by Allyn Lesley
She hadn’t meant to say yes, but her answer had come the instant Noah had walked toward the blonde. At the sight of her hand on Noah’s arm, disgust had worked its way to Avi’s throat and almost choked her. She agreed to go out with Jayson just to prove to herself that she had no interest in Noah Adams—to match, in deed, what her lips had told him twice. She hadn’t exactly heard all of Jayson’s words, but had nodded anyway. Now she hovered between regret and ambivalence about the date.
Earlier this morning, on her way to the bathroom, she’d been randomly browsing her social media account when his incoming text had indicated their date’s time and location. She should’ve left it alone, but instead, she’d responded with a thumbs-up emoticon. She’d regretted it almost immediately.
“Hello,” Sofie said, snapping Avi out of her head. “What time are you meeting him?”
Avi groaned. “Later.” She honestly didn’t remember. “I don’t even know why I’m going.”
“Don’t you want to go?”
“I do.” She frowned. “I just don’t know how good of a date I’ll be. I’ve been in New York for three months and nothing. Not even the construction crew working on my street whistle at me. And you know those guys chase anything in a skirt.” Then again, Avi hadn’t been advertising her availability: she kept her earbuds tucked in her ears when she walked as soon as her feet hit the streets, and plastered a look of ‘I’m busy and have no time for you’ on her face everywhere she went.
Maybe I’ll become interested in entering the dating pool again. But then again, she didn’t need that kind of hassle, even if it’d been too long since her last relationship.
“At least you have a date with a real, live person. I’m stuck in hell. The one person I like is too afraid of my uncle to make a move. And don’t get me started on the ones my aunt sets me up with. Thank God for Smexy Times by West Fourth.”
One of Avi’s eyebrows rose. “That’s the actual name? Of a store?”
Sofie continued speaking as if Avi never said a word. “Whatever. I bet my father wouldn’t have been this damn strict with me.” Sofie looked out the window.
“Where’s your father?”
A server carrying tiramisu to a nearby table distracted Avi.
“He’s dead.”
Her head swung back in her friend’s direction. Losing a father was hard, or so she’d guessed. “Oh no. I’m sorry, Sofie.” Avi reached for Sofie’s hand lingering on the table.
“Yeah, me too.” Sofie sighed. “It was always just the four of us: my dad, Uncle Cass, Aunt Beth, and me. But then he got killed serving his country. I was twelve.” Unshed tears gleamed in Sofie’s green eyes. “You’d think I’d be over it by now.”
No one gets over the death of a parent; you just get by, Avi. That was what Ellie always said, referring to her mother, who’d died when Avi was eleven years old. Empathy welled in Avi’s heart. She rubbed soothing circles on Sofie’s hand.
“After my dad’s death, Uncle Cass never left on another tour again. I talk smack about him, but if it hadn’t been for him and my aunt...”
“They sound like they really love you.”
Sofie pulled her hand away, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “They do. I mean, most of the time, my uncle and dad weren’t around anyway, so it was just me and my aunt.”
Like my mom and me.
“At least you got to know your father, even for a short time,” Avi shared. Mine died before I ever met him. Avi’s sight dropped, fidgeting with the zipper on her jacket.
“Yeah?”
Avi sat back. Her gaze flicked over to Sofie’s stooped posture and dull eyes.
I can trust her. I can tell her.
Avi’s lips parted to share her own tale.
“Whoa. That was a whole bunch of heavy, right?” Sofie nodded at Avi. “Let’s get shit-faced.”
Avi swallowed her story, chuckling at Sofie’s quick rebound.
No one wants to hear that crap anyway.
And she didn’t ever want to relive Florida.
“You go ahead, and I’ll order an early dessert.”
Sofie had already picked up her empty glass, air toasting Avi.
