Payne: A Bad Boy Romance: (With bonus book Mine)

by Kim Linwood

  “His office. He'll take it from there. You've got forty-five minutes.” There's a pause. “Don't make me look bad, Keaton. Whatever the alderman wants, it’s your duty to provide it.” The line goes dead.

  Shaking my head, I stumble to my feet. Forty-five freaking minutes. At least there shouldn't be much traffic at this hour on a Saturday, and there’s even a little sun peeking out from behind the clouds, so weather shouldn’t be an issue either.

  I take a quick shower, throw my uniform on and tie my hair back in a ponytail. Hopefully, I won't be expected to look pretty. By the time I strap on my service belt and rush down the stairs, I've got about twenty-five minutes to get downtown, park and find the alderman.

  It takes twenty-six, and he makes sure I hear about it. “Nice to see you finally joined us. What, did you decide to walk this morning?” He seems especially irritable today, hunched behind his desk like a gargoyle.

  “Sorry, sir. There wasn’t much time.”

  Trabucco glares at me under big, bushy eyebrows. “My apologies, princess. I didn’t know three days’ notice wasn’t enough.”

  Palmieri, you horse’s ass…

  There is no way my jerk of a boss didn’t do this to me on purpose, but I keep my mouth shut and take the hit.

  “Alright, let’s go.” He stands, pulls on his coat and leads the way down the corridor. I trail him straight out through the front doors, and for a moment I get a hit of sun on my face. The warmth is a nice change from the blustery wind we’ve dealt with most of the winter.

  The alderman points to a limo—which happens to be double parked—right in front of City Hall. “Get in.”

  “Where are we going?” I've never actually ridden in a limo, so I can't say I'm not curious, but this whole setup is incredibly strange.

  “That’s not important. You just cover my ass, like you're paid to.” The driver holds the door open, and Trabucco folds his long frame into the back, expecting me to follow.

  Okay, then. I guess that's how we're going to play it. “Yes, sir.”

  I seat myself opposite the alderman with my back towards the driver. There’s room next to him, but I don’t feel comfortable sitting there, so I risk car sickness instead.

  The windows are so tinted nobody will be able to see in. Heck, I can barely see out. It feels like a vulnerable situation, and the agitated way Trabucco’s hands never stop moving puts me on edge.

  My hand slides to my holster, and I make sure it’s easily accessible. Force is always a last resort, but the last thing I need is to be fiddling with my jacket if something happens.

  There's a table between us with a cabinet in its base. He pulls out two glass tumblers and a bottle of amber liquid. Single malt Lagavulin 16, according to the label. Sounds expensive, but I know squat about whisky. Setting the tumblers down on the table into little round indentations, like you have on airplane trays, he looks a question at me, raising his eyebrows.

  “No thank you. I’m on duty.” Oh, and it’s barely eight in the morning! But I keep that part to myself.

  “Suit yourself.” He knocks back the first like it’s apple juice, then pours another, sitting back and swirling it thoughtfully. “How do you like your job, Nora?”

  I blink, not sure how to answer, because right this second I’m not a huge fan. Also, I’m pretty sure he hasn’t just suddenly acquired an interest in how I feel about my work. “I’m still getting my feet wet, sir.”

  “That’s why I like you. You’re still new enough to care.” He stares at the tinted window, but I can’t imagine he’s enjoying the view.

  Grouchy, sort-of-misogynistic Trabucco I’m used to. Thoughtful, chummy Trabucco makes me nervous.

  “I wouldn’t mind having a little more experience, sir, but I’ll do my best. Maybe you can tell me what’s going on today?”

  He gives me a look that’s equal parts hate and resignation. “City business. Or maybe it’s Family business. Feels like the same fucking thing sometimes. I don’t expect trouble, but lately what I expect doesn’t seem to matter.”

  Right. Clear as mud.

  He goes back to staring at the window. “Did Palmieri tell you that I asked for you specifically?”

  “For today? Yes, sir.”

