First, though, I had to track down Vincent Drake. Of course, I'd tell Carlo that he had first choice on killing Drake, but if the opportunity presented itself, I was going to put a pistol to that bastard's head and pull the trigger until the hammer dry-clicked a few times.
I got to my apartment, still trying to figure out what to do. An idea popped into my mind while I scrubbed the sweat off my body, and I felt a bit of lightness coming to my mood for the first time in a while. “Adam. He can help.”
Adam Kane was someone I'd met through a job that Don Bertoli had given to me. Not in the employ of the Don, he was a freelance private investigator whose morals were reasonably flexible enough that he didn't mind it when I would sometimes come to him with Bertoli business—somewhat of a moral anarchist, if you will. He was loyal to an employer, though, and good at what he did.
Grabbing my phone, I called up Adam. “Yo, Kane.”
“Daniel, it's good to hear your voice,” Adam answered in his normal high-pitched whine. It wasn't his most endearing feature. In fact, Adam was the sort of guy who probably didn't get a woman in bed unless he paid for it handsomely first. Short, dumpy-looking, with a good case of acne scars and the tendency to collect blackheads that could have starred on YouTube videos, he was still a smart guy with a good sense of humor and loyal to those he cared about. A lot of women could do worse than him. “What can I do for you?”
“I've got a situation that could use your services,” I said. “I hope you aren't busy.”
“Nah, just your standard following cheating husband cases,” Adam said with a chuckle. “Nothing I can't pass off to my assistant. Considering you always bring me interesting things, I can clear my schedule. When would you like to meet?”
“Meet me at midnight at the boat ramp on 14th Street,” I said. “Bring your computer gear.”
I hung up my phone and looked in my closet. The relatively empty space was divided into two sections. On the right, I had my normal clothes, suits that Don Bertoli would approve of. On the left, my casual stuff that Adriana requested I wear. All of them were hung up on wooden hangers—which prevent lines from developing in the shoulders of your coats or shirts—or clipped at the waist on pants hangers. I reached for one of my suits, then stopped. This job had gotten personal, whether I wanted it to or not. In fact, the more I tried to avoid it, the more mistakes I made. I should have anticipated the emails. I should have seen it coming. Instead, I was so caught up in trying not to break down and take her to bed that I was making stupid mistakes and overlooking things.
“Fuck it,” I said, my hand drifting to a sport coat that I had hanging to the right of my closet. I hadn't worn it in a while—before I'd really started doing heavy work for the Don and had been trying to scrape together whatever I could. I pulled it off its hanger and gave it a sniff, happy that it still smelled all right.
I grabbed my Beretta, this time choosing a belt holster that wouldn't imprint too much under the sport coat, and pulled the coat on. Checking myself in the mirror, I thought I looked good.
I met Adam at five after twelve, having to wait the five minutes for him before he approached me. He’s good at private investigation, but not so much with keeping time. “Good to see you, Daniel. Couldn't you have picked a more picturesque location?”
“It's the middle of the night, Adam,” I said, gesturing around us. “Did you really think we could meet up in a fashionable nightspot or something?”
“Well, I figured that with who you work for and what you do, you'd at least be able to get me drinks and maybe a pretty girl to look at after we finish business,” Adam said with a chuckle. A notorious horndog, I wondered just how many gigabytes of porn was saved on his computer at home. In a moment of reflection, I realized that Carmen at the Starlight Club would have been right down his alley.
“Not tonight, Adam. No offense, but I need you focused on the job right away. Your perks can come later.”
Adam spread his hands and cracked his knuckles. “Whatcha need, D-man?”
“I hate when you call me that,” I remarked for what was perhaps the hundredth time in our working relationship. Like Don Bertoli, I rarely allowed people to talk to me in a disrespectful manner, but Adam was competent and professional in most other ways. I could use his skills. Besides, he did have a disarming charm to go along with his sense of humor, and I liked the man despite his perpetual tardiness and screwing around with my name.