Many hours later, Avi was waiting outside another restaurant. The September night had a light breeze that made Avi pull her pashmina closer to her body. Lovers were wrapped up in each other’s arms and conversations as they passed her, while a horse drawn carriage trotted down the street. Both stirred up a longing she’d buried in Florida. She didn’t want that, did she?
“There you are.” Jayson rushed to her.
Avi was grateful for his interruption. She didn’t like where her thoughts were headed. His image became clearer as he stood within arm’s reach of her. Last night on the dance floor, she hadn’t cared what he looked like, and definitely after Noah’s bold introduction, Jayson had become a very distant thought.
When she tipped her head back, his height, which was still under six feet, became apparent. He was lanky, but on closer inspection, reed-thin was a better description, and not very muscled from what Avi could tell from his jacket-clad upper body. His smooth dark skin, goatee, and black rimmed glasses would make any woman glance his way a second time. He wore an easy smile that might have disarmed another woman, but it seemed off to Avi. He was too short, too meek, there were no dimples, and his hair was the wrong shade.
Jayson finally reached her, pulling her into an embrace she tried, with tact, to back out of. She eased away just in time to let his lips graze her cheek instead of her lips.
“We’ll work up to that,” he said over her head, moving away.
Are Noah’s kisses tender, or commanding?
She blinked, concerned about her line of thinking. She gave Jayson a weak smile, which he probably took as encouragement, because he was quick to link their hands, walking them toward the restaurant’s entrance. The interior of the bistro was intimate with small, round tables that were in close proximity to each other. Tea light candles and hanging lanterns provided the main light source. Thankfully, there were only a few diners, so it was easy to skirt by the tables to get to theirs, which was toward the back.
They both sat at the same time.
“I shouldn’t say this, but I’m nervous as hell.”
If he was nervous, Avi was petrified. The way Jayson stared at her and pulled her hand into his made her want to stand and leave the restaurant. Maybe his words were meant to put her at ease, but they only reminded her that she was missing her favorite television series for this date. At that thought, she huddled into herself.
“You’re so damn beautiful, and I’m wondering how a bastard like me got lucky enough to have you in my company.” His white teeth shone in the dim lighting of the restaurant.
The waiter approached them, giving Avi the perfect excuse not to answer his impassioned statement. At best, she would’ve given him a disingenuous, lukewarm response.
“May I start you off with something to drink?” The waiter’s gaze focused on Avi, who squirmed under his stare.
Jayson spoke up, commanding the man’s focus, “We’ll have two glasses of red wine—”
“Actually, I’ll have a glass of sparkling water with lemons on the side.”
Jayson rubbed his nape. “One red wine and one sparkling water.”
The waiter left.
“I’m sorry. Was that—”
Avi put up her hand to stop him. “I was out earlier with a friend and I’ve had enough to drink.”
Just that quickly, the date, on her end, fizzled. He was only a distraction, an avoidance of the man who’d gotten under her skin in less than five minutes of their meeting. During the meal, Jayson controlled most of the conversation, and that was more than fine with Avi. He tried his best to pull a smile from her or get her to share something about herself. But she only mustered a few grins at his lame stories, and was evasive when he attempted to pull her into personal discussions. She’d given him two hours to change her mind, and as the deadline neared and h
e hadn’t, Avi coughed to get his attention from himself and onto her.
But he rushed ahead, speaking first. “I’d like to see you again.”
Behind his lenses, his whiskey-colored eyes revealed his interest. But in a flash, Avi imagined a man with sable eyes and an imposing countenance sitting across from her. It was his gaze she wanted to have on hers with the same abandon and desire Jayson exhibited.
Avi shivered. I am not interested in Noah Adams.
“Can I see you again?” Jayson asked, tone too placating and all wrong.
He kept coming up short of Noah. And it was obvious she wasn’t not interested in the cocky man she’d met last night. At least not the part of her body that was becoming too needy, in Avi’s opinion. She had to regain control, or watch everything slip away from her as it once had, with disastrous results.
“Avi...”
