Choked Up

by Janey Mack

  “Please?” I whispered.

  “She is at risk until sniper is caught,” Black Hawk said. “I assemble my team, we watch and wait.”

  Feckin’ Black Hawk wants to use me as bait.

  “She returns tomorrow.” Stannis glanced at his watch. “Kon leaves in one hour.” He disconnected and stood up. He put his arm around my shoulder. Together, we walked over to the darkened glass box on the pedestal.

  He put his hand on the glass. I put mine next to his. “I promise you, Vatra Anđeo. You will be avenged in blood.”

  My ears were filled with the buzzing and clicking of beetles.

  But no noise came from the glass tank.

  His phone rang from the desk. He left me and answered it. “Speak.” His dark brows knit together as he listened. “Yes, I was pleased with transaction, El Cid.”

  He waved good-bye to me. “You do not remember our conversation, I think.”

  I walked to the door in a jerky, lingering stride, desperate to get the hell out of the penthouse but wanting to know what Grieco’s lieutenant was after.

  “No drugs,” Stannis said with finality.

  Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was dark, but I knew Cash and Koji were there from his red MDX in the driveway. Twenty to one they were in his room playing video games. Working up my courage to call Walt, I opted for Cash’s beat down first.

  I knocked on his door, received the expected “no answer” and went in.

  They were both sacked out in Cash’s beanbags, headsets on, controllers in hand, some version of Grand Theft Auto on the television, and dead soldiers scattered all around them.

  “Hit me,” Koji said.

  Cash flipped the lid of a portable Igloo cooler and tossed him another Coors Light.

  Koji twisted off the top. “Every frickin’ time we’re multi-player I get some tweener calling me ghey.”

  “Or telling you they’re banging your mom, amiright?” Cash got out another beer for himself.

  “Got one of those for me?” I said, walking over to the TV.

  “Nope,” Cash said.

  Koji frowned. “You totally effed us, Maisie.”

  “Come on. A departmental commendation’s not so bad.”

  Cash shot me a murderous look. “Oh, look who hasn’t heard? Apparently, someone in Coles’s office recognized the name McGrane. We’re up for a Spirit of Chicago ribbon. And, as the brother to the infamous puking meter maid, Coles’s office is pondering some PR brother helping sister nightmare.”

  Oh shite.

  I winced. “I’m sorry. I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. I promise.”

  “Ha! Like you got any pull in this town,” Cash said.

  “I dunno how long we’re gonna be able to take it.” Koji shook his head. “The shit we’re taking from the team is frickin’ brutal.”

  “I’ll talk to Lee.”

  “Yeah?” Cash’s voice went high-pitched and fake-happy. “That’d be, like, sooo cool. Having the squad thinking we tattled. Neato.”

  Koji giggled.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” I said, getting nettled.

  If he had any idea what had happened to me . . . he would probably act exactly the same way. Or worse.

  “Save it. We ain’t about to hug this shit out.” Cash glared at me. “Your comeuppance is on its way.”

  “Get over yourself. Cops are supposed to arrest people.”

  The doorbell rang.

  “Oh,” Cash said. “It’s here now. Why don’t you go answer it?”

  “On my way,” I said. Jerk.

  I opened the door.

  “Hello, Peaches,” Hank said.

  “Hi!” I gawped at him.

  I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my entire life.

  “Gonna ask me in?”

  “Oh, yeah.” I shook off my love haze and swung the door wide. He came in fast, closing it behind him and kissing me.

  Gee, I needed that. “How’d you know I’d be home?”

  He cocked a brow. “A risk worth taking.”

  “Want a drink?”

  “Sure.”

  I led him into the den. “Sit,” he said.

  I went to the couch and turned iTunes onto Da’s quiet classical mix. Hank went to the sideboard, browsed the bottles, and decided on Cognac Croizet VSOP. He poured two snifters and brought them over to the couch.

  “Thanks,” I said.

  He sat down next to me and put his arm across the back of the couch. “You’re wearing that white-knuckle look.”

  “Yeah.” I swirled the brandy. “I suppose I am.”

