by Tee O'Fallon
“We all do,” Lt. Frye said.
“Right now it’s only a hunch. Pure speculation, nothing more,” he reassured them. “My D.C. contact is checking on a few things. If I can firm anything up, I’ll let you know.”
“You said the boss planned the job himself,” Gray said. “You think it’s personal?”
He nodded. “I think the boss contracted the hit. As soon as I figure out why, it may lead us to identifying the target.”
“Makes sense.” Capt. Fazioli met Dom’s gaze. “Stay on it and keep us posted.”
“Meantime,” Gray added, “we’ll continue coordinating with the commissioner’s office and every citywide department to keep tabs on events involving the greatest number of high-level dignitaries.”
Lt. Frye let out a frustrated breath. “It’s a needle in a fucking haystack.”
“Then let’s do this.” Dom straightened and took a deep breath. “They’re already checking up on my background story.”
“Very well.” Lt. Frye rose and came around his desk. He extended his hand to Dom, and they shook. “Don’t get your ass killed, Carew. The next time I see you, the commissioner will be pinning a medal on your chest.”
“No need,” he said. “Watching the Pyramid crumble will be my thanks.”
“Detective Carew, it kills me to say the words.” Capt. Fazioli came forward and stood at attention. “From this point forward you are disavowed. The NYPD will not acknowledge you in any way, except that Detective Yates will remain your POC. You will not meet anywhere in public or on department property. You will report only to Detective Yates, and he will keep us updated on your progress.”
“Understood.” His throat constricted, but not because he had any doubts about the shitstorm he was diving into. It was because this was about to turn into one of the most horrendous days on the job he’d ever had.
Lt. Frye placed the call to IA, and two minutes later there was a knock on the door. Capt. Fazioli rose to open it, admitting IA Detectives Chavez and Simonetti. As Dom had recommended, the door remained open just enough for voices to carry outside to the squad room.
“Detective.” Capt. Fazioli directed his attention solely to Dom. “Empty your pockets.”
Dom hesitated and stared at the IA detectives. Slowly, he emptied both his pockets and removed a clear plastic baggie containing oxycodone that he’d stolen from the evidence locker that morning. The evidence sticker was prominently visible on the outside of the bag.
“Detective Dominick Carew,” the captain’s voice rose. “For stealing evidence, misuse of alcohol while on duty, and overall misconduct, your employment with this department is hereby terminated. Remove your weapon and badge and place them on the lieutenant’s desk. Also give us your department keys and access passes.”
Dom clenched his jaw. Even though this was part of an undercover ruse, it was as if the earth were being torn out from beneath his feet. When he tugged his duty weapon from its holster and laid it beside his detective shield on the desk, it was like leaving a piece of his soul behind. The only other time he’d felt so bereft was when he’d left Afghanistan. Anika, the woman he’d thought he’d spend the rest of his life with, had already been dead six months by then, but leaving her torn, broken body behind in an unmarked grave had given him no peace.
He knew this was for his own good, but as he turned to leave Lt. Frye’s office he glanced back one more time at the gold shield he’d worn for the last ten years and wondered if he’d ever put it on again.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and pulled open the door. As expected, every face in the squad room was pinned on him. Some wore expressions of shock, others anger. After all, they thought he’d just betrayed everything they stood for.
When he strode from the lieutenant’s office, the squad room was dead silent. Not a single phone rang. As he limped down the aisle, accompanied by the two IA detectives, he couldn’t look at his colleagues, couldn’t bear the intense scrutiny of their stares. The only light at the end of the tunnel was that if he didn’t survive this assignment, every man and woman in the department would be told the truth. That he hadn’t gone bad.
He held his head up, continuing down the aisle, and was escorted all the way outside One PP’s main employee entrance. Without a word, the two IA detectives turned and left him standing there. He glanced over his shoulder at the red brick exterior of One PP. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed. Then he turned and limped toward his personal vehicle, a blue Explorer parked in the lot reserved for police personnel. Even as he got into his SUV, uniformed officers heading inside police headquarters cast him derisive looks.