  Trabucco shakes his head. “No, not just this morning. For this whole assignment. You’re Harry Keaton’s little girl, right?”

  Dad spent twenty years with the Chicago PD, so this wasn’t exactly the first time I’d been asked that question, but coming from Trabucco it made me uneasy. “Yes, sir, and no, no he didn’t.”

  “I heard he got shot on duty. Did they ever catch the scumbag?”

  “No, sir.”

  He nods grimly. “Of course they didn’t.”

  There’s a hint of something sinister in his voice, but I can’t figure it out. “No, sir.”

  “Yes, sir. No, sir.” His voice takes on a cheeriness that sounds forced. “You need to relax, you know that? Life’s too short to live with a stick up your ass.” He takes a sip of whiskey and leans back into the deep, leather bucket-seat. “But I guess that’s why I asked for you. I shouldn’t complain when I get it.”

  I let that confusing mish-mash of a backhanded compliment go, knowing there’s no right way to respond. The granola bar I grabbed on my way out the door is not nearly enough to handle whatever is going on here this morning.

  He sighs and his face sags, making him look older. “Can’t say I’m surprised. I bet he wanted one of his own guys in here.”

  “Sir, I am one of his guys.”

  Trabucco laughs dryly. “Sweetheart, if you were, you’d be out there on the street already. He didn’t know what to do with you, so he was keeping you close to home. Your loss, my gain.”

  “Sir, I’m going to be blunt here. What the hell are you talking about?”

  He takes another sip of whisky, swishing it around in his mouth for a moment before he swallows. “I don’t know who I can trust anymore.”

  Are we on the X-Files or something? If he didn’t look dead serious, I’d be laughing.

  “Here’s my advice to you, Keaton. Keep your nose clean, or get it so far buried in shit you can’t smell it anymore. Trying to play both camps is a loser's game.” He knocks back what’s left in his glass.

  That vague feeling of unease is growing by the second. “Sir, if you know about a tangible threat, we should get backup.”

  “No! Shit…” Trabucco shakes his head and I can see the whiskey is already making him a little less focused. “What you hear today goes no further than this car, understand? I need at least one person I know is loyal, and sorry, kid, you drew the short straw.”

  I can’t tell if the alderman is actually in trouble, or delusional, but I can’t dismiss his words without finding out what’s really going on. “You can trust me, sir.” The words stick in my mouth, because I don’t know if I’m going to have to report this or not, but it’s not a lie. I’ll do whatever I think necessary to keep him safe, even if it’s from himself.

  “I know I can, Keaton.” He opens his eyes and fixes me with a cold, beady stare. “You’ve seen firsthand what can happen if you cross the wrong people.”

  Ice trickles painfully through my veins.

  Was that a threat, or a reminder? It feels like both, and I can’t say that I like the feeling.

  The alderman seems to nod off, but any trace of tiredness I had when I got in the limo is long gone, replaced by dread. We ride in silence for nearly an hour before the limo makes a sharp turn and the quiet hum of asphalt is exchanged for the crunch of gravel.

  Trabucco sits up and opens his eyes, too alert to have been really sleeping. He looks at me, his dark eyes disturbingly intense. “Follow my lead, and remember. This goes no further than us, do you understand?”

  I nod stiffly. “Yes, sir.”

  The car slows to a halt. He draws a deep breath and releases it in a long exhale before reaching for the door handle.

  “Wait.” I stop him before he gets out. “
Let me go first, sir.”

  I step out into a gravel parking lot outside a factory that looks like it hasn’t seen much business in a while. Maybe years. Paint is peeling off the walls, and a couple of windows are smashed. Corrugated metal sheds dot the lot, rusty and abandoned. I can see the city behind us, but the road going by is empty aside from a lone Toyota and the occasional truck.

  My hand rests casually on my holster as I calculate how long it would take for help to arrive.

  Too long.

  For both our sakes, I hope Trabucco is just being paranoid.

  Dad was right, there are worse things in life than desk jobs. Be careful what you wish for.

