“I certainly don’t,” Lauren snapped.
Her father drew a deep breath. “Put the past where it belongs, Lauren. Today's special. It’s your birthday.”
Her thirty-first birthday. A day of celebration. But memories and emptiness surrounded her. A void in her heart, an empty place at the dinner table. Everyday growing up she’d pray her mother would die of old age in Woodhills State Psychiatric Hospital. Lauren would never forget Jamie, or the woman who killed him.
Lightning burst across the night sky. Wind whipped through the trees.
She pulled the French doors closed. “We’d better get going.”
Lucy ran to the front door and sat at Lauren’s feet.
“Sorry. You can’t come with us. You be a good girl while I’m gone.” Lauren pointed to the doggy bed.
Lucy barked once and went and laid down.
“Want to drive?”
“The Jag?”
“Sure why not? It’s your birthday.”
She snatched the keys from his hand. “Ready?”
“Let’s celebrate.” The warmth of his smile echoed in his voice.
* * * *
An hour and half later, Lauren’s father escorted her through the towering front doors of the Four Seasons Restaurant.
At the top of the stairs, she glanced around the room filled with the upscale crowd. Actors, wannabees and the wealthy. Some familiar and some not. Of all the restaurants in New York, this had always been her favorite. She loved the extravagant décor—walls covered with a fortune of fine art and decorated with hard-to-find collectibles. As she walked past the white marble pool the soothing sound of water engulfed the main dining room.
“Good evening,” the waiter said. “Would you like to hear this evening’s specials?” He quickly filled the crystal water glasses.
“No thanks. I think we’re ready to order.”
“Dad, I’ll have my usual.”
“Okay. Let’s start with a bottle of Corton Pougets 1995.”
“Excellent choice, sir.”
“For our appetizer, we’ll have the Scottish salmon roll and some Osetra caviar. Miss Taylor will have the Dover sole with lemon sauce. I’ll have the filet mignon, rare, with grilled portabellas.”
The waiter nodded. “Very well.”
When the wine arrived, her father raised his glass in salute. “I propose a toast.”
She raised her wine glass to meet his.
“Happy birthday to my beautiful daughter. You have brought me so much joy these past thirty-one years. Cheers.”
“Cheers.” While she sipped her wine, he pulled a burgundy box from his inside breast pocket and slid it across the table.
“What’s this?” The look on his face reminded her of how his eyes would beam bright with joy at her and Jamie when they opened their Christmas gifts. Intrigued, she popped open the box. Diamonds shimmered in the candlelight.
“Dad, it’s gorgeous.”
“A little something I found on Fifth Avenue. Do you like it?”
Lauren smiled and clasped the white gold bracelet around her wrist. “Of course I do. Thank you. It’s beautiful.” She started to nibble on a bread twist and noticed her father yawn. “Tough day?”
“Yeah. I spent most of the afternoon reading through my old files on Valdina.”
“You should be the one taking him on again. You’re still the Deputy District Attorney.”
She never forgot the look of disappointment in her father’s eyes when the decision came down ten years ago. Not guilty of murder. With lots of money tucked away and dozens of associates bought and paid for, Gino Valdina’s “friends” would gladly take the fall for him. Anytime. At any cost. And had.
“You know that’s not possible. The farther I stay away from the case the better. We don’t want to give Ricardo Pinstronna any excuse to ask the judge for a mistrial. The guy is the true meaning of a slime-ball. He gives lawyers a bad name. Did you know he defended a dozen of Bonanno’s crew in the eighties and won?”
“I didn’t know that. Well he’s not going to get his client off this time. Valdina’s claim that someone broke into his house while he was out of town and slaughtered his wife for revenge doesn’t wash. I’m sure he has enemies, lots of them. Being head of New York’s oldest and most influential Cosa Nostra for over thirty years, no doubt there are people lined up waiting to take him out and anyone he’s connected with. The evidence doesn’t lie.” Lauren paused and took a sip of her wine before continuing. “Gino killed Madelina in cold blood. She was fed up with his ‘goomatta’ and demanded fidelity in their marriage. When he refused to give up his long-term mistress, Madelina took matters in her own hands and filed for a divorce. Not something you do when you’re married to the mob. When you’re a Mafia wife you’re “owned” for life. I’m confident the state will prove their case.”