Word travels fast.
The SUV’s powerful V-8 engine rumbled as he pulled out of the lot onto the street.
Get a grip, Carew. Time to get to work.
He gunned the Explorer down the street in the direction of his target’s run-down apartment. Background checks he’d conducted from his home office identified Jimmy Gonzalez as living in a tiny apartment in the West Village, and for the next three hours Dom conducted surveillance on the petty drug user.
He watched Gonzalez leave his apartment and walk several blocks to the bodega Smith mentioned. Several minutes later he came out and returned home. Dom suspected the bodega owner or someone who worked there was the junkie’s supplier. He broke off surveillance, then scouted out a tall building opposite the bodega. The rooftop of the building was perfectly located for the hit. But there was no security camera anywhere close enough for his needs.
After pulling over onto a side street, he used his personal cell to call Gray and provide him with the updated information. At the end of the call it was agreed that the behind-the-scenes work would fall solely to Gray.
Exhaustion crept up his spine, and he closed his eyes. What he needed was a shot of adrenaline. Daisy’s smiling face came to him like an angel through the dark mist. For some reason, he wanted to see her. Needed to see her. Not to start something up with her, he couldn’t do that. But her beautiful face, so full of life and energy, was exactly what he needed to get through what was to come.
Cranking the wheel, he headed back onto the street and in the direction of Highland Floral. When the shop came into view he double-parked across the street and half a block down.
A large delivery truck with the Highland Floral logo on the side was parked in front of the store. The driver leaned against the hood of the truck. He couldn’t see the guy’s face, obscured as it was beneath a ball cap in the fading evening light. He was tall, nearly Dom’s height but not quite.
Several minutes later the lights in the shop went out and Daisy exited through the front door. A colorful skirt swirled above and around her knees as she spun and locked the door. The bright pink shirt tied snugly at her waist emphasized her sexy curves.
The driver pushed from the hood of the truck and opened the passenger door. Turning to face him, Daisy smiled and accepted the hand he held out while she got into the truck. Dom narrowed his gaze at the gentlemanly gesture. Something about it wasn’t solely gentlemanly. It was intimate.
After she was seated, the driver carefully shut the door. As he rounded the front of the truck he tugged the ball cap from his head.
Dom bolted upright. He stared in disbelief.
He gripped the Explorer’s steering wheel, willing his ID of the guy to be a mistake. But it wasn’t. It was Jack Schneider.
What the fuck?
His pulse raced, and his body was instantly on red alert.
The truck eased onto the street, and as it drove past him, he shielded his face. He waited for it to get half a block away before ramming the Explorer into gear and whipping it into a U-turn.
He followed at a safe distance, not wanting to tip Schneider off that he had a tail. But he damned sure wasn’t going to let that truck out of his sight. This was too much fucking coincidence, and he wanted answers.
Blood thrummed in his veins as he recalled that last night after dinner Daisy had rushed out the
door to catch a ride from one of her employees. Schneider, he now realized, must have been her ride home.
When the truck turned right, he followed, fighting every instinct not to pull the truck over and beat the shit out of Schneider. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.
This is goddamn insane.
Why is a Pyramid assassin making time with his— His what?
Daisy Fowler wasn’t his anything, so this couldn’t be connected to him.
The only people who knew he’d had any connection with her were Gray, Alex, and Cassie. Alex confided in Gray that Daisy hadn’t told another soul about the night they’d slept together. The only other interactions he’d had with her since had been at the hospital when Gray had gotten shot, the Yankee game during which Gray proposed to Alex, and then at the wedding. But any interaction he’d had with Daisy at the wedding would have been expected between the best man and the maid of honor. No, he doubted this had anything to do with him.
Then what the fuck did Schneider want from her?
