by Dee Davis
Connor's jaw tightened, his expression hardening. "We set a trap."
CHAPTER SEVEN
Andy Proctor shifted his weight uncomfortably from one foot to the other, and Nico smiled. He might not agree with everything his father preached, but he sure as hell knew a thing about how to sweat the help. He needed Andy—for now. But there was no sense letting the man get cocky.
"So what the hell happened out there?" he asked. "I thought you said taking the girl out would be easy. To date, she's cost me two good men."
"Word on the street is that Reggie had something to do with Sammy's death."
"Yeah, right." Nico snorted, then sobered. "But maybe that plays into our hands. Though it doesn't solve our problem."
"Jenny."
Nico shrugged. "I just call it the way I see it. And we still have a liability."
Andy's face paled, and Nico contained a smile. God, he loved power. "So did you know this broad could use a gun?"
"No." Andy shook his head, staring down at his shoes. "As far as I remember, she hates guns. But Connor was a thorough kind of guy. Maybe he taught her."
Nico reached into a drawer and pulled out a satin bag of cocaine. "I've known Sammy since I was a kid. I'm not going to sit by and watch his killer walk. I want the bitch dead. But first we got to take care of Sammy. If he's found now, we got a lot of explaining to do." He waited, watching the cop, despising him for the flicker of fear in his eyes. "You got the body out of the house?"
"Yeah."
"So all that's left is to get rid of the girl."
"And to find Connor's proof."
Nico pulled out a mirror, dropped a pinch of coke, and made three neat little lines. "Whatever Fitzgerald had, it won't surface once everyone is dead." He raised the mirror, positioned a straw, and inhaled, the tightness in his head immediately easing. "So we handle the girl and we're home free."
"Except that she's disappeared." Andy was frowning at the cocaine, his disapproval evident. Not that Nico gave a rat's ass what the bastard thought. He wasn't the one playing both sides of the field. "It worries me that she hasn't called."
"You call her?"
"Of course. I've left about ten messages."
"Maybe Sammy got her after all."
"Not from what I could see. There was no blood except Sammy's, and only one shot fired. Sammy's gun was on the floor—so he'd drawn— but all the bullets were accounted for."
Nico's drug-induced euphoria dimmed a little. "Sounds like your little girl's a damn good shot."
"Or there was someone else there." Andy frowned. "Seems to me that the first thing she should have done was call me, or failing that, go to the police, and she didn't do either one."
"Shit." Nico spat the word, wondering how the hell everything had gone south so fast. "Who do you think she's working with?"
"No idea. Maybe Connor told someone else. Maybe he told her. Although, based on the conversation I had with her at the diner, I'd have made book against it."
"So maybe she's just scared."
"It's possible." Andy laced his fingers together, a sure sign that he was nervous.
"Look, as far as you know, she trusts you, right?"
"Yeah." Andy nodded, some of the brashness returning to his tone.
"Good." Nico smiled. The drugs were beginning to numb his brain. "Because you're my best link to her. She's had a night to think. You call her; she'll come running. You just have to finesse her a little."
"And then what?"
"You serious?" Nico looked up to meet the man's gaze. "You take her out. Jesus, Andy, you getting soft on me?"
"No," Andy snapped. "But what if I can't find her?"
"You will. You're a fucking detective, for Christ's sake. Besides, I just said she's gonna come to you. She's scared and alone and she needs help. And you, my man, are going to give her just what she needs."
Andy didn't look convinced.
But then, once the man disposed of the girl, he wouldn't be around to debate the matter. His father might have rules about not killing cops, but Nico had no such problem.
*****
Jenny sat on the side of the bed, trying to control her rioting emotions. It was one thing to make promises at dawn, still flushed with the heat of passion. It was quite another to consider them by the harsh light of day—especially alone in a room that looked like it had last been cleaned pre-World War II.
Connor had been gone since noon. Among other things, he was attempting to verify Andy's insinuations about the IAD investigation. If there was truth there, then Connor's information wouldn't be enough to exonerate him. It would be Andy's word against his, and Jenny had already seen how convincing Andy could be.
She'd spent the afternoon trying to sort out the facts, playing the things Connor had told her against Andy's version. She believed Connor, or at least wanted to. But alone, in this room, in light of all that had happened, it wasn't easy. The truth remained that both versions of the story fit the facts.
Except that Connor had saved her from death twice now. But, then, he loved her. There’d never been any doubt about that. The question was about his ability to commit himself to her. To share his life in the fullest possible way.
And the jury was still out on that.
She stared at the phone, trying to resist the urge to call someone. To try to verify the facts herself. Just one little thing might prove Connor was on the level. She chewed her lip, considering the wisdom of such a move. There were two possibilities—calling the police to see if Sandy's murder had in fact been discovered, or calling Sandy's parents. The latter was a minefield. If they knew, then there was every possibility that they were furious with her.
And if they didn't... Well, Academy Award performances were not her forte.