“And I’m confident my brilliant and beautiful daughter will nail the bastard’s ass to the wall.”
She hoped he was right. “We’ll get him.”
Her father leaned back in the chair. “Troy said he wouldn’t be surprised if Pinstronna wants to make an eleventh hour deal.”
Troy Granger. Assistant District Attorney. An attractive playboy known throughout the state of New York. Even his name made Lauren’s skin crawl. She detested the man and the feeling was mutual. To fuel the fire even more, her best friend Amanda Richmond had become Troy’s recent love conquest. The thought of Amanda and Troy vacationing in the Bahamas almost made Lauren sick.
Lauren put the linen napkin on her lap. “I couldn’t care less what Troy thinks. He’s not running this trial. There won’t be any deals. It’s all or nothing.”
“That’s my girl. You sound very much like your old man. Hey, look. Here comes our dinner.”
“Great, I’m starved.”
After the waiter put the salmon roll and caviar on the table, they dug in.
When their entrees were served, Lauren pushed the green beans to the side of her plate and took a bite of the sole. Across the room a waitress snapped a picture of a young couple cuddled together in a booth. The man looked deep into the woman’s eyes, and then seductively kissed the woman’s cheek.
“Dating anyone these days?”
The fork slipped from between Lauren’s fingers and fell to her plate with a clang, but went unnoticed due to the festive hum of the restaurant. “What?”
“Dating anyone?”
She swallowed hard. “You know I haven’t dated much since—”
“Eric?”
“Yes, since Eric. Do we have to discuss this tonight?”
“I’m just concerned. You don’t seem to have much of a social life.”
“Come on, you make me sound like a nun. I don’t have much free time these days. I volunteer every Saturday at the Humane Society. The Women’s Law Association meets every other Tuesday and my days are pretty full with this case.”
“What about your evenings?”
“I’ve dated at least a dozen men and you know it.” She gave him a tight smile and snapped her bread twist. “Let’s drop it, Dad.”
Lauren glanced across the table at the Picasso hanging on the wall. Eric had always hated that painting, said it looked like mashed up peas and carrots, and insisted on sitting with his back to it.
She never thought he’d turn his back on her as well. A flash of anger surged through her. Lauren grabbed another bread twist.
The knot in her stomach added to her frustration...a reminder of how lonely she really was.
Chapter Three
Detective Eric Brennan sat at his usual table and sipped the night’s beverage of choice—a cola. In Chunkers Bar and Grill loud pointless chatter overpowered the ‘80s rock and roll band on stage.
The last week was a blur. Every waking hour he pounded the streets in search of his father’s killer.
Eric knew every detail of the shooters face, but not the kid’s name. He’d heard from one of his informant’s, the kid was a young tough-guy lo
oking to be made—a “cugine” ready to make his mark into New York’s most influential crime network, the Valdina family. As part of his induction into the mob family, the asshole had already killed a low-life rival family member and Eric and his father were working the homicide case when they got a tip.
That steamy June evening had started like any typical bust. Within minutes after Eric and his father arrived at the warehouse, dozens of DEA agents secured the perimeter. Eric entered the warehouse first, his father followed. Amid the stench of mildew and dust, the first pop of an automatic echoed within the barren walls.
They were ambushed.
His father, a veteran with twenty-three years on the force never saw the shots coming. Eric threw his body against his father in hopes of shielding him. It was too late. Instead Eric witnessed his father’s face, the sickening whitish blue tint that came with death...