  Hank ran his knuckles against my cheek. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Nooo.” My voice cracked. “It doesn’t.”

  We drank and listened to the music, Hank steadfast and silent.

  The eye of my storm.

  “I saw a man I know . . . knew . . . die today.” I set my brandy glass down and ran a hand through my hair. “I mean, just living in this house I’ve seen more crime scene photos than most cops. I’ve been at murder scenes before, too. I know what death is like.” I blew out my breath in a sardonic puff-laugh. “Heck, less than two months ago a dead guy was bleeding on my . . . er . . . your car.”

  I pressed the middle of forehead. “It’s just . . .” My fingers pressed harder, rubbing, trying to force the words from my mouth. “He was shot . . . shot and I couldn’t do anything and—” My arm started to shake. “So close. The bullets so close to me.”

  Hank eased my hand down, wrapped his arms around me, and held me tight to his chest, his chin on my hair. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a sound, just trembled like a ribbon tied to a fan.

  At some point, in the middle of the shaking, I fell asleep. Hard and dreamless. I jerked awake in his grip.

  “You’re okay,” he said. “And you’re going to stay that way.”

  I nuzzled my face into his chest, breathing in the scent of him. “I believe you.”

  He kissed the top of my head. “My place?”

  I felt so exhausted I could cry. “I . . . can’t.”

  He tipped my chin up and kissed me, sweet and soft-edged with a dark, hot heat. Then he stopped. “You’re spent, Slim.” He got up and tugged me to my feet. He walked me to the stairway. “I’ll call you.”

  I lay down in my clothes. Too tired to change or even crawl beneath the covers, I pulled part of the duvet over me. My eyes snapped open.

  Walt Sawyer.

  Dammit.

  My phone was downstairs.

  Feck me.

  I got up, went down, and called in. For a guy who was in love with my mother, he didn’t seem particularly bothered that I’d been shot at. Or that Stannis was going to kill whoever did it. He was far more interested in Black Hawk’s ID and connections and the call from El Cid.

  Chapter 45

  I was up before my alarm went off at 5:00 a.m. There was no possible way I was going to fall prey to a parental tag-team interrogation. I changed my clothes, called Kon, and snuck out of the house, down the driveway, and into the Range Rover.

  The penthouse night guards were bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Stannis, however, was sleeping.

  Wonderful.

  I changed into an oversized tee and went back to bed.

  Not everything has to be an ordeal.

  I got up around eleven and managed to make a ham sandwich and snag a Coke, while Kon took a smoke break on the balcony.

  I lounged on the great room couch, concentrating on the Netflix distraction at hand—Rufus Sewell as Inspector Zen. Dreamy.

  With Kon as my new bestie, I wasn’t really able to do much except binge-watch episode after episode and swear to him every five minutes that I was perfectly fine and far too full to eat another bite, as he tried to force-feed me more repellent Russian cuisine.

  As far as prison went, I’d be hard-pressed to think of a one that suited my design aesthetic any more than Stannis’s penthouse. Still, it didn’t make it any less agonizing to be feet awa
y from Stannis’s office. I had no reason to enter other than to check the progress of the beetles. And that was the kind of mistake that couldn’t be unmade.

  My phone played the theme music from Alien. Unknown number. “Hello?”

  A harsh electronic voice said, “This is Chyornyj Yastreb. Friend of Stannislav Renko.”

  Black Hawk. “Yes, hello. I’m sorry, he’s not here right now.”

  “This I know. He is at The Storkling Club. You come for him.”

  “Is he alright?” I blurted in a rasp. Raw-boned fingers of fear locked around my throat. “What does he need?”

  “He needs ride home.”

  In less than five minutes flat, Kontrolyor and I were speeding to The Storkling in the black-armored Lincoln Continental.

  “Do you want me to go in with you?” Kon asked.

  “No.” I hopped out of the backseat before he’d put the car in Park. “Stay here,” I said over my shoulder and sprinted up the stairs.

  A thin, nondescript man met me at the door. “This way, please.”

  I followed him through the main club into a rabbit warren of private rooms and offices. He took me to a padlocked steel door at the end of the hall. He knocked twice, waited, then removed a key from his pocket and unlocked and removed the padlock. He twisted the knob and swung open the door for me but didn’t enter.