The truck made a left, heading in the direction of her apartment. He slammed his open hand against the wheel and was rewarded with a shaft of pain that went straight up his forearm to his shoulder.
Think, man, think.
If Schneider really had been Daisy’s ride home last night, then killing her wasn’t on his agenda because she was still alive. And why kill her at all? What would the Pyramid gain from that?
She must be of some use to Schneider, and he’d bet the answers to all those questions tied in to his employment with Highland Floral.
The truck double-parked in front of Daisy’s apartment building, and Dom was lucky enough to find a spot a few cars down on the same side of the street. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the truck’s passenger door. He parked quickly and killed the engine.
Schneider came around to the passenger side of the truck, then opened the door and held out his hand. The next thing Dom saw was Daisy’s shapely leg as her skirt caught on the seat. When Schneider’s head dipped down, a low growl rose in his throat. He wanted to rip the guy’s heart out just for looking at her, let alone touching her.
On the sidewalk, she and Schneider talked for a few seconds, then Schneider placed his hand at the small of Daisy’s back and followed her up the stairs and into the building.
Goddammit.
Dom resisted the urge to punch the window. Was she sleeping with the guy?
He squeezed his eyes shut, tormented by the image of Schneider’s hands on Daisy’s naked skin, his mouth on her—
Don’t do this to yourself.
How the fuck is this happening? His instinct to storm in there and save Daisy warred with the facts.
Despite the huge coincidence, his brain told him she wasn’t in any immediate danger. But Schneider was in her apartment. The idea of her sleeping with another man—let alone Jack Schneider—tore up his guts. He had to be sure she was okay, but rushing in there would only put her even more at risk.
He yanked his cell phone from his belt and punched in Gray’s number. When Gray answered, he summed up the situation as succinctly as possible, telling his partner to have Alex call and make sure Daisy got home okay.
A few minutes later, Gray called back to say that Daisy was fine. Dom ended the call and let out a heavy breath. He lowered the window and looked up at the second-floor windows he knew were part of Daisy’s apartment. He also knew which window belonged to her bedroom.
While he sat there alternately clenching his jaw and praying like hell that her bedroom light didn’t turn on, he had to figure out the answer to one tactical question.
Would telling Daisy who and what Schneider really was put her more at risk, or save her life?
Chapter Eight
Daisy sat on her favorite overstuffed armchair, sipping a glass of Cognac. Across from her on the sofa, Jack tipped his beer and took a swallow. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, revealing strong, muscled forearms. Like Dom’s. No, not quite as muscled as Dom’s.
Stop comparing.
Jack was nice, and he was interested in her.
So why don’t I feel overly excited? Because I can’t open myself up to anyone, or because he’s my employee?
Deep down, she knew it wasn’t either one of those things. It was because she hadn’t been able to get Dom off her mind since dinner last night. But she had to. Jack was here, and he was the first man she’d been remotely interested in since that fateful night a year ago. With Dom.
On the one hand, she liked Jack and was attracted to him enough to invite him in for a drink. On the other, she wasn’t ready to sit beside him on the sofa. More to the point, she wanted it clear as rain that her invite didn’t include a stroll down the hallway to her bedroom.
“So how long have you been a commercial truck driver?” she asked.
Jack smiled, revealing a nice set of even white teeth, although he didn’t have that Thor, surfer-dude thing going on.
Stop it.
“My dad was a UPS driver, and he used to take me on deliveries when I was a kid.” He laughed, and she liked the sound. “I couldn’t wait to get my driver’s license and wear that brown uniform. That was my first job before I went into the service.”
“The service?” She raised her brows. “What branch?”
“Army.” He took another sip from the bottle.
Like Dom.
“Driving the big rigs in the army seemed like a natural fit, and when I came back home all I wanted to do was drive.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze swept her living room, every corner and ledge of which was filled with potted ferns, ficus, hanging ivy, African violets, and a multitude of other plants. “What about you? How did you get into the flower business? You definitely have a green thumb.”
