Hard to Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  Her fingers trembled on the steering wheel as she pulled away from the curb. "What in the hell were you doing out there tonight? And who were you with? Was it Joey? Did I not tell you to stay away from that kid? And now a murder? Are you kidding me?"

  "I—"

  "No, you still do not get to talk. I swear on our parents' graves, you are going to be the death of me." A little dose of guilt couldn't hurt. "What happened to that nice girl you were dating? What was her name? Adrianna or something?" She held out her hand. "Don't answer. I'm sure she was too goody two shoes for you. Right? Nice girl. Straight A student. Never been in trouble. Hangs out with other honor roll students. I could see why you'd much rather hang out with that loser Joey, who quit school to run numbers for his uncle. That's aiming for the gutter—or prison, as I like to call it."

  "You're not my mother." The words grumbled through his lips at a barely audible level. But all the same, she knew them well.

  The four words that made her heart squeeze inside her chest. "You're right," she said, softer now. "But I'm all you have." She drew in a deep breath as the weight of everything seemed to crash on her shoulders. "We've been in this together since you were six."

  "I've heard this story a hundred times before. Will you let it drop already?" The insolent teen had returned once again. His fear of her had lasted fewer and fewer moments as he'd grown older. And he'd learned how to wound her with a simple phrase. The boy who had wanted to follow in her footsteps and become one of NY's finest had morphed into her worst nightmare.

  * * *

  Max seethed as he flagged down a cab and headed toward his townhome. His friend was dead, and the detective in charge of the investigation had a vested interest in not finding the guilty party.

  Somehow Damon had gotten caught up in Max's mess. But the people who were after him weren't going to hire street thugs to do the job. That didn't mean he'd dismiss the possibility they had, but it seemed unlikely.

  Coincidence?

  Potentially, but also unlikely. Just like the possibility that Damon was a victim of random violence rather than anything to do with Max. Damn it.

  He let himself inside, still jacked on adrenaline combined with being pissed off. Several thousand miles and eight years hadn't allowed him to outrun his past. Would he ever be able to feel like what he'd done was behind him? Would he ever be able to erase that dark cloud that hovered over him?

  He'd already hung his coat on the hook by the door and pushed the code numbers on his alarm when he realized it had already been disarmed. If nothing else, he was a creature of habit and wouldn't have forgotten to set it. Since his siblings, Jake and Sabrina, were out of town, that meant whoever broke in had somehow bypassed the alarm.

  He grabbed the gun out of its cabinet and chambered a bullet. Even while he meticulously inspected his home, he knew the guilty party had left long ago. Breaking into his home so expertly had sent him another message relating to his vulnerability—if they wanted to get to him, they would.

  The appointment book he normally kept in his office lay open on the coffee table in the living room. Scrawled in red ink across today's date were the words I'm coming for you, Maxim. Words identical to his earlier text.

  His heart pounded while a tingle worked its way down his spine. All his past sins were coming home to roost, and there wasn't a lot he could do to stop it.

  He opened his laptop and downloaded the intel from the cameras he had both inside and outside his home. If they broke in so easily, they'd spotted the cameras as well, but any nuance he might pick up from the film might help. A figure of indeterminate gender covered head to toe in black walked inside, disarmed his security with the finesse of a professional, and sprayed the camera lens with a fog, making it impossible to get an accurate or good picture of anything besides a vague silhouette. The person went into the kitchen area, but Max couldn't tell exactly what the figure did by the stove. The intruder moved upstairs to the bedroom and bathroom, the closet area, then back downstairs, pulling open Max's computer and plugging in a USB drive, then jotting the note down on his appointment book and placing it in the middle of his coffee table. "Son of a…" When the figure got close enough to the camera to distinguish features, a mask made in Max's own image smiled back at him. Whoever the person was, he or she planned this well.

  Maybe that alone would give him a clue as to who it might be. Yep, the intruder wanted him to know he was in the hunter's crosshairs.

  Bring. It. On.

  * * *

  After a restless night, Max opened the door at 6:00 a.m. to greet the man who'd saved him and his siblings' lives and arranged for them to come to America. "I appreciate this, Jennings." If it weren't for Jennings, they would have died at the hand of one of Petrovich's many assassins somewhere along the way. Maybe he'd just dodged a bullet eight years ago. Maybe he'd be a sitting duck for the time being until he could settle the score once and for all. If he only knew who was after him.

  "This is the most sensitive detection device we have. If they planted something, this thing will find it." With a skill that befitted his position, Jennings worked through the house in record time, uncovering over ten listening devices.

  "They had to know I'd find them." Max threw them into a plastic bag and handed them to Jennings, who put them outside the front door. "Why would they do that?"

  "If they intended to kill you and make it look like an act of random violence, maybe they thought they'd get some intel on Sabrina and Jake after your death. It all circles back to Petrovich. Sabrina's showdown in Venice with Ambassador Quarto was no coincidence. Jake's run-in with Cleo wasn't either. Whoever they are, they're working their way through the three of you. They know if they can get to one of you, the other two will be easier pickings."