  I stepped across the threshold into a large kitchen storage room and froze. Next to the stainless-steel tables and stools and refrigerator units, stood the six-foot-four bulk of Vi Veteratti’s right-hand man, Jimmy the Wolf. Behind him sat Stannis, leg shackled, one wrist handcuffed to the metal arm of the chair. He had a cigarette in his mouth and a glass of what I was rather certain was rakija in his hand. Although his posture was relaxed, his blue eyes were poker hot.

  Hank’s Law Number Eighteen: Even savage actions have explanations.

  The door closed behind me but didn’t lock.

  A promising sign.

  “Hello, boys,” I said. “What’s the situation?”

  Stannis held the cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger. He took a deep drag, then flicked the cigarette at Jimmy.

  Without a whisper of emotion, the Wolf ground it into the cement floor with his foot. He raised a hand toward the opposite corner of the room. “Please?”

  I followed him to the corner.

  “We got a problem,” he said, brow heavy with concern. “Eddie fucked up. Royally.”

  “Oookay,” I said softly. “Why is Stannis cuffed?”

  The Wolf’s chin dipped toward his chest. “So he doesn’t kill me or start some maniacal crazy shit.”

  I leaned around one side of Jimmy and glanced at Stannis. He seemed quite calm. “How about we let him go?”

  “No.” The Wolf took out a cell phone, tapped the keypad, and put it to his ear. “Yes. She’s here.” He held it out to me. “Vi would like a word.”

  “This is Maisie,” I said.

  “I know you were shot at.” Violetta Veteratti’s nasal tone reverberated in my ear. “And Renko lost one of his crew.”

  “And Eddie’s responsible?”

  “Not directly.”

  “Are you sure about that? He has Mr. Renko chained up like an animal.”

  “No, he doesn’t. I do.” Vi sighed. “You have brothers. Five of them. Are there any you wouldn’t go to bat for?”

  No. But thanks for the implied threat.

  “I can understand where you’re coming from.” I paused. “But the thing is, Ms. Veteratti, I’m not feeling real kindly toward your brother myself, having been shot at twice now.”

  “I know Renko’s man took care of the shooter,” Vi said. “I’m offering you and Mr. Renko a debt of honor. You have my word.”

  Wonder what that’s worth on the open market?

  I said nothing. Jimmy the Wolf moved in a little closer. I took a step farther into the corner.

  “I hear you’re the only one able to bring Renko ’round,” she pressed. “Are you?”

  “Not sure.”

  “What else can I do to prove I’m sincere?”

  My voice dropped to a husky whisper. “What about the lowlife piece of shite who hired the hitter?”

  “Eddie finally told me who it was. He’ll be delivered to Renko’s place within the hour,” Vi promised.

  Feck. “I didn’t ask for that.” The last thing I need to witness is a murder.

  Vi gave a bark of laughter. “Renko did.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do my best.” I handed the phone back to the Wolf.

  He handed me two sets of keys, all the while keeping one eye on Stannis. “Take your time,” he said to me. “Have a drink first.”

  “Uh, sure.”

  Knowing what was coming, a drink sounded like a damn fine idea.

  I walked over to the counter near Stannis. On the tray were three empty glasses, a bottle of rakija, Marlboro Reds, and matches.

  I refilled Stannis’s glass, then took an empty one and poured myself a healthy shot. I raised it toward the Wolf, who decided that was close enough to a promise, and left.

  “Cigarette,” Stannis said.

  “I didn’t know you smoked.” I shook one out, put it between his lips, and lit it.

  He blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and raised his cuffed hand. “Only when I wear this.”

  I laid my hand on his cheek. “You must feel very angry.” I took the cigarette from his lips, and he threw back the double shot. “Black Hawk wants you to stay calm.” I swapped the empty glass for the smoke. “I want you to stay calm.”

  “They kill Ivanović. They meant to kill you.”

  “I’m sorry about Ivanović. He was a good man. He saved my life.” I knelt and unfastened the leg shackles. “Violetta Veteratti has offered you a debt of honor.”