“I know. But seriously, man, you're looking and sounding like you've got a bug up your ass the size of a football. Does this have anything to do with the Bertoli girl?”
In an instant, I had him by his shirt, shoving him against my car. “What do you know, Adam?”
“Whoa, Daniel, chill,” he said, lifting his hands. “The case has been in the news for over a week now, remember? Pretty college co-ed, a pair of murder scenes that looked like they were straight out of The Silence of the Lambs, a crazy ex-professor? Come on, even with the details the media is keeping silent, the whole thing is capturing people's attention. Once I heard the name Adriana Bertoli in one of the news reports, well . . . people talk. Some of your normal pickups have noticed you aren't the one doing the weekly cash rounds right now. I'm just putting two and two together. That's all.”
I let him go, dusting off his shirt. “Sorry. Just, the police are about as worthless as a box of dildos to me right now, and I'm not able to put my full skills toward finding this asshole. Either I take the time to protect Adriana, or I take the time to find and hunt this asshole. I don't have the time to do both.”
“Which is why you gave me a call,” he said. “What do you need?”
“I want you to find Vincent Drake for me,” I said. “Don Bertoli told me that he's former Special Operations. He obviously knows how to do at least basic computer hacking or something. His most recent harassing message was in an email, sent in the name of Mike Rutherford.”
“And should I know who Mike Rutherford is?” Adam asked. Considering I had to look it up, I wasn't offended.
“He's one of the key members of the band, Genesis,” I answered for him. “Plays guitar. This Drake character happens to have a major affinity for the band.”
“Gotcha,” Adam said. I reached into my coat and pulled out a thumb drive, which I passed over to him. “What's this?”
“A copy of the email, along with what I know about Vincent Drake. Bertoli's men don't operate in the same digital world you do, so it's only a simple text file.”
“It's enough to get started,” he said, taking the drive and making it disappear into his pants pocket. “You got a timeline on this?”
“Make it your primary case until this asshole is in my hands. If you find him, let me know immediately. This guy . . . he's mine.”
He lifted his eyebrow, giving me a long look. “You’re not turning him over to the cops? You know that girl’s family is going to want justice.”
“They'll learn about it,” I said quietly. “But this fucker belongs to me.”
“What about your boss? He's not going to like that.”
I sighed, knowing I'd fucked up again. My private thoughts might be different, but I had to make sure my public face was constant. “Of course, he belongs to the Don. But I'm the one to hand him over.”
Adam nodded. “Deal. Consider this a favor though, Daniel. You've brought me enough money that I'm grateful, and this case . . . it's the sort of thing you don't chase down for money. You do it because it's the right thing to do. Even men like me know there are some basic rights and wrongs the world's gotta follow.”
He turned and walked off into the darkness. Just as I was about to get back into my BMW, and he was nothing more than a black shape against the slightly less dark of the surrounding area, he turned back. “Hey, D-man?”
“Yeah?”
“I like the new look. Makes you look less stuffy, more like a badass. I bet the ladies like it too.”
“Fuck off, Adam,” I said with a good-natured wave. “Now excu
se me. I have to get to work myself.”
Chapter 9
Adriana
I'd recovered from my scare, but I was going stir-crazy. The college administration, still more worried about covering their asses than trying to stop Vincent from harassing me, wasn't very helpful when Mom went in to talk to them the day after the threatening email. They said that without direct evidence that the message was sent by Vincent, there was little they could do. Mom at least got them to agree to let me take the rest of the week off, forwarding my assignments to my school email. Since I didn't have any tests for the next two weeks, I was okay there at least.
Still, being kept in the house, even one as luxurious as the Bertoli mansion, was driving me nuts. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same faces, the same people, the same things that I'd seen a million times before in my life. To make it worse, Uncle Carlo took away my phone and computer, telling me that Daniel would now have screening of my communication added to his duties. So I was stuck watching daytime TV, reading books in the library, and trying not to be bored out of my mind. I wasn't even allowed outside, except to the small garden that was built into a section of the mansion that was surrounded by other buildings. I was being kept a prisoner for my own damn protection.
