The Dark Side of Town

by Sasscer Hill

  “There is no us. You walked into this with your eyes open. I got nothing to do with it.”

  “Rico, please, this guy has to be stopped. I need your protection. I can’t control him!”

  “And you think I can?” There was silence for a moment, then Rico said, “For the sake of my father and the friendship he shared with yours, I’ll think about it.”

  More silence, and the sound of ice rattling in a glass, as if one of them was drinking. Probably Savarine. For courage.

  “What should I do now?” he finally asked.

  “Give me a minute. Let me think.”

  It seemed like Rico was dragging it out, enjoying Savarine’s discomfort through the long silences. Finally, he continued. “Tell you what. I’ll get back to you on this. It’s complicated.”

  I heard an exasperated sound, then Savarine’s hand slamming the table, his chair scraping the wood floor, his footsteps, and finally, “If I go down, you go with me, Pizutti!”

  Calixto and I exchanged a look. We waited, hoping to hear the phone call Rico had made afterward, but it must have been a text. There were no words. Then we heard him leave the table, and a sudden clatter from the kitchen as the door swung open for his exit.

  Leaning forward, I picked up the phone, turned it off, and asked the obvious question. “Who’s Savarine afraid of?”

  Calixto stared at the floor as if it might hold the answer. “I don’t know, but I suspect it’s a person or group who fronted the hedge fund money.”

  “He seemed to be talking about one person, a partner. Could it be Rich? Is that why Joan’s afraid?”

  Calixto didn’t answer. We were silent a minute as we thought about Savarine’s conversation with Rico.

  “Brian and I both researched that fund,” I said. “On paper, it appears to have been formed by a number of individual investors. There was no indication of one person or entity fronting the initial funds. I asked you about Rich because he’s the only one close to the role of single investor.” I grew silent.

  It seemed more likely that Savarine was afraid of someone else in the mob. Someone younger, more powerful than Rico. Maybe someone operating in New York?

  Next to me, Calixto’s focus was internal, his eyes hooded. He exhaled slowly, as if coming back from far away. Turning, he stared at me with an intensity that sent heat to my core. I straightened, shifted away from him. I needed to think through Savarine’s conversation, not get sucked in by this man’s dark eyes.

  “Except,” I said, talking fast, “the fund is worth many millions. Rich’s contribution was two hundred thousand. That wouldn’t provide him with the kind of controlling interest Savarine was talking about. Right?”

  “Unlikely,” he said. “Though Rich does not strike me as a good man, he doesn’t seem the type to incite the fear we heard in Savarine’s voice. There is someone else. Someone evil.”

  The chill that shot through me had nothing to do with desire. “That’s what I think, too,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

  Calixto’s jacket lay on the couch between us. I picked it up, slid it back over my shoulders, and stood. Lithe as a panther, Calixto rose and stood next to me. I glanced outside the French doors of the balcony. We had never closed them. The night air flowing inside hinted of places farther north.

  Truth be told, I could use a shot of cold air. I stepped outside. He followed, standing close as we looked at the streetlights on Broadway and the people and cars passing below.

  With a purr of barely contained power, a red Maserati flashed past beneath us. “That could be Joan,” I said.

  “Don’t fret about Joan. You will see her in the morning. Hopefully find out what troubles her, and maybe Savarine as well. I will talk to Meloy. Between the three of us, we may learn something useful. But for now, we should let it go, yes?”

  I nodded. “Sometimes, when I do that, the answer floats to the surface.”

  He closed his hand over mine. “We make a good team, Fia.”

  “Yes, we do.” I smiled, but looking up I got lost in his steady, insistent gaze. Its intensity suggested he was not thinking about Joan, Meloy, or Percy’s murder.

  Turning to face me, he grasped the lapels of his jacket that wrapped around my shoulders. Slowly, he pulled me against his chest. His muscular thighs were warm and hard against mine, but not as hot as the growing erection that pressed against me.

  “Oh, God,” I mumbled, “I’m in so much trouble.”