While Pete checked in with the precinct, Eric shifted in the chair. His left knee still burned where the bullet had grazed his leg. He rubbed the scar, a permanent reminder of a drug bust gone bad. Very bad.
“Hey, Brennan.” Pete threw a twenty-dollar bill on the table and downed the last swallow of his beer. “Come on. I think we got a lead.”
Outside on West 35th Street, a full moon peeked through the clouds. Jagged streaks of lightning ignited the sky as rain sprinkled against Eric’s leather jacket. He lit a cigarette and leaned against his white pick-up truck parked in front of Chunkers.
Pete smirked. “Man, I thought you quit.”
“I did.” Eric took a drag and stared at Pete through a haze of smoke.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“I’ll quit as soon as you shave off that red mop you call a moustache.”
Pete smoothed his moustache. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Looks like a broom.”
His partner rolled his eyes.
The drizzle intensified and a draft brushed across Eric’s chest. “Are you going to tell me? Or are we going to continue to discuss the hair above your lip in the pissing rain?”
“There’s a large cocaine shipment coming into Brooklyn Self Storage around midnight. Word is Valdina’s crew will be there.”
Eric checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. “Let’s move. I don’t want to be late for the show.” He flicked his cigarette to the pavement and jumped into the truck.
Adrenaline pumped through Eric’s veins. His fingers tapped against the steering wheel as if they had a life of their own. Maybe this time he’d catch his father’s killer.
While Pete flipped on a map light and scanned the details of the bust, Eric turned the corner onto Pearl Street.
Two police cars blocked the street across from the storage business. Sirens wailed, dome lights flashed. A swarm of DEA agents and local cops huddled in the wide driveway.
Pete sat up straight in the seat. “Looks like they went in early.”
“Shit.” Eric slammed his hand against the dashboard. He threw the truck in park, and then jumped out.
Pete was two steps behind him.
An agent met Eric and held out his hand. “Good to see you. What’s homicide doing down here?”
Eric shook the man’s hand. “I’m looking for one of Valdina’s boys. What did you get?”
“A hundred and thirty-six kilos of coke. Estimated street value—fourteen million dollars. Someone is going to be fuckin’ pissed.”
A haul like that would put a huge hole in Valdina’s pocket and cause more tension within the family ranks. “I’d say so. That’s a hell of a lot of coke off the streets. Good work.” Eric shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Any arrests?”
“Sorry, man. Not even a rat in sight. They must have been tipped off.”
This was the fourth time in the last two weeks. Someone was feeding Valdina’s crew information, someone within the precinct. Eric needed to find who was leaking the information. He paced between his truck and the sidewalk, lit another cigarette and took a long drag. Now what?
Pete tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, just got a call. Stephen Taylor and his daughter were run off the road.”
What? Eric stood speechless for a moment. “Are they—?”
“Don’t know. They were taken to University Trauma. But check this out.”
Pete handed him a slip of paper.
Eric read the details. “Keep a close eye on prosecutor Stephen Taylor and the new district attorney. They might run into some problems.” His stomach lurched again.
“Are you thinking what I am?” Pete asked.
“Yeah. Thursday’s murder trial. They were deliberately run off the road.”
For decades, acting boss, Gino Valdina led New York’s crime family. He was a smooth talking piece of crap who had manipulated his way out of trouble a dozen times in the past. Easy to do in a city where associates, cops and judges were bought and paid for with drug money that lined the Valdina family’s pockets.
Pete opened the passenger side door and got in.
Eric tossed the half smoked cigarette to the ground and squashed the butt with his foot.
Inside the truck, a familiar rush burst through Eric’s veins. If one of Valdina’s soldiers was responsible for Lauren’s accident, he wouldn’t stop there. This may be the break he needed to help find his father’s killer.
“Didn’t you say you dated Taylor’s daughter a few years back?” Pete rammed a piece of gum in his mouth and tossed the wrapper in the ashtray. “A brunette. A real looker.”