  Max took in the logic of Jennings's words with an exasperated sigh. He hadn't expected this to come full circle on one hand, but on the other hand, he'd been expecting it since they'd been spirited away from their homeland.

  "Whoever they are, they're not going to give up, are they?"

  "Not by a long shot. Now what is it you said about three juveniles that you spotted near the shooting?"

  Max brought his fingers through his hair. "Not sure of much of anything right now, but they were in the area and matched the description of the guys I saw hassling Damon. But what happened at my home doesn't match up. I'm not sure if they did the deed or were an effective decoy. Either way, I want to talk to them."

  "I'd say let the police handle it, but you're a Shaw, and that's not going to happen." Jennings shook his head but had a smile on his face. "Now what can I do for you?"

  "One of the kids is the brother of an NYPD detective, Gianna C-O-L-L-I-N-I. Goes by Mick. Can you tap into some databases?" Before he finished the question, Jennings glanced up from his computer and tilted it in Max's direction.

  "Looks like they live in a brownstone in Brooklyn. It was their grandparents' place and was passed down to the two of them when their parents died ten years ago. He attends St. Anthony's High School. She's been with the department since graduating college. She made detective three years ago at the age of twenty-nine. Eleven commendations since she's been on the force. Well respected by her colleagues and has a high rate of convictions."

  "She's an NYPD superstar, is that what you're saying?" Max said as he typed the information into his phone.

  "Pretty much." Jennings closed his computer. "I already know the answer to this question, but I'll ask anyway. You want me to call in Jake and Sabrina?"

  "Hell no. I haven't lost my touch."

  "Whoever they are, they aren't going away easy."

  "The tough ones never do." Max considered his options and glanced at the time. "I'm guessing school starts soon, so I'd better leave now if I hope to catch young Mr. Collini before he heads inside."

  "Don't let his sister catch you. I have no doubt she'll arrest you."

  * * *

  Max took a cab into Brooklyn and waited about a block away from St.
Anthony's. Based on where the kid lived, he'd cross at this corner before heading off to school. Max tried to look unassuming and casual but wasn't sure he pulled it off, if the nerves jumping through him were any indication. Being out of the game had played havoc with his timing and confidence.

  But some things he had to take into his own hands. Following up on the slim leads he had was one of them. He couldn't count on the kid's sister to dig up what needed to be dug up, mostly because of family loyalty, but also because Max wasn't being totally forthcoming.

  By 7:40, kids started to walk toward the school dressed in uniforms—goofing around, pushing and shoving each other, and listening to music through earphones. He and his siblings never had a chance to indulge in those kinds of carefree days. It would have been nice to be worried about girlfriends and parties and studying versus worrying about your next assassination assignment. Max drew in a deep breath. Water under the bridge.

  He needed to refocus his energies on getting justice for Damon and ensuring the guilty party paid for orchestrating the killing. It wasn't like him to sit by idly and watch his friend's death get swept under the rug. Or let a punk with connections get away with something.

  Speaking of which, there was Mick Collini walking alone, backpack slung over his shoulder, with earbuds in place as he sauntered to school. Unlike most of the kids, he walked alone. Max wished he had a bit of the charm and finesse of his brother Jake, but his temperament never seemed to bend that way. Nope, he was always a balls-to-the-wall kind of guy, no matter the situation.

  He yanked the earbuds out of the kid's ears and escorted him between two buildings. The kid had good reflexes and resisted, but he wasn't any match for a grown man. The surly attitude Max had witnessed yesterday resurfaced as recognition dawned in Mick's widening eyes.

  "What do you want?" The words that spilled out were filled with a young man's nervousness combined with machismo. This close, Max could see Gianna's coloring and curly hair—the kid kept his close cropped.

  "Just a few questions about my friend. You know, the friend you murdered last night." Max had the kid by the tie.

  Mick shook his head before the words spilled out. "I didn't kill anybody." His eyes grew large as his voice squeaked on the end. But he avoided looking at Max directly.

  "Maybe. Maybe not." Max growled in his ear, "Either way, you know who did."

  "I…I…don't know."

  "Hmm…that scared look on your face tells me otherwise. Did you spill this to your sister? Does she know you're hiding information?"

  "You don't understand." The kid shook his head, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes. "My sister will—"

  "Hey, Mick, you're going to be late." A young girl with long brown hair grabbed the boy by the hand and pulled him away.

  As Max saw his only lead getting led away by a young whip of a girl, he heard her whisper, "Who is that guy?"

  "Nobody. Some guy who's hot after my sister."

  Well, there was that…just not in the way the kid made it sound.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Max made the call in the cab on the way over to the police station. "Hey, Sheila. It's Max Shaw."

  "Haven't heard from you in a while, Max. We'll have to do some drinks sometime." Sheila had a flirtatious lilt to her voice, and he had no doubt there was more to her offer than drinks alone. And he'd taken her up on that offer on more than one occasion in the past. A dazzling, long-legged redhead, she used her assets to her advantage in more ways than one. He could envision her leaning back against her chair, her short skirt and long legs making a perfect picture of one sexy woman. Max shook his head. A hookup with the assistant to the mayor was not what he needed right now.