  “Sí, pequeña leona. Es verdad.” He almost laughed, then he kissed me, the electricity instant, overwhelming.

  I don’t remember how we got to the edge of the bed, his jacket on the floor, the buttons on my white dress undone, the sheen of my silk lingerie reflecting in the glow of his eyes. What am I doing? With a ragged breath, I put my hands on his shoulders, stopping him.

  “You told me before, we should stay at the Adelphi one night. But only as part of our romance cover. Is that what this is?”

  “No, Fia, that is not what this is. But if you don’t want this, tell me. Unless I stop now, the decision will no longer be yours.”

  I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. My hands dropped from his shoulders and slid down the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. When had his shirt been unbuttoned? Had I done that?

  I gasped as his desire and physical strength engulfed me. Yet, this was more than just desire. A sweet and powerful emotional connection drew me to him, and I’d bet my life he felt it too.

  My control slipped away as his strong hands, determined fingers, and knowing tongue sparked an electrical connection between every hot spot on my body, exploding me over the edge, leaving me astonished, sated, and breathless. His body covered mine. He thrust inside me, rough, hard, and relentless, yet I’d never felt safer in my life. I loved that his long pent-up desire overwhelmed him as much as it did me. That his eyes glazed over. That he called my name.

  He collapsed next to me, and happier than anyone has a right to be, I lay next to him in a kind of afterglow, the night air drifting in and cooling my heated body.

  Time passed. He propped himself on one elbow, watching me. “You know, leona, I have wanted you since that first moment I saw you at Gulfstream.”

  My finger traced the ragged scar where a bullet had entered his shoulder months earlier in Florida. He’d saved my life that night. I rose up and gently kissed the jagged circle of flesh.

  “And what now?” I asked.

  “Now? I want you more than ever.” His hands closed over my wrists, and pinned them down on either side of my head as he shifted over me. Rigid, he slid inside me again. My legs locked around his hips, straining to pull him closer. Wild and ferocious, his love carried me over the edge again.

  We fell asleep in a tangled heap of legs and sheets. I woke up sometime later, when he rose to shut the French doors. The outline of his hard body against the ambient light coming from the city beyond the balcony stirred me again. But he slipped back in bed, pulled the comforter over us, and lay still. Content, I snuggled against him and drifted away.

  28

  Sunlight, streaming through the balcony doors, along with the rich smell of Coyune coffee, awakened me the next morning. Beneath the gold comforter, I enjoyed a long, delicious stretch.

  “Good morning.” Still naked, Calixto sat on the edge of the bed and handed me a steaming mug. “You are happy, yes? I would hate for you to have regrets.”

  “No.” I grinned. “No regrets.”

  “Bueno.” He had ordered croissants and fresh fruit, and while sitting in bed we ate breakfast from the tray the hotel had sent up. Room service had added a small vase of wildflowers.

  I felt like a lazy cat with a bowl of cream. But before I’d finished my second cup of coffee, he had a text from Meloy at the FBI, followed by a call from Gunny at the TRPB office in Maryland. On the night table next to me, the clock ticked relentlessly toward nine, when I had to meet Joan.

  I looked at the hard muscles of Calixto’s
abdomen as he spoke to Gunny. Oh, hell, I was falling in love with this man.

  Get a grip, Fia. You’ll be fine.

  I left the bed, disappeared into the shower, and after drying off, armed myself with a fresh pair of jeans and a hoodie with deep, kangaroo pockets. I could stuff my hands inside if my fingers were seized by an uncontrollable urge to touch him.

  * * *

  At nine, I walked up the brick path to the Racing Hall of Fame, slowing to gaze at the statue of Seabiscuit. The almost life-size sculpture stood on a polished stone slab, and for a moment, I let my fingers touch the cool cast metal of one hoof.

  The Howards had bought the future racing legend out of a claiming race. And they’d done it here at Saratoga. I walked on, pulled open one of the heavy glass entry doors, and stepped inside onto smooth stone tiles. Across the lobby, next to a display case of gleaming silver trophies, a woman stood with her back to me.