Friday, though, Daniel was back, and after a long, private conversation with Uncle Carlo, he found me in the gym. “Well, it looks like you're giving it a bit more effort than you were the last time I saw you in here,” he said as I heaved my way through another set of chest presses. “Trying to beef up on me?”
“More like I'm bored and pissed, and this is the best way to work it off,” I said, pushing. The handles of the machine moved away from my chest for a second before pausing, stuck at the halfway-point. I gritted my teeth and grunted, very unladylike and totally unavoidable, but I couldn't complete the motion. The handles crashed back to the stop point as gravity won out over my muscles, and I hissed in frustration. “Shit.”
“Listen, I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm back to sticking by your side now, but you're not going to like one thing.”
“What's that?” I said, rolling my shoulders. I didn't lift very often, and I knew I'd be sore the next day because of it, but I didn't really care. It was better than being bored out of my skull. Actually, just having Daniel nearby helped.
“Carlo told me that you’re to live in the house. So starting next week, when you go back to classes, we're going to have to leave earlier to make it on time.”
“What about you?” I asked. “It’s going to be even more of a pain in the ass for you.”
Daniel shook his head. “Actually, I'll be getting a bit more sleep, since I'm going to be staying here too. The housekeeper’s making up my old room.”
“That thing? It's the size of a broom closet!” I protested. “Seriously, the pantry is bigger than that!”
Daniel shrugged it off. “I don't need it for much more than a mattress and to store a few clothes. We've got a shower over here, after all. Speaking of which, if you just happen to wander down here at six fifteen in the morning and hear the hot water running, feel free to join whoever is in there.”
“Yeah, right. Knowing my luck, it'd be the gardener. No thanks.”
Daniel laughed and turned to go, when I stopped him. “Dan?”
“Yeah, Ade?”
“Are you busy tonight? I'm going batshit crazy around here, there's far too many men in dark suits, and I need a break from all this heaviness.”
Daniel sighed and turned back. “We're here to protect you, Ade. He could never get in this place.”
“Still, I need to get out of here, even if it’s just for a few hours. Think of it as mental therapy,” I said. I went over to my next machine and adjusted the seat and pins, readying myself. “Come on, don't make me order you.”
Daniel chuckled. “I think you'd prefer me ordering you around. But I have to say no either way. Your mother wants me to do something. Also, I have some restitution to take care of. I don't like saying it, but I didn't exactly behave well the last time I stopped by the Starlight Club.”
I was surprised at the flare of anger and jealousy at the mention of the Starlight Club. I knew what sort of business that was, and I didn't like the idea of Daniel going there, regardless of whether it was his job. “You should frequent a better class of business, Daniel.”
“It's my job, Ade. In either case, I'm going to be leaving around six and won't be back until after midnight.”
“Fine. Then tomorrow night, you're protecting me while I go out to dinner and a movie. I need a few hours to feel like a normal girl, and not a fucking victim.” I sat down at the machine and started, pulling the handles this time instead of pushing them. “Got a problem with that?”
I think it was the first time I'd seen Daniel uncomfortable in a long time. Sure, he'd been hesitant in the graveyard, but not uncomfortable. He wanted to say no, but another part of him wanted to say yes. “Fine. What time?”
“I'll tell you tomorrow,” I said with a smile. “It'll be fun.”
I don't think he knew that I heard his next comment. He was trying to keep it under his breath, but it still made me smile, knowing I was affecting him the same way he was affecting me. “It'll be my fucking funeral, more like it.”
