The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds

by Nellie K Neves

  “Dad, this is Roman, the new music producer over at Santos.” She motions to her father. “Roman, this is my dad, Ace Cartwright.”

  I take his extended hand, trying to match the intense grip of the man I’ve been investigating for the past week. He oozes intimidation from every pore. Raising two beautiful daughters mostly on his own, he plays the role of protector like a professional.

  “Pleasure to meet you, sir. You have an impressive set up here. It’s been a pleasure getting to watch Kennedy work.”

  “A pleasure, huh?” I don’t miss the twitch in the patriarch’s brow. “Don’t worry about calling me sir, leave that to the young men.”

  I pull my hand free, as if his grip turned electric. He may not be saying much, but his disapproval over our age gap is apparent.

  “I can’t get a clear answer through the grapevine,” Ace nods his head to Kennedy, “or even from my own daughter. Where did Dale run off to? Surely his replacement knows.”

  “Family trouble.” I shrug. “You know how it is.”

  “His parents are dead. He has no wife and no children. What family is in trouble exactly?” His voice turns sharp on the last word. Ace might as well demand my real identity.

  “Sister, on the East Coast.” I shake my head slowly. “She had a bad fall.” I’ve spent enough time at Dale’s desk to know his sister is alive and well. Thank goodness for keeping my nose in the paperwork.

  “Good for you for stepping in. I’m sure Kennedy is learning a lot from an old pro like you.”

  “Daddy, that’s enough.” Kennedy tries to keep her voice low, but it’s not hard to hear her reproach.

  “What? Guys our age have to teach you young bucks how it’s done.” He kisses the top of her head but doesn’t take his eyes off me. “Isn’t that right, Roman?”

  “Something like that, sir.”

  Kennedy grits her teeth so hard I fear she might crack something. “Daddy cut it out. He’s only thirty-three. Hardly your age.”

  “Hardly your age either,” Ace whispers back.

  Apparently, I’m not the only one worried about the age gap.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  I hate feeling out of control, and whatever game my dad is playing is definitely out of my control. I knew he wouldn’t like the idea of an older guy on my arm, but I didn’t think he’d have this much of an issue with it. He’s acting like Roman is decades older than me and out to do me wrong. Nothing could be farther from the truth. Because of Roman’s hot and cold act, nothing has even happened. Despite my best efforts.

  Movement on the trail from the barn catches my eye. Hudson and Jill, sneaking back in from wherever they ran off to. He catches my eye and I shoot him a look, hoping our innate ability to speak telepathically will kick in, or at least he’ll see my desperation. He kisses Jill’s cheek, then rushes to my side.

  “Hey, dad. There’s an issue with the cars out front. I was hoping you’d come take a look.”

  Dad gives my hand a squeeze, as if to tell me this discussion isn’t over yet and bids a quick goodbye to Roman. I must have been holding my breath through the whole exchange because the second he’s outside my immediate presence, I exhale my relief.

  “Sorry about that.” I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that, at least on some level, Roman is right. Some people will have an issue about our age gap.

  “I expected it.” Roman keeps the distance between us, but I wish he’d take my hands, pull me close, use dancing as an excuse again. Anything to go back to where we were in the cottage not too many nights ago. He’s about to say something else, but his phone rings from his jacket pocket. He checks it quickly, disappointment written all over his face.

  “Bad news about your car?”

  His brow caves in for half a second as if my words make no sense, but he recovers quickly. “Yeah, I need to go. I’m sorry.”

  He finally takes my hand, but only to hold it for a second before he lets it go. I watch him make his quick exit, standing alone, music swirling around me, wondering if I’ll ever have the guts to chase what I want, in music, and in my heart.

  Chapter 10

  Roman

  “What do you have?” I ask Rick as I climb into the surveillance van.