  Keeping my voice low, I said, “Joan?”

  She turned, her gaze darting about the room, restless as a housefly. She finally focused on me. Her breath rushed out, her shoulders sagged slightly.

  “Fia, you came. Thank you.”

  “Of course I did,” I said, moving closer.

  She looked a little rough, her makeup applied hastily, her eyeliner wandering beyond the corner of one eye, her lipstick blotchy. Even her blond highlights seemed dull.

  “Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Again, her eyes flitted about the room. But it was so early, no one was there to worry about, except the docent who was walking toward us.

  I spotted a window bench, and glancing at the approaching museum guide, I put a hand on Joan’s arm. “Why don’t we sit by the window so we can talk?”

  The docent backed off as we settled ourselves on the wooden bench.

  “Joan, what’s going on?”

  Her lips pressed together as her gaze skittered away from me before drifting to the floor. “It’s Rich. He and that man, Savarine, are in some kind of trouble. I heard them talking.”

  “Okay. Tell me.”

  “Something about that damn hedge fund. The one you told me Rich put two hundred thousand into.”

  “It’s having money problems?”

  “No. Money’s not the problem. It sounded more like Rich and Savarine were tricked into something illegal, that Rich could go to jail!”

  Somewhere inside the museum a deafening pounding erupted, accompanied by the roar of a crowd.

  Joan let out a little scream.

  The docent hurried over, gesturing at a nearby hall. “That’s just a video playing in the contemporary racing gallery,” she said. “In the exhibit room.”

  Joan scowled at the woman. “Does it have to be so loud?”

  “Most people like it,” the docent replied, her voice chilly. “It’s designed to give a sense of really being at the races.”

  “Thank you,” I said. “We were just startled.” Hell, if I’d had my gun, I might have shot someone. I turned back to Joan as the docent retreated.

  “Last night, Joan. Exactly what did they say?”

  “It’s more about how Rich has been acting, Fia. I told you already. He’s so weird. Secretive, like he’s afraid. He’s paranoid. That’s why I couldn’t talk to you last night. Savarine was there. I was walking on eggshells, trying to stay out of their way. But I heard them.” She stopped, swallowed, and grew silent.

  I didn’t say anything, waiting her out.

  She took a breath and finally looked at me. “They were in the library. I stood outside the door. They were talking about someone who had taken money, taken it illegally, and used it to start the fund.”

  “You mean like, stolen money? Cash, transfers, what?”

  “I don’t know! They both sounded scared to death, and Rich said they had to get out. But Savarine said it was too late. He said they were in too deep. Then he accused Rich of letting whoever this person is talk him into investing the two hundred thousand. That made Rich furious. It was awful to hear him.” By now, her lips were drawn so tight, her teeth showed like a small cornered animal. I put a hand out to touch her but she shrank away from me, her words tumbling out. “Rich was yelling, ‘You brought that fucker into this. I’m not going to jail!’ And then they started fighting. I could hear them punching each other. I ran down the hall. Outside to my car. I had to leave.”

  So it was her car I’d seen on the street below our balcony. Mental note, if in danger, do not rely on Joan to watch your back.

  “But you have no idea who this man is that they’re so worried about?”

  “No.”

  “Can you make a guess?”

  “No. I told you, I don’t know!” She dropped her forehead into her hands. “First that man was murdered in our home, and now this. I don’t know what to do.”

  I stared at her. So much for money and the perfect life with the man she’d left her family for. I didn’t want to feel sorry for her, but I couldn’t raise the old anger to override the compassion that flooded me. Whatever else she was, she was in trouble. I had to help her. I rose from the bench. She stood up, facing me.

  “I still have some cop friends in Baltimore,” I said, ashamed, but a little proud of how easily I lied. “I’ll see if I can learn anything that will help you and Rich.”

  “Thank you, Fia.” She hugged me. When I immediately stiffened, she dropped her arms and stepped back. “Do you have a gun?”

  Her question reminded me of our first meeting in Saratoga, when she’d asked me about the man I’d killed in Baltimore. When she’d wanted to know how hard it was to kill someone.