Mom and Uncle Carlo weren't happy about it, but they understood after enough convincing on my part. So, at six thirty Saturday night, I was dressed in my best jeans and t-shirt, freshly scrubbed. I'd taken the time to make sure that I didn't have any paint on my clothes or in my hair, even though I'd spent four hours that afternoon painting in the library, letting my stress out through the use of oils. The painting was shit, dark and violent and not at all like what I preferred to do, but it helped. It let me pour out my emotions in a safe and familiar way. At least Vincent’s fuckery hadn't robbed me of one of my primary joys.
Daniel met me in the foyer, looking for all the world like some of the guys who'd come to pick me up for dates back in high school. Well, except for the small bulge on his left side where he had his pistol under his shirt. “You ready?”
“Of course,” I said, trying not to skip down the steps. Mom stood there watching, her eyes filled with concern. “I'll be back by eleven.”
She looked at me, then at Daniel, and gestured with her head. Daniel nodded silently and stepped outside, his keys in his hand. Mom used the opportunity to lean in close. “You behave yourself, young lady. Do you understand?”
“I'll be fine,” I said, giving her my best innocent smile. “It's not a date. I doubt you’d want me to go alone—not that I’d want to—but I need to get out.”
“It had better not be, for both of your sakes,” Mom whispered. “Be careful.”
I kissed her on the cheek and gave her a hug, patting her back. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”
Daniel was already outside, standing next to his car, holding the passenger door open for me. “Should I ask what she said?”
“You're smart enough to know,” I replied with a smile, sliding into the passenger seat. We drove, heading out of town. I'd chosen a mall outside of Seattle, purely for the fact that we'd never been there before.
As we drove, Daniel relaxed bit by bit as we put miles between us and the house. “Dan?”
“Yeah, Ade?” he asked. He reached out with a thumb, jabbing the power button on his car stereo, and I was surprised as relaxing, mellow instrumental music, not jazz but something else, filled the car. “Just downloaded it today. Thought you could use the relaxation.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning back into the leather seats. “I just wanted to let you know, this dinner is for you too. I know you've been doing your best, and you've been showing a few signs of stress too. Also, I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the Starlight Club. I know it’s part of your job.”
“Thanks, but you didn't need to,” Daniel replied. “Last night was purely business. I met my private eye there. He's helping me with tracking down Drake.”
“No more on
Vincent tonight, please? For the next four and a half hours, I don't want to hear or even think about that man.”
“Deal,” Daniel said. “Just dinner and a movie for a stressed out girl. Too much cobalt blue and titanium white or something.”
I laughed. “Something like that. Although after today's painting, I think I need a few more tubes of black and gray.”
I was surprised when he nodded. “I saw. I liked it.”
“Really? I thought it was terrible,” I said. “Not realistic at all—too dark, just . . . not me.”
“Maybe not, but it's got a lot of intensity. You really poured a lot of yourself into it, and I guess it speaks to me that way.”
“Then it's yours,” I said immediately. “The best way to get through to an artist is to say you like their work, even if the she hates it herself.”
The restaurant lived up to the reviews, with some of the best burgers I'd had in a long time. Daniel enjoyed as well, and ended up licking the barbecue sauce from his bacon barbecue burger off his fingertips, something I'd never seen him do before. At home, he'd always been the epitome of decorum, wiping his hands and mouth with his napkin even if everyone else was nearly under the table drunk. “Worth the thirty-minute drive, that's for sure,” he said. “What did you think?”
“Great. You know the only downer in this?”
“What's that?”
I took a sip of my soda and set my glass down. “You and I were good friends for about five years there, after I came to Uncle Carlo's house. But then we were kept apart.”
“For good reason, Ade. I haven't been the type of man who’s supposed to be friends with a classy girl like you.”
“I think I'm old enough now to pick who my friends are and who I want to spend time with,” I said simply, but I was touched by his compliment. “I guess what I'm saying is, when this is finished, I don't want you to drift away again. I know Uncle Carlo doesn't like it, but I want to talk to him about it later.”
Inked: A Bad Boy Next Door Romance Page 23