  “Suspicious figures,” he points to the monitor with two men standing outside a restaurant. “This is Dante Alvero. From what Maddox was able to piece together, he’s Dark Fox’s right-hand man. This is his restaurant. I want you to look at these numbers, tell me what you see.”

  He hands me copies of spreadsheets. I bounce from one line to the next, working the numbers in my head. “Yeah, these don’t add up. Food cost is through the roof. They’ve bought two new walk-ins this year. And I don’t think anyone needs two thousand dollars’ worth of pepper shakers.”

  “You’re going in,” Rick says.

  “I’m what?”

  “You’re going in, right now. Health department surprise inspection.” He snaps his fingers and the analyst at the computer hands me a clipboard and ID badge. “Put on my suit coat and tie. Do we have any glasses in here?”

  I tilt the ID Badge for Forest Addimer, health inspector, in my hands. “Are you sure about this? It feels rash without more intelligence.”

  “You’ve seen Maddox. Does it look like we have time to waste? I know you’re more comfortable with the computers, but I need you. All I want is confirmation whether these items are in that building. I need a thread to chase.”

  “Do I get hazard pay for this?” I’m joking, but not really.

  “It’s hardly a hazard. Nobody shoots the health inspector.”

  “Yet,” I say, slipping on the sports coat. “You have a thermometer for me?”

  “What for?”

  “My cover. I have to check temperatures.”

  Within seconds the agent tucks a red digital thermometer in my hand. My last excuse is expended. I step out of the van and hope I’m not risking my life for no reason.

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  The bell over the door of Mama Cocino’s jangles, alerting all criminals inside that I’m fair game. I blow out a deep breath through tight lips and remind myself that I’m Forest Addimer, uptight, joyless, health inspector.

  “I’m sorry, we’re closed,” a deep voice says from the darkness.

  “Not here for food,” I try to keep my words clipped like I’m already late for my next appointment, “surprise inspection. I’m sure you understand.”

  “We had two this month already.” The voice still hasn’t revealed himself. I have no idea if a gun is trained on my head or not.

  “Yes, well,” I adjust the thick glasses Rick gave me and twirl the thermometer in my hand, “with all the violations you’ve had in the past, that’s not surprising. You can expect us to be climbing up your tailpipe for quite some time, mister.”

  The shadows shift. A body slips over the vinyl. Air releases from the cushion as he stands. I recognize Dante Alvero from the surveillance Rick showed me.

  “And you are?”

  I keep my smile as tight as possible. “Forest Addimer.”

  “You’re not the normal guy.”

  “He’s sick.”

  “It’s Sunday.”

  “Nothing says surprise like a Sunday.” I told Rick he was being rash. Oversights like this get agents killed. Fear creeps into my chest, but I can’t let it infiltrate my voice. “Are you going to show me into the back, or should I write that you refused to comply?”

  Two black eyes narrow to slits before he says, “Let’s get this over with.”

  I follow him through the back, senses alert and waiting. If I have to be out in the field, I’d feel better with a gun, but I guess health inspectors don’t carry guns. Once in the kitchen, Alvero waves his arm wide as if to give me full reach. The place is empty, not a single pot on a stove. A quick glance at the clock on the wall confirms what I suspected, four thirty. “Shouldn’t prep be underway by now? W
hat time do you open?”

  “Closed tonight.”

  My mind races with worry. If he suspects me, if there’s a chance he knows I’m not who I say I am—I’m dead. I pull out my thermometer, committed to my cover. “I’ll check the fridges then.”

  “Do what you gotta do.” Alvero stands at the end of the row, arms crossed, glaring, possibly trying to see through my cover.

  I pass the cooktop, at least ten years old. I count two walk-in fridges, not the four I would expect, and neither one of them have been replaced in the last fifteen years. I know enough now but leaving early will only put me in danger. I jerk open the door and step into the chilled air. Fearing for my own safety, I jam a slip of cardboard into the corner of the door to keep it slightly ajar. Last thing I want is to be locked inside.