  "Yep, that would be great." He waited a beat before he finished, unwilling to piss her off. She was his key to the man who held the power to do what he needed done. "How about next Tuesday, say eight?" He could always call it off later if he had to.

  "Sounds good. Now what can I do for you, Max—besides the usual, that is?" The sound of her laughter made him smile. He liked Sheila. And she was a means to an end.

  "A friend of mine, Damon Rice, was murdered last night in Manhattan. And I'm afraid the detective in charge might have some bias, being that her young brother might be involved. I need to grease the wheels to get the case reassigned as soon as possible."

  She clucked on the other end of the line. "I'm sorry about your friend. I'm sure that's already in the works and her lieutenant will reassign her, but we'll make sure it happens ASAP. I'm looking forward to seeing you next week."

  "Same here." He disconnected as the cab stopped in front of the station. After paying, he vaulted up the steps, anxious to put the pressure on Detective Collini.

  What was the kid going to say before that young girl spirited him away? By letting them both go, he'd blown the opportunity to get information out of the kid. After his call to the mayor's office, at least the shaky wheels of justice would be back on track. Not that he'd settle for that, but it was a start to give him the intel he needed to finish this off on his own.

  When he walked up to the front desk, it was close to eight thirty, a half hour earlier than requested by the good detective. "Max Shaw. I'm here to see Detective Collini." He waved off the offer to alert her of his arrival and kept walking. "She's expecting me." The protest died on the officer's lips as Max strolled into the station without a second glance.

  To his surprise, she was at her desk in the middle of the rowdy NY station. Concentrating hard on whatever information her laptop held, she seemed oblivious to the chaos going on around her. When he walked up, she didn't notice his approach. Her intensity gave him a few moments to observe her and what she chose to surround herself with.

  A picture of her and her brother was displayed on the right-hand side. If he had to guess, it had been taken within the last six months or so. No pictures of her parents or other family members, as far as he could see. That went along with the intel he'd discovered through Jennings. She'd been her brother's parent for about ten years, since her parents died.

  "You're early." Without even raising her head, she motioned to the chair across from her before closing her laptop to stare at him.

  "Yep." He gave no further explanation. At this point he had no doubt that she'd run an extensive background check on him as well. But not enough for her to fill in the blanks of his past. In his experience, her type didn't like to settle for half the information. She'd want every detail to satisfy her curiosity.

  She tapped a pen on her pad of paper and stared directly at him. "What I don't get is how you got here on a visa from Serbia so quickly eight years ago. What were you running from?"

  "I don't run." When her eyebrows rose, he shrugged. "As for the visa, I guess we were lucky."

  "Yeah, right. Where did you go to school in Europe?"

  "Is that germane in any way to Damon's death?" He stared at her. "Because I don't see the connection."

  "Just curious as to what led you to your chosen profession. As to your siblings, I still haven't quite figured out what they do or who they work for, except they do a lot of traveling out of the country."

  "What are you trying to say?"

  "Nothing." She didn't even try to hide her skepticism.

  "I thought we were here to find out who killed my friend, have me look at a lineup or something, and figure out what your brother had to do with any of it."

  "So it's going to be like that?" She folded her hands and placed them on the desk in front of her. "Don't turn this back on me. Sharing information can only help your case."

  "And excusing yourself from the case could only help solve it." He gave her a tight smile. "Not that I'm telling you how to do your job or anything."

  "Is that what you were trying to do when you made a call to the mayor's office asking for my removal this morning?"

  "Word gets around fast."

  "Speed of light around here." She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair. "And I do
n't get intimidated. Besides, I'm already off the case."

  "I wasn't trying to intimidate, only point out the obvious. And I wanted things done in a timely manner."

  "How do you know it's my brother?"

  "Lucky guess."

  "You're full of those lately, aren't you, Mr. Shaw?" Her eyebrows rose. And he couldn't help but notice she didn't deny his allegation.

  "Yep."

  "The new detectives assigned to your case will need your cooperation to find out who murdered your friend."

  "Who says I'm not cooperating?" He had no doubt, regardless of the official case assignment, she'd have her nose into the investigation. The concept of police officers protecting their own wasn't folklore but based in reality.

  "Gee, I don't know, maybe your refusal to answer straightforward questions gives me a clue."

  "Are you going to threaten to have me put in a cell? Is that how you're going to play this?"

  "I don't think we'll have to come to that, but I don't bend to attempts at intimidation."

  "Neither do I."

  She blew out a breath. "Let's play nice with each other." Her voice softened as she looked at him without the daggers in her gaze.

  For the briefest of seconds, he forgot about Damon and saw her as a woman. In terms of that, she was beautiful. Her Italian heritage was like a shiny beacon in her features—dark, slightly arched eyebrows to match her hair, large dark-brown eyes, full lips devoid of lipstick but reddish nonetheless. He couldn't help but remember what she looked like in that red evening dress. Stunning would be the only word.

  "I want my friend's killer brought to justice. That's why I'm here. Anything else is irrelevant, especially this pissing contest going on between the two of us."

  "I don't engage in pissing contests. That's a male thing."

  He smirked. "Maybe. But if it looks, acts, and talks like a pissing contest, that's what it is."