She blinked, never hearing a word that left his lips. No time like the present. “Jayson, I’m not ready for anything serious—”
“How about something light?” he asked, interrupting then reaching for her hand.
She slid her hand away, dropping it in her lap.
“Um...how about friends? There’s nothing wrong with being friends, right?” She lessened the blow, which he was taking well, with a smile.
“Friends.” He nodded. “You know I won’t stop trying to convince you to give me a chance.”
The one-way street where the Sixth Precinct was located was lined with post-war buildings. Though the area’s cost of living was exorbitant, the lack of amenities such as doormen and views of any of Manhattan’s prime real estate decreased the area’s potential value. The neighborhood’s saving grace was the presence of the men and women in navy blue, for whom the police station served as headquarters.
Inside this department, there was a whirl of activity. Though it was nearing midnight on Saturday, police officers ushered those they’d arrested toward the criminal processing area, while others sat at their desks to begin their shifts.
“I’m thinking we need to look at this again. Something isn’t adding up,” Harry said, opening up a file in front of him.
Across from him sat Francis Giampa. Frank took his job very seriously, which wasn’t a bad thing in their line of work. But the man rarely saw the details of a crime scene, and the devil was always in the details. Of that, Harry was certain. Over their two year partnership, Harry had learned that Frank was raised by older parents who’d drilled into him that individuals should take personal responsibility for their actions, and that life’s trials shouldn’t endear empathy.
America was a land of opportunities, and you made those work for you. That was Frank’s immigrant parents’ motto for themselves and the rest of society. Frank’s parents had died, one right after the other, and these cataclysmic events prompted the detective to take the police examination almost ten years ago, months prior to his thirty-fifth birthday. This had been Frank’s dream job since he was a boy of seven. He lived and breathed for law, order, and helping rid the city of ‘undesirables’. Right now, Frank’s bushy salt-and-pepper brows were knitted in concentration as he twirled a pen.
Searching with his eyes around his desk, Frank said, “I’m telling you I believe what that criminal informant said. The CI mentioned Take Over. Shit, I wrote it up in my last report. Remember he mentioned something about a purple flower, just like that kid from the summer a while back?”
Harry stiffened. He picked up the folder to give himself something to do. “Yeah, I guess. But don’t you remember the other CI told us what happened when he rubbed on his package? He said the ink came off when he was setting up. Right?” His eyes scanned the words he’d written from their last investigation into the rash of New York City-area heroin-related deaths.
Ever since that well-known Manhattan celebrity chef had overdosed close to six months ago, the entire city was clamoring for arrests and answers—and not in that order. From the top down, everyone was feeling the pressure. Harry was tasked with finding the cause of the deaths and to bring those responsible to justice. Even just a hint of a name would do. All eyes were on him to provide a way for the higher-ups to look good and report back to the Mayor that the situation was handled. Harry was pulling out all the stops: canvassing known drug spots, paying informants, trying to get street-level dealers to flip on their suppliers, and even disguising himself as a user on drug forum websites.
Flipping through the pages in the file, Harry said, “Right here. Look.” He shoved a piece of paper toward the man sitting opposite him. “The one we interviewed in the hospital said something about his gear.” Harry snapped his fingers. “Said it had him nodding right away and for too long. No memory after he shot up.”
The schmuck could’ve died. It was a fine line between nodding, as heroin users did once they were high, and potential death. He was lucky his folks rushed him to the emergency room and the physicians got that Narcan into his system in time.
Frank sucked his teeth. “I still think we need to follow that other CI lead. The one who mentioned Take Over. He said that brand stamp was the best he’d had. Thinks the pushers may have gone underground.” He leaned toward his partner. “Kinda like they went all exclusive and shit. Maybe this Take Over was the same heroin the chef used.”
Harry closed his eyes, feeling his body temperature rising.