  I check the temperature of most everything in the fridge, careful to write the information on my fake paperwork. Dates are written on the outside of the plastic serveware, everything is in order. Other than money laundering, the restaurant is on the up and up.

  A new voice outside the walk-in catches my attention. “Hey, there’s a van out back. You want me to check it out?”

  I move to the cracked door to try to listen in on the conversation happening on the other side of the steel.

  “It’s those feds. Leave ‘em alone. Think they’re gonna find something. Like I’m gonna put it under their noses.” Alvero makes some off-color jokes about Rick and his team. I hold my peace, hoping to make my exit at the right moment.

  “You want me to take care of them like I did that other guy?” The second voice makes a few “pew, pew” sounds like murder is something out of a video game.

  “Hey, keep your voice down, Pedro. We’ve got company.”

  “You want me to do him too?”

  I don’t want to hear Alvero’s answer. Instead, I make a show of shoving back the freezer door and rubbing my feet on the mat.

  “I don’t know why they gotta waste my time like this.” I press the door shut and flip the handle to a locked position. “You’re clearly running a clean kitchen here. I’ll tell you what. I’m writing you up a clear report, and if someone asks, I did every test on the list.”

  Alvero’s right eyebrow twitches. “And why would you do that for me?”

  “Sick of working these surprise shifts on a Sunday, man. If I stop finding things, they’ll stop sending me.”

  I’m banking on him wanting me out of here just as bad as I want to leave. Alvero watches me with scrutiny, weighing my lies for truth. He extends a hand, and I take it, careful to keep my fear from my grip.

  “You have a good day now, okay?” I say over my shoulder on the way for the door. I’m sure he’s suspicious. I don’t head back for the van. Instead, turn and leave toward my jeep. Checking the rearview mirror, though I’m quick, it’s not hard to spot my tail. Alvero sent a subordinate to be sure I didn’t climb in that van.

  I fire up the engine, shake out my nerves and head for home, just like any good old boy would do.

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  “You’re positive he knew we were there?”

  “Rick,” I wish he could have heard it himself, “he not only knows you were there; they were debating whether shooting you would raise too many red flags.”

  “Well Anita has you covered. She made up some fake profiles for your cover. If they go hunting, they’ll find a guy obsessed with fishing and collecting garden gnomes.”

  “Why gnomes?”

  “It’s just crazy enough to be believable.”

  “Fine. Look, nothing in there has been replaced. He’s using the restaurant like he used Santos Sound.” I switch my cell to the other ear. “They know we’re here. They know we’re onto them. I don’t know what your plan is, but—”

  “We flipped one of his guys. That’s what this fundraiser is. Flipped the guy, set up the sting, let him feed it back to his bosses. Dante won’t be able to resist. The guy has some weird obsession with musicians. We’ll snag him tomorrow night, red-handed. He’ll give us Dark Fox. It’ll be over and you can go back to your gnomes.”

  “I don’t like gnomes.”

  “Fine, whatever it is that guys like you are into.” Rick’s exhale fuzzes up the phone. “You got that girl yet?”

  “What?”

  “The one from the picture, did you ask her out yet?”

  “Maybe someone else should.” Even the idea of it tangles my insides to knots. I don’t want anyone else with her. The honest truth is I don’t want her anywhere near the event.

  “Did you not hear me this morning? There isn’t anyone else. It’s you or me at this point. And my wife isn’t going to let something like that slide.”

  “Don’t you think I’m a little old for her? It would hurt the cover.”

  “Yeah, you’re old for her. Too ugly too.” He thinks he’s teasing in good-natured fun, but it cuts a little too close to my insecurities. “But you’re the best I’ve got, so you’re gonna do it.”

  “I don’t know why you pretend like I’m something special. I’m only here because Maddox wanted to shine, and he thought I’d stay out of the way. You only picked me because my file says I excel at undercover jobs, but there are at least a hundred other agents who can do what I do.”