  14

  Payne

  An old Lords of Acid record blasts from the stereo, all sex and attitude, and a better waker-upper than the instant coffee in my mug will ever be. I don’t even know why I’m up this early on a Saturday, but I guess old habits die hard. Nodding my head in time with the thundering rhythm, I glance out the window at the street below.

  Is that Nora?

  It is, and in full uniform on a Saturday. I know how much she was looking forward to the weekend, so what is she up to?

  Not that it’s any of my business, except she’s tied up in Trabucco, and he very much is my business.

  It’s possible she was lying about her plans, but my instincts say otherwise. She’s too organized to be running like that if this was something she knew about. I quickly toss what’s left of my coffee, kill the tunes and pull on some loose clothing, not knowing what I’m in for.

  I stay inside the front doors, peering through the patterned glass until her car pulls past. As soon as I’m out of her line of sight, I make a beeline for my Camaro. The street is nearly empty. It’s cold and windy, but the sun is just starting to peek over the buildings and after what’s felt like a week of solid snow, the skies are clear.

  Fingering my keys, I hesitate before unlocking my car. My baby is a wonderful beast, but she’s also anything but subtle. It’s part of her charm. Nobody remembers if some random grey sedan was outside the building all day, but a red sports car? Where she is, or isn’t gets noticed.

  I make a split second decision, and casually walk up to an ancient, green Toyota, acting like I have every right to use it. It’s fully manual, and takes remarkably little work to get into. At least if you have the right tools.

  Popping the panel to the steering column, I put to use a few skills the government taught me, and in no time flat, the engine sputters to life. I pull out onto the street with a smile. Gotta love old cars. Another reason why I’d rather see Nora not driving one.

  My leather gloves grip the ice-cold steering wheel. Hopefully she didn’t get too far, but she headed off in the direction of the alderman’s office, so I’ll start there. No point in going crazy and tracking her phone if a little logic solves the same problem.

  Sure enough, I catch up to her at a red light right before the highway ramp. I get behind the car waiting in the lane next to hers so she doesn’t spot me behind her. I can see her just fine, though. She’s fixing her hair in the mirror, releasing it from its hairband before pulling it back again, like she wasn’t happy with it the first time. Definitely not a planned outing.

  Instead of concentrating on what this could have to do with my target, I find myself wondering what Nora’s role is. My attention is split, and that’s five ways of fucked up, but for now both interests seem to lie in the same direction.

  Actually, what is fucked up is that not only am I following her to find out, I stole a goddamn car to do it. Hopefully its owner doesn’t have a Saturday morning outing planned. If I’m lucky, I’ll get it right back where it was with no one the wiser.

  Who am I kidding? Chicago street parking in winter? If I’m sweepstakes-winner type lucky, I might find a space close enough that the owner won’t notice the car moved.

  Nora pulls into her usual parking garage, and I drive right on past, sliding into a spot farther down the street. There’s no parking here, but if I don’t sit too long, hopefully no one comes by to ticket me. A long, black limo stands waiting in front of the building, and I bet that’s related. If I don’t see anything soon, I’ll send her a casual text to see if I can ferret out any information.

  I’m saved from having to come up with bullshit small talk when she and Trabucco come out the front and get into the limo. He’s a dead man walking, and seeing them together makes my skin crawl.

  Does she know the kind of shit he’s mixed up in? He might not be pure evil like some of the scum I’ve seen cross my sights, but he’s a different kind of nasty. The kind that smiles to your face and retains just enough humanity to muddy the waters. The kind that can drag an innocent, young cop into a world you can’t just walk away from.

  The question is, is she already there?

  For now, all I can do is observe. As soon as their limo’s well down LaSalle Street, I pull out and do my best to keep an eye on them without getting too conspicuous.

  The car winds its way through the city, slowly leaving downtown in block-long zigs and zags. Fortunately for me, even on Saturday morning, traffic is dense enough that one more salt and grime covered sedan doesn’t stand out.

  As we make our way towards the outskirts of the city, I have to hang back even farther to keep from being obvious. Traffic’s lighter out here, and we’re heading into an area that’s more industrial than residential.