  I stared at her. “Why do you want to know if I have a gun?”

  She gave me that look, the one that asked how she’d ever produced such a stupid daughter. “For God’s sake, Fia. A man was killed. In my home. Rich is scared to death, fighting with another man. Under the circumstances, I’d think you’d understand why I might like to have a gun around.”

  “I don’t have one.” I didn’t have to lie since mine was somewhere on the bottom of Lake Desolation. But, if I’d still had my Walther, I would have lied anyway. I trusted Joan with a gun about as much as I trusted an armed monkey.

  I told her again I’d do what I could to help. We parted a few minutes later, and after I climbed into my Mini, it occurred to me I had done nothing about replacing my gun. I decided to wait until I got back to Maryland, then I sent a text to Calixto. “Where are you?”

  “At the track, Maggie’s barn. Spoke to Meloy.”

  “On my way,” I typed back.

  I didn’t want to wait to meet him at the hotel. If I met him there, we’d have trouble keeping our hands off each other. At least, I knew I would. Stop thinking about him.

  After I parked near the East Avenue entrance, I was careful to approach the barn from Maggie Bourne’s side. I didn’t need Mars spotting me. When I was close enough, I looked at the end where he usually parked his SUV, but didn’t see it. Still, I used trees and a storage shed to partially hide me as I walked toward Maggie’s shedrow.

  By now, it was after ten, the track was closed, and it was possible Mars had gone for the morning, which suited me just fine. Glancing left and right, I stepped onto Maggie’s shedrow, then poked my head in her office, where she sat at her desk studying a condition book.

  Lifting her head, she smiled. “Hey, stranger, where have you been?”

  “Long story,” I said. “How are you, Maggie?”

  “Not bad. You looking for Calixto?”

  “I am.”

  With a mischievous smile, she said. “Turn around.”

  I was startled to find him standing right behind me. I think I blushed. I wanted to drink in every inch of him and fought to keep my eyes on his face. He looked at me without expression, his body language in formal mode. How did he do that?

  “Querida, I’m glad you stopped by. We should talk, yes?”

  Maggie rose from behind the desk. “I was just gonna take this book with me to the
kitchen. Office is all yours.” Without waiting for our response, she slung her leather bag over her shoulder, dropped the condition book inside, and left the office.

  “Tell me,” Calixto said. “Did you learn anything? What did your mother say?”

  Still in formal mode. All business. I shook it off and walked around the desk to sit in Maggie’s squeaky office chair. I told him about the scene Joan had described and how much the fight between Rich and Savarine had disturbed her.

  “I’ve never seen her like this. She’s always been in control. Confident, poised. Always certain of what should and shouldn’t be done. She certainly told me often enough.”

  “So,” Calixto said, “she has been … humbled.”

  I stared at him. “Yes. And then,” I said, spreading my palms, “she asked me if I had a gun.”

  “Watch your step with her, querida. A woman like her is dangerous when cornered. I’ve seen it in her eyes.”

  I’d seen it, too. “I will. But we need to find out who this man is. The one Rich and Savarine were talking about. He’s … he’s the puppet master.”

  A flicker in the doorway caught my attention. The calico stable cat from Mars’s shedrow stood on the threshold, her white whiskers brilliant in a shaft of late-morning sun. She stretched, than seated herself and began to wash a front paw. She probably preferred Maggie’s side of the barn. I sure did.

  I turned from the cat to Calixto. “You’ve seen Meloy. Did he tell you anything?”

  “Only that when Percy first called him, he sounded as apprehensive as Rich and Savarine. We know Percy was worried about the fund. About where some of the money was coming from. About where it was going. But Percy was planning to give Meloy names and dates, and most important, a document he said Meloy would find very interesting.”

  “A document? Have they—”

  “No,” he said. “They searched Percy’s car and the house he rented for the summer. They have found nothing.”

  I’d been twirling a pencil I’d grabbed off Maggie’s desk. I stopped, my fingers gripping the yellow wood.