  I know better than to talk to my superior like that, no amount of exhaustion or frustration changes that. Rick’s side of the call remains silent for a minute. I brace myself for the worst.

  “Palmero, you’re a good agent. I didn’t choose you because you blend in. I picked you because I saw your record. You’ve been under the radar for years, but your name pops up on almost every major bust in the last six years. Never mind your scores, your shot record, your undercover work, you’re with the FBI for the right reason, not to feed your own ego. We need leadership like yours. The rest of these agents could learn a lot from you. Call the girl. Set it up.”

  The line cuts out. Rick’s not one for goodbye. Give a command, confirm the command, and walk away. The order was clear. Five seconds later, I have my phone to my ear, waiting on Kennedy Cartwright.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  I stare up the ceiling, running over the party in my mind. It’s a habit I’ve had since I took over. Like I’m watching a movie, I roll through the event, looking for flaws and follies. What usually helps me improve, only leaves me unsettled. I’d planned to push things further with Roman. But after the afternoon we spent together, all seven minutes of it, I feel more distant than ever.

  It doesn’t matter what they all say, attraction is attraction. Roman is different. He’s not all bravado and steal your thunder machoism. He’s strong without ever having to showboat. He’s tender in every touch. When he’s around, I gravitate toward him. My phone buzzes beside me on the bed. I thump my palm over the bedspread without lifting my head. I have every intention of ignoring the call, content to be alone with my thoughts instead of dealing with some insecure bride calling after hours, but I check the display.

  Roman Palermo.

  I added his name to my address book after the last call. I press my lips together. It buzzes again. My finger swipes the call through.

  “Hello?”

  “Kennedy?”

  “Hi, Roman. What’s going on?”

  “I was checking on you. Things ended,” he hesitates, likely searching for a word to describe my awkward family, “weird. I wanted to apologize.”

  “It’s me who should apologize. Everything with my dad…” I let my voice trail off. None of it needs to be repeated or relived. “How’s your jeep?”

  “Fine now. Running great.” He clears his throat. “I was actually calling to ask you something.”

  He pricks the hope in my heart that I wasn’t wrong at all. “What’s that?”

  “Are you busy tomorrow night?”

  “No. Why? Is someone playing?”

  “I have this event I need to attend. It’s a fundraiser for my company. I have to rub elbows and mi
ngle, in a tux no less.” There’s another heavy pause before he says, “I need a date.”

  “And I’m the only girl you know around here.”

  He laughs, but not because what I said was funny. “You’re the only one I’d like to go out with.”

  I catch my bottom lip and pull it back into my mouth. “What time?”

  “I can pick you up at seven.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  Chapter 11

  Roman

  I should have told her to wear something fancy. I’m kicking myself not only for that, but because I didn’t show up with flowers either. I shift my jacket, hoping to adjust the shoulder holster I haven’t worn in longer than I want to admit. Out of practice doesn’t even begin to cut it. Wearing a Glock under my jacket should feel natural, but I’ve been hiding in an office long enough that I feel every ounce of it. I knock on the front door anyway.

  This isn’t about not wanting to see her. It has more to do with not wanting to involve her. I spent the day helping Rick clear the venue. Something must have changed since we last talked. Our barebones crew grew overnight. I counted at least ten other agents at the event center. When I asked him about it, he simply said, “But they aren’t you.”

  If it was some attempt at flattery, it doesn’t sit well with me. I’m sure one of the others could step in and take my place in an instant. Rick seems intent to teach me something, and I follow orders. I wanted to ask him more, ask him to explain what he meant, but timing didn’t permit it. After a full day searching for bombs, listening devices, and any other illegal contraband, I barely had the time to put on my tux and drive to the Cartwright Ranch.

  The front door rips open, but it’s certainly not Kennedy.

  “Hey Hudson,” I say to her younger brother, “is Kennedy ready?”