by Chris Taylor
It had been a long time since anyone had wanted to do that. Even Jonathan had encouraged her to maintain her independence. When she looked back at it, she realized they’d lived almost completely separate lives, with the occasional sleepover thrown in. They’d been little more than friends with benefits. Now that she’d met Will, she couldn’t believe she’d been willing to settle for so little. It was just a matter of teaching the new man in her life how to be a little more diplomatic.
After exiting the brothel through the back door, she’d breathed a sigh of relief when she’d reached her car without incident. She’d seen no sign of Angel and she worried now, wondering if the girl was all right—not that she could anything about it.
Sliding out of bed, she padded across the carpet to the bathroom. Thanks to the wig, her real hair was a mess. She sighed with resignation. She wanted to get over to Will’s place as soon as possible, but with hair like that, she’d have to wash it before she went anywhere.
With a sigh, she pulled off her bathrobe and stepped into the shower. Closing her eyes, she lathered her hair with a generous amount of shampoo. She scrubbed quickly and then ducked her head under the steaming water. The door to the shower squeaked. She opened her eyes in surprise.
And screamed…
* * *
Dylan kept the gun trained on his sister. He should have just shot her in the shower. The job would have been over and done with and he’d have been out of there. Instead, he’d hesitated. The thought of the neighbors and later the cops staring at her naked, wet body had turned his stomach. Instead, he’d ordered her out of the shower and told her to dress.
Anxiety gnawed at him. She was taking way too long. Even now, she had barely pulled on underwear and a shirt. Damn it, he’d just do it. He’d aim the gun and pull the trigger. Half-clothed, unclothed—what did it really matter? Dead was dead.
He let off the safety and cocked the gun. The sound of it was amplified in the silent room. Savannah spun around from where she stood at the door to her open closet and stared at him. Her mouth gaped open. It looked like she was trying to form words, but she made no sound.
“Hurry the fuck up, Savannah and get dressed. I swear to God, I’ll kill you now if you don’t get a move on.”
Tears formed in her eyes. “Why, Dylan? Why? What have I ever done to you? I love you. I did my best to take care of you. It wasn’t my fault Mom and Dad—”
“Shut the fuck up!” he yelled and waved the gun around. He refused to be moved by her tears. Okay, maybe it wasn’t her fault their parents had favored her or that they’d had the stupidity to die too soon, but it was her fault she’d pissed off Vince. No one had forced her into the Black Opal. No one had forced her to write those stupid stories.
After Vince had told him, he’d gone onto the Internet and had Googled the articles. He couldn’t believe what she’d written—or how accurate they were. He could see why Vince wanted her dealt with. She was trouble. Killing her would send a clear message to anyone else with the audacity to interfere with his affairs. There was no other way. It was as simple as that.
She’d tugged on a pair of jeans and now sat gingerly on the edge of her bed. Every now and then, she threw a cautious look in his direction. Shock and fear shadowed her eyes. She shook her head, as if unable to believe what was happening.
Dylan grinned to himself. Oh yeah, it was happening, all right.
In sudden decision, he strode over to the bed and put the gun to her temple. She flinched and cried out. He laughed.
“Not so brave now, are you sis?” Too bad you didn’t think about the consequences before you meddled in Vince’s business.”
She stared at him in shock. “Vince Maranoa? This is about Vince Maranoa?”
He smiled and nodded. “Of course. What did you think it was about?”
Savannah shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I had no idea why you’d break into my condominium and threaten to shoot me. What kind of brother does that?”
He should have been overwhelmed with guilt, but the truth was, what little guilt he felt was fleeting. So what if he was her brother? Vince had ordered him to get rid of her. He was only doing his job. It wasn’t his fault Savannah had stuck her nose into Vince’s business and it sure as hell wasn’t his fault Vince wanted her dead.
It’s just the way it was. Surely Savannah could see that? He thrust his bottom lip out.
“You fucked with the wrong guy, sis. Vince wants you dead and what Vince wants, Vince gets.”
Her lip curled up in disgust. “And you’re the eager executioner, is that it?”
He squirmed under her regard. “Vince relies on me to get the job done. I haven’t failed him yet,” he boasted.
Savannah’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you had anything to do with Malee’s death?”
He frowned in concentration. “Which one was Malee?”
Her eyes widened in horror. “You mean there’s been more than one?”
Dylan shrugged, trying hard not to let her reaction matter. “Maybe.”
“Dylan! How could you? You’re a hired killer. At least, I assume you get paid.”
“Oh yeah. Vince pays well. That’s one thing he does.”
Savannah shook her head, disgust clouding her eyes. “Look at yourself. You’re higher than the Centrepoint Tower, talking about murder like it was a Sunday School picnic. Where is the brother I know and love? Where is the brother who brought me flowers from the garden when I was sick in bed with the flu? Where is the brother who was there when I picked up food poisoning and who wiped my forehead when I vomited for the hundredth time? Where is—?”
“Enough!” Dylan spun on his heel and paced the length of her bedroom. He couldn’t stand to listen to her a minute longer. The more she spoke about their past, the more the voice inside his head urged him not to do it.
