Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

  All super cool, but their impending meeting stayed in the back of their minds, putting a damper on the fun. Even the New York pizza hadn’t helped. While the guys scarfed several slices, she could hardly touch hers.

  Then Vince went into his bank and came out forty-five minutes later, mumbling about how he’d had more pleasant interrogations at the police station, and Cassie wasn’t one hundred percent sure he was joking. Her curiosity wheels spun, but she didn’t ask how much money he’d withdrawn, not only because it was a personal question, but also because she was scared to know.

  Vince wrapped his hand around her thigh; he must know she had trouble thinking when it was there. “When Bobby suggested somewhere besides the club, they got pissed and started up with the threats, and I’d rather at least start the meeting calm. But I don’t even know what I’m walking into.”

  “You’re walking into a meeting with drug dealers,” she helpfully supplied with every ounce of sarcasm she had at her disposal.

  Vince sighed.

  “Is that a you-regret-bringing-me-along sigh? Because I can’t just not be worried about you.”

  “It’s more of a sigh that means I love that you care, but I need you to be more cooperative. As for bringing you along, it was stupid, because it put you in danger. I didn’t look beyond wanting you with me, which I do.” His eyes locked onto hers, the steely determination in them clear. “But I won’t take you into a situation I know will be rough. It’s bad enough you’ll be in the club at all.”

  Can’t we just send Bobby in there with the money? Guilt immediately flooded her. He wasn’t a bad person. Just a person with a serious problem. Maybe more like problems. Regardless, she could tell there was a good personality under the addiction. Unfortunately, it didn’t make her less worried about Vince.

  “Why don’t we just call the cops?” she asked. “Send them in there to, like, discover the stash of drugs in the back and arrest them all?”

  Both Vince and Bobby laughed at that. She shot Vince a look, and he clamped his lips. “If we’re not out in thirty minutes, leave the club. Then take the Jeep and drive until I call you and tell you where to meet us.” He put the keys in her hand, and when she simply stared at them, he curled her fingers around them. As if she’d simply forgotten how to hold keys.

  “If you’re really hurt, then calling me is going to be extra tricky.” Cassie couldn’t even go to the place where he was more than hurt.

  “Fine. If after thirty minutes, after you’re also out of the club, you can call the cops. Seriously, what is it about you and pi—cops?”

  “I guess it’s their mustaches. Or maybe it’s the fact that they have guns and training.”

  “I have the last two things, and I’ll grow a mustache if you’re so set on one.” His expression turned deadly serious again. “Now, back to the point. Promise me you won’t try to get into the back offices.”

  It was so unfair that he could pull out the deep, delicious voice to try to sway her.

  “I won’t,” she said.

  “Won’t promise, or won’t go in there?”

  Damn, he’d caught that play on words. She raised an eyebrow, refusing to expand, and he swore under his breath and rubbed his fingers across his forehead.

  “I should’ve left you somewhere in the city. If I didn’t think…” He didn’t finish, but she had a feeling he was thinking they may need to make a quick getaway, which wasn’t exactly reassuring.

  Bobby cleared his throat. “As much as I’ve enjoyed witnessing your relationship drama, I’m going to have to point out that if we don’t get in there soon, we’ll be late. Then they’ll be even more likely to beat the shit out of us for fun.”

  Vince shot him a glare, and then they all bailed out of the Jeep. Cassie grabbed Vince’s arm, just above the elbow. “Please be careful.”

  He nodded and pressed a quick kiss to her lips. As he started to pull away, she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and gave him a proper kiss, putting every ounce of concern and affection churning through her into it.

  Bobby whistled and heat rose to her cheeks.

  Vince rested his forehead against hers. “Ignore him.”

  “Actually, I want to talk to him before you go in. And you need to…not listen.”

  His glower might’ve scared her a few weeks ago, but now it just made her want to hold him tighter. She did her best to put on a stern front, though.

  “Would you rather resume our fight about me attending the meeting with you?”

  He grunted and then walked over to a giant SUV a few parking spots down and leaned against the hood.