  After almost an hour, the little orange light next to the E on my fuel gauge lights up. Shit. I didn’t plan for a fucking road trip.

  I breathe a sigh of relief as they slow down and turn into a worn down factory complex. I continue past, not exactly loving the irony of pulling into a boarded up gas station and ditching my “loaner”. Not a whole hell of a lot I can do about that, though.

  Leaving the car behind, I jog back towards where they stopped, following along a tall wire fence that separates the factory property from the surrounding lots. I slip through a break in the fence, and double back, finding easy cover behind weather-beaten containers and rickety outbuildings.

  It doesn’t take long to spot them. The limo stands out like a shiny, expensive thumb. Nora’s there, standing beside the car and looking around. Her body language is tense, and I can see the way her hand brushes against her sidearm. Cautious but prepared. If possible, I fall a little more in lust with my tiny officer.

  But what the fuck are they up to?

  Trabucco gets out after her, and the agitation in his voice is clear, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. His attention turns away from Nora, and towards a new figure that steps out from the other side of the parking lot.

  Who is he talking to? I pull out my pocket binoculars and zoom in for a better view, slowly and carefully making my way as close as I can without giving away my location.

  Nora stands by the car, nervous and alert, while Trabucco gestures at the newcomer, who’s flanked by a couple of greased up goons.

  Between the distance and the fact that my Italian is crap, I can’t make out what they’re saying, but the voices are clear enough for me to make a fucked up connection. The guy Trabucco is meeting with is my contact. The self-important mob shithead who thinks he knows best.

  Putting a face to a voice doesn’t make me like him any better, and my Fat Tony nickname seems more apt than ever.

  My target and my contact are in a deep and obviously angry discussion. What this means for me, I’m not sure yet. I focus on Nora, almost hoping Fat Tony just blows Trabucco away and saves me the trouble.

  Of course, that would mean Nora will be next on their list. Leave no witnesses. That’s where I come in. I slip my Beretta 9mm out of my jacket and bide my time. If this goes bad, I want to take them out before they turn their attention to her.

  I have to admire the way she’s standing there, tough as nails, even though I know she’s totally out of her depth. Life doesn’t ask if you can handle its shit. It fires it at you out of a fucking cannon and you do the best you can.<
br />
  Trabucco throws his hands in the air. “Figlio di puttana!” No idea what that means, but I’ve been sworn at in enough languages to get the general idea. Tony grins, not looking impressed. Then the alderman turns with a huff and walks towards the limo.

  And me. I crouch down, making myself as small as possible.

  Nora gives Tony a last hard look and backs towards the car, not turning to get in until Tony and his goons turn around first and walk away.

  I wait even longer, my finger resting on the trigger as I hold my aim on Tony’s oily forehead.

  The limo starts up and they drive off in a shower of gravel and snow. I lean against the container, letting out the slow breath I’ve been holding for too long.

  So now what?

  Nora’s wrapped up in this deeper than just standing around in his office during the week, which means I have to tread very carefully. All of a sudden, I don’t know for sure what’s going on with her. I should just get the fuck out of town, but I won’t. I can’t. Not until I find out what her role is in this.

  Fat Tony’s town car drives off, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

  And a stolen car with no gas.

  15

  Nora

  “Yes, Dad. I’ll be there. I promise.” Sheesh, reschedule a time or four and it’s like he doesn’t trust that I’m actually coming. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

  Dad chuckles. “Alright, Pumpkin. Drive safe. Love you.”

  “Love you too.”

  I hang up and put my breakfast dishes in the dishwasher. It would’ve been nice to have a day to myself this weekend, but if I put my parents off any longer I think they’ll stage a family intervention.

  There’s always next weekend I guess.

  On the bright side, no early morning calls or midnight visits from mobsters to get rid of the witness. My little trip with the alderman yesterday had me double and triple checking my locks all last night. Not to mention sleeping with my sidearm in my dresser instead of its usual place in the safe.