“My mother loved flowers and taught me everything I know.” She sighed as she always did when reminded of her parents. “I’ve been in the floral biz since I was a kid.”
He smiled across the coffee table from her, and she waited for that zing, that wonderful feeling of floating and flying in the air she got when Dom smiled at her. But it didn’t happen.
“I may be overstepping the employer-employee boundary, but I don’t care,” Jack said, a sudden and intense look in his eyes. “I’d like to ask you out on a date Friday night. Dinner.”
She opened her mouth, preparing to say no, but he held up his hand. His dark brows drew together, and for a moment he actually appeared angry.
“I know what you’re thinking. I work for you and this could get complicated. Right?”
That and I can’t stop thinking about another man.
“It’s just dinner,” he went on. “We eat lunch together at the shop all the time. We can take it slow. I like you; you like me. We don’t have to jump into anything. We’ll just see if it works. Sound good?”
It did sound good. Give the guy a chance.
“Okay. Dinner.”
Jack smiled, and she actually felt good about accepting his invitation. It was time to shove her memories of Dom into the garbage can and take out the trash.
Thirty minutes later, after they’d made small talk about where they’d grown up and how their career paths had led them to New York City, Daisy led Jack to the door. When he leaned down to kiss her, she stiffened. She couldn’t help it.
When his lips touched hers, the pressure was light, respectful of the fact that they barely knew each other, and the fact she was his boss, Daisy suspected. His lips were warm, and she returned his kiss and waited for that spark. That fiery ignition she’d felt the first time Dom had kissed her. It didn’t come. No ignition. No flame. Not even a glowing ember that could perhaps one day be fanned to life. The kiss was nice, and that about summed it up.
He lifted his head, said good night, and left. After she turned the deadbolt, she leaned back against the door, breathed a sigh of relief, and shut her eyes. Rather than feeling energized by her time with Jack, she was exhausted. And no matter how har
d she tried, exorcising one hunky detective from her brain was proving to be a colossal undertaking.
Outside, she heard the rumble of the truck as Jack started the engine and drove off. She pushed from the door and headed for her bedroom, flipping on the light switch when she entered. Uttering another sigh, she sat on the queen-size wrought-iron bed and kicked off her shoes. As she untied her blouse and began popping the buttons open, she wondered if maybe she and Jack could be friends. Maybe all she needed was to get back in the game and have a nice relationship. It didn’t have to be the forever kind of thing.
“Ugh.” She fell back onto the soft, downy white quilt and flung one arm over her eyes. The idea of having a relationship she had to categorize as nice was too depressing to stomach.
Pounding at the front door had her bolting upright. It must be Jack. Had he forgotten something?
Please don’t let him be back for another good-night kiss.
She wasn’t in the mood for more nice kisses.
She remained seated on the bed. If necessary, she could tell Jack in the morning that she’d fallen asleep the minute her head hit the pillow or that she’d gotten into the shower and hadn’t heard his knock. Although, she had to admit, the knocking really had been more of an urgent pounding.
When the pounding continued, she pushed from the bed and tiptoed to the door. Leaning in, she peered through the peephole. Eyes wide, she jerked back. Her heartbeat fluttered wildly at her throat. Exhaustion fled, and she was wide-awake.
Dom stood outside her door, and from the firm set of his jaw it was obvious he was royally pissed about something.
What the hell?
“Open the door, Daisy.”
She quivered with indignation. What right did he have to come barging into her building, demanding to see her?
“No,” she said loudly enough for him to hear, but not so loud that she’d annoy her neighbors.
“Daisy,” his deep voice warned, “if you don’t open the door right now I’ll kick it in.”
“Don’t you dare,” she hissed, then turned the deadbolt and flung open the door. She raised her hand, preparing to smack him in the kisser, but he gently pushed her backward.