Lauren’s face flashed through Eric’s mind. “Yeah. Too bad she was such a spoiled daddy’s girl.”
Four years had passed and he wondered if Lauren had changed.
More than anything, Eric prayed she was alive.
* * * *
“You’re in shock, Miss Taylor. Please stay still,” a female instructed.
Lauren moaned and turned her head in the direction of the voice. Her temples throbbed. Lights glared overhead and flashed in the back of her eyes. She flinched. A sharp pain ripped up her neck.
Gloved hands touched her arms and her body drifted back on the bed. “There. Now just relax.”
Where am I?
Dismal beige walls surrounded her. A crooked picture of irises blurred. The smell of antiseptic caught her nostrils and the room spun. A face warped and distorted, swirled and twisted above her.
“What—hospital?” Lauren squeezed her eyes shut.
“University Trauma Center. You’ve had an accident,” the nurse said.
Lauren’s throat tightened. Images spun through her mind. Light. Rain. Metal. A van...
“My father. Where’s my father?”
“He’s across the hall. He’ll be fine.”
Thank God.
Footsteps. Heavy footsteps.
“How’s she doing?”
That voice, gentle and familiar, wove through Lauren’s groggy mind. Am I dreaming? So much like Eric’s. Not Eric, though. He’d left her years ago.
“Pretty battered up. A mild concussion and her wrist is sprained. They say she just clipped the tree in that fancy car. If it had been head-on, we’d have quite a different outcome.”
“Glad to hear she’s okay.”
No, Lauren had never forgotten his voice. Now that voice, deep and rich, whirled around her. She opened her eyes.
His face blurred, and yet she felt the need to lift her arms toward the fuzzy outline.
Features bent and twisted, for a second became clear. Brown eyes stared down at her then faded away. “Eric?”
“In the flesh.”
What was he doing here? As far as she knew he was still working homicide. Lauren grasped the bed-rails and tried to sit up. Fire shot through her body and she slumped back, defeated. Though her head throbbed, reflected light glimmered over his olive skin, his smile shone down on her.
Another strike of pain stabbed at her temples. “My head is killing me.”
“I bet it is. I’m happy to see you’re still in one piece. Christ, you could�
�ve been killed.”
His words registered on her dizzied senses, the tone of his voice, edged with concern. He sat beside her and placed a cool cloth across her forehead. The tips of his fingers brushed against her cheek, gentle and caring.
His citrus and woodsy scent was familiar and made her feel safe. Lauren looked at him. His dark brown hair fell at the back of his neck a bit longer than she remembered. He looked great, but tired. Odd how their paths crossed again. Fate? Maybe.
“You must have stopped drinking otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”
“Been sober for three and half years.”
“I’m glad. I liked you when you were sober.”
The hospital room door creaked open.
“Miss Taylor?”
Lauren yanked the blanket to her chest. “Yes?”
Eric touched her arm. “It’s okay. He’s with me.”
An untrimmed moustache almost completely covered the man’s thick top lip. He looked like he was right out of the seventies.
“I’m Pete Hallman. I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Eric, will you stay with me?”
“Sure.” He nodded to his partner.
Pete grabbed the metal chair from the corner of the room and sat beside the bed. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a pen and notebook. “Can you tell us what you remember? If you need to stop, just say so.”
She drew a deep breath. “Dad came to my house around seven. We chatted for a while, and then we left for the Four Seasons for dinner.”
“Did you notice if you were followed to the restaurant?”
“No.”
Pete scribbled in his notebook. “Any idea what time you left the restaurant?”
God, her head was going to explode. She chewed back a sob. “I think—ten-thirty. I’m not sure.”
Eric’s brown eyes met hers. “It’s okay, take your time. What happened next?”
“There was a van. He was driving too fast for the lousy road conditions. I decided to pull over and let the driver pass.”
“Did he?” Pete asked.
“Yes. Then I pulled back onto the road and then the van came back.”
Lethal Journey Page 2