  “This I know.”

  I stood up and unlocked the handcuff. “A valuable commodity.”

  “More than Eddie is worth,” Stannis agreed. “She would be better without him.”

  “The hitter?”

  “Black Hawk took care of him. Did Violetta learn the scum who hired shooter?”

  “Yes. He’s being delivered to the penthouse.” I stared into his eyes. “Are you accepting her deal?”

  “Of course. Eddie is only small, in the middle.” Stannis got to his feet. “Now, let us go see who is to die.”

  Sweet Christ in a cradle.

  Kon kept looking at me in the rearview mirror.

  “What?” Stannis barked.

  Kon dropped his eyes. “Maisie looks unwell.”

  Stannis looked at me. “Are you?”

  You mean because we’re going back to your place to do something unspeakably violent and horrible to a dirtbag who deserves it?

  There’s not enough Pepto-Bismol on the planet to keep me from hurling up my powerless policeman guts.

  “A bit light-headed is all.” I tried to smile, but my mouth felt as tight as an old rubber band.

  “I tell her to eat—” Kon started to scold and caught himself. “Would you like to stop, Mr. Renko?”

  We stopped at Paciugo for gelato. Which was great, because it wouldn’t hurt coming back up. I chose vanilla bean. Stannis had lavender and salted caramel.

  The first bite was a little closed-throaty and difficult to get down, but it’s hard to be freaked out when you’re eating frozen angel tears off a spoon surrounded by sleek Italian pastels and terrazzo countertops.

  Even if you are eating with Bik.

  Because I am so never calling you The Butcher. No way. No how.

  That misshapen, naïve little thought was a poison blow dart in the chink of my mental armor.

  The venom had begun to paralyze and rot, my sense of self bleeding out beneath my skin.

  I was lying to everyone I cared about.

  Including Stannis.

  He stared at me across the table, his electric eye contact unbearable. “What?” I asked. “Do I have something on my face?”


  He frowned. “No.”

  I took the spoon, dragged it across the gelato, and wiped a smudge on my nose. “How about now?”

  He blinked. Thinking it over.

  And then he laughed, warm and beguiling. His smile baring his slightly crooked, clean teeth.

  Disarming. Delightful.

  Deadly.

  He leaned forward with a napkin and wiped off the gelato. “You are cutup.”

  Pretty much the last thing in the world a girl wants to hear from The Butcher.

  Chapter 46

  Ivanović’s replacement, a brawny lumberjack of a man with dead eyes and steel wool skin met us at the elevator doors. “He is waiting in library.”

  Unfathomable, really, how my heels could click against the hardwood, while I was certain I was wading through quicksand.

  Stannis paused in front of the closed French doors. “Of grave fortune, yes?”

  I’m going to assume you meant of grave importance.

  “Are you ready, Vatra Anđeo?”

  Not one tiny bit.

  I nodded.

  He threw open the doors. We stared at the man cable-tied to Stannis’s desk chair, and then back at each other, our eyes wide.

  Whoa.

  “It’s about goddamn time you showed up!” Talbott Cottle Coles yelled. “Get me outta this fucking chair!”

  The pupils in Stannis’s electric blue eyes contracted to pinpricks. He laid a gentle hand on my head. “One moment, Maisie.” He walked out of the room.

  Coles waited until he left. “What the fuck is going on, you treacherous cunt?”

  Nothing good, you sonuvabitch.

  I took a good long look at Coles behind the empty desk. Wiry, deeply tanned, with a Zoom white Hollywood smile, his salt-and-pepper hair recently darkened. Fear, tinged with the lingering smell of cigarettes, hung around him like a malodorous cloud.

  He was wealthy and powerful and the mayor of Chicago. And he had paid someone not to scare or hurt, but to actually fecking kill me.

  It wasn’t until Stannis reentered the room that I realized Holst’s “Mars, the Bringer of War” was now playing quietly in the background. “Close the doors, Maisie.”

  “Hey. Hey now, Stannis,” Coles said. “I don’t know what your game is, but let me go and I’ll play along.”