Officially, he and Frank were working on bringing down anyone associated with the heroin trade. But unofficially, Harry had been spending his days and nights off following a hunch and doing some personal investigating. No one in his precinct wanted to hear anything about a possible counterfeit brand stamp that came off at the touch. That was too complicated. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough leads to pursue on that front. For the past twenty-four months, Harry had learned about so many competing heroin brands that his head spun, but he rarely heard talk about Take Over.
At a flickering sound, Harry’s eyes popped open.
Frank wore a bright smile and was sitting taller in his chair. “Hey, don’t you remember us getting a tip that someone copped near a club? Envy, or something like that?” Frank rifled through scattered folders on his desk.
Harry frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “No. I don’t. I didn’t bother to put it in my last report. Too weak a link.”
Frank’s hands stilled.
Harry averted his gaze.
“What do you mean? I told you to put that in,” Frank grumbled. Harry was a highly decorated detective, and Frank was fortunate they’d been paired up, but lately, the older man was losing his touch. “Don’t worry about it. I did.” Frank continued moving items around on his desk, landing on something. “Here. The tipster said he bought a couple blocks from a Club Envy. We need to canvas that area.”
“For what? That part of town has gone through a major overhaul in the last year or so. Restaurants, boutiques, and high-end clubs are down there now. All legit, I’m sure. Plus, those condos down there are owned by some of the city’s who’s-who. We go knocking on those doors, and trust me the Captain will ship our asses right out those doors.”
“But the tipster said—”
“And I’m telling you no. Waste of time.” Harry’s lips pinched together. He released a sigh before continuing, “I’m the Lead Detective, unless the Captain has said otherwise.” At Frank’s silence, Harry said, “Look, my gut is telling me that we should follow this other lead.” Harry’s leg shook under his desk.
Frank slapped the folder closed.
“For God’s sake, the victim from the hospital told us he knows he bought Empire State, but underneath it, when the ink came off, there was an umbrella-looking symbol with two sticks of different lengths. That same victim almost died from that heroin.”
Harry had hoped to get Frank on board, but knew they were at an impasse when Frank shrugged.
“Whatever you say, partner. So what do you want me to do?” Frank said.
Harry dismissed the man’s petulance, remembering vital information th
ey still needed to round out their investigation. “How about we do this? You stay on top of the Medical Examiner about the chef’s toxicology report, and I’ll piece together these tips.”
Frank nodded, but Harry got the sense that his agreement was reluctant. Harry wished he could really bring Frank up to speed and be transparent. But the people Harry knew and the things Harry suspected would all be a tinderbox in the hands of a man like Frank, who only saw the world in black and white.
“I’ll say this and be done with it. I doubt there’ll be a link between the chef’s death and whatever stamp the druggie said came off, rubbed off, or whatever. Remember two years ago you told me that addicts are liars?” Frank wondered.
“Well, I’m no addict or a liar. We can both trust my gut, and it’s telling me to look into this brand stamp that rubs off.”
I just hope I’m right.
“How long do you think this’ll take?”
Noah swung his gaze at Ro.
“What? I’ve got shit to do after this.”
“Your pussy-whipped ass can get back to that ‘shit’ after we’re done,” Noah said, keeping his voice low.
“Let’s go.” Cass pulled the steel door closed behind the four men, the sound echoing through the cavernous warehouse like a gong.
Abandoned for all other purposes except for meetings such as the one being held tonight, the warehouse was dark and chilly, reflecting the attitudes of the men who frequented the place. Rats scurried along the baseboards, none yet bold enough to inspect their visitors. Moonlight fell on the litter-covered floor in silvery streaks.
Noah stepped forward, his feet crunching down on random items: broken glass, rubble, and pieces of wood, or it could’ve been bones. He shifted his stance then found a clear patch of concrete, and trained his gaze on the bright cherry of the cigar perched in his target’s mouth.
Gavin walked to the man he had invited to meet him. This time, the table between them was unused save for a sole hanging light bulb. Cass kept a few paces behind his partner, his dark attire making his approach almost unnoticed.