  Stern-front in place, Cassie spun to Bobby. “Maybe I’m wasting my breath, and look, I know you had a lot of shitty things happen with your parents and all. I’ve had my fair share, too, as have a lot of people in life. There are other ways of dealing with it than drugs. And how many times do you think Vince can swoop in and bail you out before one of these meetings goes bad?”

  Her throat tightened. Please don’t let it be this meeting, please don’t let it be this meeting.

  “You know what’s really funny? I moved to New York to try to get clean. I thought if I got away from our—” Bobby suddenly clamped his lips.

  “What?”

  Bobby put his hand on her shoulder. “I don’t want him to get hurt, either. It’s good he found someone like you who cares about him. Maybe he’ll do a better job breaking away than I did.”

  “Don’t just give up. The first step is wanting to change, and I’m asking you to…want to. To try. You need professional help and a strong support system. You’ve got Vince, and I know you barely know me, but I can help, too. At least I know people who can. There’s a good person in there somewhere. It’d be a shame to lose him completely.”

  “I’m pretty sure he’s already gone.”

  “You and your brother! Just accept you’re good guys and prove it. And when people want to help you, just let them. But not like this. Like—”

  “I get it,” Bobby said with a smile.

  “Good. So that’s my speech.” Despite her best attempts to keep up her strong front, it cracked and tears sprung to her eyes. “Now, do me a favor and bring Vince back to me. I won’t be okay if you fail, you understand?”

  Bobby surprised her by hugging her. It apparently surprised Vince, too, because he was suddenly two feet away, looming and seeming conflicted as to intervene or not.

  As they neared the entrance to the club, the bouncer eyed their clothes; apparently they were underdressed. Vince identified himself, and he let them through.

  Since it was fairly early by clubbing standards, the dance floor was sparse, the bar area only faring a bit better. Vince gave Cassie’s hand one last squeeze, and then she split off toward the bar as he and Bobby made a beeline for the back.

  A giant bald guy met them and led them out of view.

  Then all Cassie could do was wait.

  ***

  Carlo did another sweep, even though he’d already made sure he wasn’t followed. The constant checking took time, but it was better than sitting in a cell.

  He pushed into McCarthy’s Steak and Seafood restaurant in downtown Trenton and took in the joint. Ritzier than Rossi’s, but there wasn’t any of that old country appeal that made the place feel like a home away from home.

  The hostess seated him, and he lifted the menu, watching over the top of it for Cassie. So far, he’d seen two waitresses and one waiter, but none of them were his former employee. He also noticed another man seated alone. The guy had a hard edge about him that made Carlo give him a second look. Dark hair that was graying at the temples, probably about his own age, maybe a little older.

  The man glanced in his direction and then dropped his gaze to the table. A little too quickly.

  Carlo narrowed his eyes and studied him closer. He didn’t look familiar. His clothes were older, nothing tailored or fancy, but he supposed that wasn’t a crime. Not everyone took as much pride in their appearance as he did
. The guy had been here first, too, so that ruled him out as being a tail.

  Carlo hadn’t told anyone he was going to check on Cassie. Come to think of it, the guy had probably looked away because Carlo was staring him down. People tended to be uncomfortable when he did that. Smart people, anyway.

  Man, I really am getting paranoid. Staring down some man who just came in for a quiet early dinner. A waitress came over, and Carlo ordered their most expensive wine. He was about to ask about Cassie when his phone rang.

  Most likely it’d be Allegra. The past few days had been rough, so instead of continuing to deny her accusations, he brought home a diamond necklace and earring set last night. It cost him a pretty penny, but things on the home front had cooled, and she’d been calling to whisper dirty things in his ear all day, so it was worth every cent.

  Carlo frowned when the display identified the caller as Big Al Ferrigno, one of the underbosses in New York he occasionally did business with. They were friends—well, the kind of friends who drew territory lines, scratched each others’ backs from time to time, and other than that, stayed the hell out of each others’ way. Carlo’s territory might be less populated, but he had more square footage and plenty of firepower. Plus, he was tight with the don who owned the larger section of New York.

  Lately Big Al had taken to calling to complain about Bobby, and he was the first person Carlo had called when he’d retracted Bobby’s protected status. Instead of answering his cell, he took out his burner and called back.