She sighed, running her hands through her hair, wondering how in the world she'd come to this point. Be careful what you pray for, the little voice said, and she almost laughed out loud. For so many years she'd prayed that Connor would let her in. That he would share his world with her, make them a team in the true sense of the word.
So here she was, sitting on a bed in a studio that was probably rented by the hour, waiting for her dead husband to return with news on his allegedly duplicitous partner. Oh, yeah, she'd gotten her wish in spades.
With a sigh, she picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang once and was picked up by a desk sergeant. Giving her name, she asked for Homicide, and was transferred to a detective. The conversation was brief. The man was curious, but not pushy. There had been no murders in a five-block radius of Connor's apartment.
He asked, of course, if she had reason to believe there had been one, and she lied about something to do with a fight she'd seen on the street. He seemed to accept her answer. Odds were, they had hundreds of calls like hers—people who thought maybe they'd seen something they hadn't.
She hung up the phone with a vague sense of unease, wondering when—or if—Sandy's body would be found. Certainly not at all if she herself didn't find a way to stay alive. Which meant she had to trust someone.
Connor.
She'd made her choice last night. Truth be told, she'd made her choice a million years ago. And it was time to act on that fact.
Her cell phone rang, and she snatched it up, hoping it would be Connor. She stared at the Caller ID, and shivered when Andy's number appeared. He'd been calling all morning—first to assure her that he wanted to help, then to plead with her to let him know where she was.
His voice had held just the right note of concern and comfort. He'd promised his protection, and sworn that the department was doing everything they could to find the people behind all of this. But of course they weren't. She knew that for certain now.
Andy was the enemy.
She gritted her teeth and waited for the disconnect, for the blinking light to signal another message. Typing in the number and then the code, she waited for voice mail to connect, the robotic voice informing her that she had one new message.
&
nbsp; She pressed three and waited for Andy's voice, her heart beating as if he were actually on the other end.
"Jenny? It's Andy. I know you're afraid, sweetheart. But everything is going to be okay. I know where you are. We tracked the call to the precinct. Thank God you're okay. I've been worried out of my mind. I'd never be able to forgive myself if anything happened to you. Just hang tight and I'll be there before you know it. Jenny—I swear, I'm going to find a way to make it right."
The robotic voice was back, asking if she wanted to save the message. Jenny hit eight automatically, knowing Connor would want to hear it, then hung up, her head spinning.
Andy knew where she was.
She'd led him right to Connor, her stupid moment of doubt putting his life at risk. Angrily, she shook her head and flipped open the phone. She'd be damned if she'd let Andy get to Connor. She had to stop him.
She dialed and waited as the phone rang, breathing deeply, trying to force a calm she didn't feel.
"Proctor."
"Andy." Her voice was low, almost a whisper, and she struggled for a more normal tone. "I got your message."
"Jenny? Thank God. I've been so worried."
If she hadn't known better, she'd have believed every word. "I'm fine. But I checked out of the hotel. I just couldn't sit still."
"So where are you?"
"I'm heading for Starbucks. Peace in normalcy. Or something like that." She laughed, the sound more of a croak. "Can you meet me there?"
"Sure." He sounded anxious. Maybe too anxious. But she should be safe in a crowd. And surely Connor would be back soon. "Which one?"
"Corner of Lafayette and Astor."
"All right. You just sit tight. I'll be there in less than ten minutes."
"Thanks, Andy." The words almost choked her, but she got them out, and she was pleased that they sounded almost normal. She disconnected and dialed the number Conner had given her. He wasn't answering, but she knew he'd check his messages. She told him what had happened, and where she'd be.
Then, just to be safe, she jotted it all down in a message and left it on his pillow.
She knew she was playing with fire, but there was no way in the world she was going to sit tight and let Andy come to her. It was better to be the aggressor. That was what Connor always said. Besides, it was only a matter of waiting, and as long as Andy thought she was turning to him for protection, she ought to be safe.
There was logic in the thought, but unfortunately her heart wasn't buying it. Still, the most important thing was to protect Connor. The rest she'd just have to leave in God's hands.
*****
Connor waited until a crowd of holiday revelers swarmed past the precinct entrance, and then ducked into the alley. It was a risk, but one he had to take. He needed to know if the IAD stuff was legit. If so, then it meant Andy had strong support within the department. If not, then there just might be a chance Connor could use the information he had and turn things his way.
At least he had the holiday in his favor. Christmas Eve was a traditionally slow day. And the staff would be light. With any luck at all, the personnel office would be empty. He made his way to the back door and, using a passkey, slid inside, back pressed to the wall, hat pulled low over his eyes.
The stairwell was empty, and he quietly made his way up to the third floor. Again his luck held, and he slipped out into the empty hallway, making his way to a closed door on the far side of the corridor.
A man rounded the corner. A stranger. Connor stopped at the water fountain, leaning to drink, waiting for him to pass. His cell phone vibrated against his leg, but he didn't dare answer. He waited to see if it rang again, a signal from Jenny that she was in trouble.
