid a smile. Funny, some things a man could say made you feel warm all over—not because the words were sexual, but because they went beyond that lowest common denominator and into more important, more meaningful territory.
Fighting the pull of his voice, his eyes, his savior routine, she said, “I’m sorry I left so quickly last night. You know, from the locker room. I was just…rattled.”
“Yeah…” He exhaled on a curse. “And I apologize for flipping out like that—”
“Oh, no, it’s okay. It…didn’t appear you had much control over it.”
“Try none.” There was another long pause. “I hate to bring it up again, but what did I say to you?”
“You don’t know?” He shook his head. “Was that a seizure?”
His voice grew tight. “Guess you could call it that. So…what did I say?”
He’s coming for you….
“What did I say?” Vin reached across and put his hand lightly on her arm. “Please tell me.”
She stared at where he touched her, and thought…yes, and sometimes it wasn’t even what a man said that made you warm—just the feel of his palm resting above your wrist was enough to heat your entire body.
“Your pancakes,” the waitress said, breaking the moment. As they both sat back, the woman put down a plate and a little stainless-steel pitcher with a flop top. “More coffee?”
Marie-Terese glanced in her half-empty mug. “For me, please.”
Vin got busy with syrup, pouring out a thin amber stream over three big, fat golden circles.
“Mine aren’t that high,” Marie-Terese said. “When I make them…they’re not that golden or that high.”
Vin let the lid on the syrup bounce shut and picked up his fork, cleaving through the stack, carving out a forkful. “I’m sure your son doesn’t complain.”
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��No…he doesn’t.” Thinking of Robbie made her chest burn, so she tried not to remember how he’d looked at her with such love and awe when she’d flipped those homemade flapjacks for him.
The waitress returned with her pot of coffee, and after she’d poured and left, Vin said, “I’m really hoping you’ll answer my question.”
For no good reason, she thought even more of Robbie. He was an innocent that she’d ended up dragging into a harsh life thanks first to the bad husband she’d picked and then the way she’d chosen to clean up the financial mess she’d found herself in. Vin was not dissimilar. The last thing he needed was getting sucked into the black hole she was trying to get out of—and he’d already proven he had a come-to-the-rescue complex. At least where she was concerned.
“It was just nonsense,” she murmured. “What you said was nonsense.”
“So if it doesn’t matter, there’s no reason not to tell me.”
She stared out the window at the river again…and called forth all her strength. “You said, ‘Rock, paper, scissors.’” As his eyes shot to her face, she forced herself to meet his stare and lie. “I have no idea what it means. To be honest, it was more what you looked like than what you said that made me nervous.”
Vin’s eyes bored into hers. “Marie-Terese…I have a track record with those kind of things.”
“Track record how?”
He resumed eating, as if he needed to do something to cut the tension. “In the past, when I’ve gone into that state and said stuff…it comes true. So if you’re keeping whatever it was from me for privacy’s sake, I understand that. But I strongly urge you to take whatever it was very seriously.”
Her cold hands squeezed her hot mug. “Like you’re some kind of fortune-teller?”
“You’re in a dangerous line of work. You need to be careful.”
“I am always careful.”
“Good.”
There was another long period of quiet, during which she stared at her coffee and he focused on his food.
It was pretty easy to guess that the “careful” thing was not just about creeps chasing after her. It was about other aspects of the job.
“I know what you’re wondering,” she said quietly. “How can I do it in the first place, and why don’t I stop altogether.”