But Vince wanted her dead. There was nothing else to it.
Vince wanted her dead.
The words reverberated in his head. He put his hands up over his ears to block them out, but still they echoed inside him until they slowed like a gramophone record winding down. A sudden thought illuminated his mind. Vince wanted her dead and he would have her dead. But it would be Vince who would be doing the killing.
It wouldn’t be as quick or as painless as it would if Dylan did it, but it was better this way. This way, Dylan’s conscience could rest easy, knowing it hadn’t been him, her own flesh and blood, who’d pulled the trigger. He could text Vince and find out where he was. The asshole would be pleased Dylan was bringing his sister in.
He swung around to face her. The color had leached out of her face. Apart from her wide-eyed fear, she looked like she was already dead.
“Get up. You’re coming with me.”
He strode over and seized her by the arm. He hauled her to her feet and marched her out of the bedroom.
“W-where are you taking me?”
“I’m taking you to Vince.”
Dylan prodded her forward with the gun and kept it trained on her while he sent a text to Vince. A moment later, Vince replied. Dylan read the message and smiled. He dug into the pocket of his jeans and felt for the key Vince had given him when they’d moved the gear to the warehouse hours earlier. His fingers closed around it and he nodded to himself, pleased with his decision. Vince could kill her. A brother shouldn’t be forced to kill his sister. It just wasn’t right.
CHAPTER 28
Will stared at the front door of his condominium and waited for the doorbell to ring. What the hell was taking Savannah so long? She should have been there an hour ago.
She couldn’t have been caught in traffic. There was hardly a car on the street. Perhaps she’d changed her mind? She’d sounded willing enough, but maybe she’d had second thoughts? But, why hadn’t she contacted him?
He cursed under his breath and picked up his cell phone from the kitchen counter. No new messages. With an impatient sigh, he gave in and sent her a text.
Where r u?
“Hi, it’s me. Um…call me.”
He ended the call and stared at the phone in his hand. With another curse, he tossed it onto the couch.
Why wasn’t she answering her phone?
He spun on his heel and paced the length of his living room, oblivious to the new day that would shortly break over the horizon. Anxiety nipped at the edges of his consciousness, but he refused to pay it heed. Any second, she’d be knocking on his door with a smile and a load of excuses. He was sure of it.
His phone rang and his heart leaped with relief. What had he told himself? She’d been held up, that was all. He grabbed for the phone and checked the screen.
It was Pete.
Tapping down on his disappointment, he answered the call.
“Will, sorry to call you so early. I hope I didn’t wake you, but I’ve been following one lead after another all night. You won’t believe what I’ve discovered.”
Will’s pulse skipped a beat. Excitement coursed through him. “Tell me.”
“You were right about O’Connor. I pulled his school records. He finished alongside Maranoa in 1970 at Marrickville High.”
“Shit, Pete, that’s fantastic. It was only a hunch I had after you mentioned his parents used to live there. I can’t believe the two of them have known each other for so long. Another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.”
“There’s more. The surveillance team caught sight of a truck bearing the Daily Mirror insignia in the back lane behind the brothel last night. It appeared like they were loading newspapers, but apparently they took an awful long time at it and after what you told me about the papers you found in the dumpster, I have my own theory about what was happening.”
“We’re onto them, Pete. The noose is slowly tightening.”
“Yeah, let’s hope so. I also ran a search on the Daily Mirror’s security guards. Turns out a guard by the name of Carlo Tilocca has Romano Enterprises listed as one of his employers on his last tax return.”
“Who’s Romano Enterprises?”
Pete’s reply was dry. “Guess.”
“Vincent Maranoa.”
“One and the same. He’s sole director of the company.”
“This is it, Pete. The only thing left to do is to find out where they’re keeping the gear. They’re using the paper’s trucks to get it in and out, but where are they storing it?”
“I think I might be able to shed some light on that. While I was searching the Land and Property Information database under Max O’Connor, I ran a search under Reid Marchant.”
Will frowned and searched his memory. “Reid Marchant? Isn’t he the owner of the Daily Mirror?”
“That he is.”
“I can imagine he has a substantial property portfolio.”
“You’re right. His listings ran for three pages, but I found mention of a warehouse in Surry Hills. I’m not familiar with the building, but I wonder if it’s being used by the paper? There are a lot of industrial factories in that area. I think The Sun also has a warehouse somewhere in Surry Hills.”
Adrenaline flooded through Will’s veins. He recalled the conversation with Declan Munro at the ball when he’d mentioned something about finding a dealer’s stash of drugs hidden inside rolls of warehoused carpet.
“It’s definitely worth a look,” he said. “I say we call in the other members of the TRG and pay a surprise visit to whoever’s occupying the warehouse.”
“Exactly what I had in mind.” Pete paused. “It would be nice to know who this Billy the Kid is.”
“I take it he wasn’t in the database?”
“No, not under that name, anyway. I got a couple of hits on that nickname, but the ages didn’t pan out. One of them was forty-five and the other one was in his sixties. From what you said, they couldn’t be our guy.”