It was silent, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He'd check the file, get the hell out of there, and then he'd call her. He counted to three, then lifted his head just as the man disappeared into an office.
So far, so good.
As he'd expected, the personnel office was empty. He closed the door behind him, the frosted glass in the window going a long way toward concealment. The files were in a closet at the far side of the room. Moving quickly, he walked over and pulled it open then closed the door behind him and felt along the wall for the switch, blinking when the light flickered to life.
There were six file cabinets lined up against the walls, and it took him three nerve- racking minutes to find the right one. He slid it open and thumbed through the alphabetical listings until he reached the Fs. Figueroa, Finnegan, Fiske—Fitzgerald.
He pulled out his file and opened it, skimming the contents. It noted his death, which meant it was up-to-date. It held records of his assignments, merits, promotions, and even a long-ago complaint. Everything was there.
No mention of IAD.
Even if there weren't reports and details, there would be a flag. Something to note that he was or had been under investigation.
Another of Andy's lies.
If he had the wherewithal to turn Connor over to IAD, he hadn't done it. Which meant two things. First of all, he had no idea that Connor was still alive. Second, he had no intention of letting Jenny live.
Fear shot through him as he remembered the phone call.
Grabbing his cell, he tried to connect, but there was no service in the office.
Stuffing the file back into its cabinet, he shut the drawer, careful to wipe for prints. Just because IAD wasn't involved didn't mean that Andy was working alone. And Connor didn't want to leave anything behind.
He turned off the light, checked the outer office through a crack in the door, and, once satisfied that it was empty, slipped back into the room. The hallway too was empty, and in moments he was in the stairwell, taking the steps two at a time.
At the bottom, he heard voices and pressed against the wall behind the open door, waiting as two uniforms made their way past him up the stairs. Thank God budget cuts had limited surveillance to the front of the building.
As soon as the men turned onto the landing out of sight, he made his way to the door and stepped out into the alley. It was dark, the harsh lamplight glistening on muddied piles of snow.
The crowds had thinned, people heading home to be with their families. He longed suddenly for the comfort of a fire. For Asa purring on his lap, Jenny curled up next to him sipping champagne.
A taxi honked, and the memory vanished.
He reached for his phone, needing to hear her voice, to make certain that she was okay. He rang her cell, but there was no answer. He left a brief message, then hit the button for voice mail.
What he heard made his blood run cold.
She’d gone to meet Andy.
In an effort to protect him, she’d just made his worst nightmare come true.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nico Furello was in trouble; there was no denying the fact. His father was close to finding out the truth about his little venture, and if he did, the game was up. The old man had made himself perfectly clear on the matter—if any of his people were caught trafficking drugs, he'd personally see that they were put out of business, permanently.
And Nico wasn't fool enough to believe for an instant that his father's edict excluded him. His father would see him dead just as surely as he was standing here on the corner of Lafayette and Astor, waiting on the only two people left with the potential to bring him down.
Which, of course, upped the ante considerably. He needed them both dead. And he needed it now. But even with cocaine coursing through his blood, he knew he couldn't take them out on a crowded street corner, let alone inside of a Starbucks. So he'd just have to bide his time and wait until the correct moment presented itself.
He tucked his hands into his coat pockets and settled back into the shadows. It was Christmas Eve. A grand night for murder. He shivered against the cold and cursed his situation. This was not how he'd planned for things to work out. Damn Andy Proctor and his nosy partner. He should have known better than to get in bed with a cop.
Shit.
But Nico didn't have a choice.
He pulled one last drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt toward an overflowing trash can. Two points. With a little luck, maybe the thing would catch fire. Now, that would be a distraction.
He laughed to himself, some of his confidence returning. All he had to do was wait. Patience was more than a virtue, it was a fucking way of life.
*****
Jenny sat with her back to the wall, nursing a nonfat latte. Its warmth filled her, combining with its aroma to create a false sense of security.
Only, nothing was normal.
Andy Proctor popped the top on his coffee and poured in two sugars. "I was beginning to think something had happened to you." He looked up to meet her gaze, and she struggled to control the tremor in her fingers.
"I was scared." A reasonable explanation, and certainly the truth.
"I can understand that." Andy reached out to pat her hand, and it took every ounce of courage she had not to jerk it away. "But you need someone to help you. To watch out for you. Just because one man is dead doesn't mean there aren't others out looking for you."
"How did Sandy's parents take the news?" She couldn't help the question. She needed him to lie to her. To give her absolute certainty.
Andy stared down at his hands. "It wasn't good. The officers said her mother collapsed." He looked up, his gaze clear, and Jenny resisted the urge to run. All she had to do was stall a bit longer. To set another meeting place, and then let Connor deal with Andy. "They had to sedate her, but I think she'll be all right."
"You're living in a dream world," she snapped, her anger rising. "I don't think anyone ever really recovers from the loss of a child."