“Don’t worry about it, Pete. He’ll surface. They always do and when he does, we’ll be waiting.”
Silence fell between them. A moment later, Pete spoke again. “By the way, how did things go with Savannah? Did you kiss and make up?”
Will’s disquiet returned. “Not yet. In fact, she was supposed to be on her way over here more than ninety minutes ago, but she hasn’t shown up.”
“That’s a bit odd.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Now she’s not answering her phone.”
“I assume she made it home all right?”
“Yes, she texted me earlier and told me she was there.”
“I wonder where she is?”
Will pressed his lips together to stem the dread that was growing steadily in his gut. “You and me both.”
“Let me know when she turns up. In the meantime, I’m calling the duty judge to apply for a search warrant and then I’ll call the boys in for a pre-raid briefing. Provided we get the warrant, we’ll aim on hitting the warehouse sometime today. It’s a Sunday and that will work in our favor. If anyone is on site today, they’re probably not there legitimately.”
“I’ll make sure I’m ready. Where are we meeting?”
“Give me a couple of hours. Even after I speak with the judge, I’ll still have to attend his chambers. We’ll meet at headquarters and make sure everyone knows what they’re doing.”
Anticipation surged through Will. “Let’s do it.”
* * *
Savannah trudged up the steep hill and did her best to keep up the brisk pace set by her brother. He’d fastened her hands in front of her with a length of cord he’d torn from the curtain in her bedroom. A jacket cleverly draped over her shoulders concealed the arrangement from the casual observer.
She’d ridden the train to Central Station with the gun pressed against her side. There was a brief moment when Dylan tugged out his phone and had started texting that she’d thought she might be able to get away from him, but as if he’d read her mind, he’d jammed the gun in harder and had warned her not to try anything.
The minute they’d arrived at the station, he’d dragged her up several flights of stairs until they’d reached the outside. The faint glow of dawn colored the horizon. Savannah thought of Will and wondered if he assumed she’d changed her mind.
Dylan turned toward Surry Hills and hauled her along beside him. His fingers dug into her arm. He seemed oblivious to her cries of discomfort.
The steep climb continued. Her heart thumped with the effort. A cramp sent a stab of pain radiating through her side. With her hands out of action, she had no way of assuaging the agony.
“Please, Dylan, slow down. I-I need to stop.”
“Shut up. We’ll be there soon. Enjoy every breath you take. Who knows how many you have left?”
Tears blurred Savannah’s eyes. She was still at a complete loss to explain her brother’s total lack of conscience. How he could blithely hand her over to a man who wanted her dead was beyond her comprehension.
Had she been too hard on him? Foisted too many expectations on him? Shown him enough attention? Enough love? Too much? The questions swirled around her head until she was dizzy and she still came up empty-handed. She had no answers and the harsh reality of it was, she probably never would.
At last, they reached the top of the hill and he dragged her across the road. Another hill loomed in front of them and Savannah couldn’t stifle a groan. Her chest hurt. Her feet ached. Every loose stone penetrated the flimsy shoes that covered them.
When Dylan had ordered her to dress, she’d been dazed with shock. With no idea what he had in store for her, she’d grabbed for the nearest thing at hand. Now, she longed for her comfortable, supportive Nikes.
“Hurry up,” Dylan growled and tightened his hold on her arm. “Vince is waiting.”
Fear renewed its grip on her heart. Blood pounded in her ears. She couldn’t believe her life
might soon be over. She refused to believe it. Determination surged through her. She wouldn’t go down without a fight.
* * *
Will spied Pete and a handful of TRG officers outfitted in battle fatigues and Kevlar vests standing around the corner from the warehouse owned by Reid Marchant. The street was quiet, with only the occasional car passing by. Daylight had broken, bathing the sky in an array of orange and gold and pink. On another day, Will might have appreciated the colorful display. Today wasn’t that day.
He’d phoned Savannah again before he’d left and yet again, the call had gone through to her voicemail. He’d left another message begging her to contact him and let him know she was all right, but he still hadn’t heard from her. Now, with his recent knowledge of Max’s definite connection to Maranoa, his gut ached with uncertainty. He couldn’t shake the dreadful feeling that something terrible had happened to her.
In anticipation of the upcoming search, he’d turned his cell phone to silent. He now slipped it out of his pocket and checked again for messages.
Nothing.
With a grimace, he returned it to his jacket and tried to force his mind away from wondering about what the hell could have happened to her.
He clung to the possibility that she’d had second thoughts about reconciling and resolutely pushed other, more ominous, thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time to lose focus on the job at hand. He halted a few feet away from the group of officers. Pete stepped toward him.
“You all good?”
Will nodded. “Yeah. How’d you go with the warrant?”
“Good. It’s extensive, so we shouldn’t have a problem with the admissibility of any evidence we find.”
“That’s what we like to hear.”
“A couple of the others have done a reconnoiter of the building. There doesn’t appear to be too much going on. There’s a pickup truck parked ten yards or so up the road. We’re running a check on the plate right now to see if it belongs to one of our players.”
“Do we have any idea of the layout of the place?”