  “Your nephews just got to the club,” Big Al said. “Not just Bobby, but Vince, too. Bobby agreed to come in and settle his debt.”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted? I told you if you shook down Bobby you’d get paid. You lay hands on my nephews while they’re making good on that promise, and you’re going to have a hell of a fight on your hands.”

  “Hey, I respect the family. I was more calling as a courtesy. And to make sure it is just a meeting about the debt. I didn’t expect Vince.”

  Vince was too smart to send Bobby in alone with the money, and apparently he was hell-bent on paying off the debt himself. Disappointing when it came to needing something to hold over him, yet another reason Carlo wanted Vince on his side. Resourceful in a bad situation and cool under pressure was in short supply these days.

  “As long as I get paid, I’ve got no problem with you,” Big Al said, suspicion clipping his words. He was fishing… and worried, which Carlo couldn’t help enjoying after what a pain in the ass he’d been. “Just wanted to make sure that was clear, if I hadn’t relayed that in my previous calls.”

  Carlo rolled his eyes. Drama queens, the lot of them. “You’ll get your money. Stop hounding me all the time, and there’s no reason we can’t keep getting along.”

  “Sorry, but you know how it is. If word gets around I let one of my dealers get away with not paying…”

  “I hear ya, fuhggedaboutit.”

  “Grazie. Oh, and they also brought a woman with them. Young. Blond. Looks like she doesn’t belong. Just seemed weird, so I thought I’d mention it.”

  Now why would Vince go and take Cassie with him? Carlo supposed it could be another blonde, but he doubted it. She certainly wasn’t at work today.

  “You got eyes on her right now?” Carlo asked.

  “Yeah. She’s sitting at the bar in the club. Why? What do you want us to do?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Good job, kid,” Jim said to Mancini, clapping him on the back. This had been quite the day of interesting, unexpected turns in the Rossi case, and he couldn’t help but be optimistic they were finally getting somewhere.

  “Hopefully this makes up for blowing the surveillance on the waitress,” Mancini said.

  “This makes up for anything you might’ve ever done wrong in your life.” Jim slowed at the door to the interrogation room. He’d sat for several hours at McCarthy’s, waiting for Cassie, who didn’t show. Imagine his surprise when Carlo Rossi himself made an appearance. Jim hoped he played off his shock quickly enough. The temptation to move closer and attempt to overhear that phone call had nearly overwhelmed him, but he’d forced himself to play it cool. Despite also wanting to stay longer, he paid his bill and took off to avoid being made.

  Meanwhile across town, Mancini watched Dante Costa load his car up with enough drugs to get an army high and called for backup. They followed him, hoping to catch him selling red-handed, and miracle of miracles, that’s exactly what happened. So they brought him down to one of the local stations. Between one other arrest for possession and an assault charge, this made strike three, and that meant serious time.

  With any luck, they could turn him against Carlo Rossi and use this as the domino push that took down the entire organization. If not, well, Dante could enjoy prison, and Carlo would have to scramble for someone to replace him. Disorder always helped create mistakes, and they’d be there to catch them.

  “Ready?” Jim asked, and Mancini nodded, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Get your game face on, then.”

  Mancini narrowed his eyes into slits, and now Jim was the one fighting a smile. No counting chicks before they hatched. First they had to get him to talk. Before he insisted on a lawyer.

  Jim opened the door, and he and Mancini strode into the room. Dante sat in a chair on the other side of the table, his hands cuffed to the bar in the center. A snake tattoo coiled around one of his massive arms, and when he met Jim’s eye, the bastard grinned.

  What he wouldn’t do to be able to knock that smug look right off his face. Instead he casually sat opposite him. “Looks like you’ve landed yourself in a bit of trouble.”

  Dante shrugged. “Not my first rodeo.”

  “I know. It’s your third. Maybe you’ve heard that New Jersey’s got a three-strike law. They take it pretty seriously, too.”

  That took off the arrogant edge. His eyes hardened. “It’s only two. That assault charge was dropped. Didn’t they teach you to read in the academy, copper?”

  Jim fought the urge to run out and retrieve his files. Not that they were in this station; they were back at FBI headquarters in Newark. He’d looked at them so often. How had he forgotten that? No doubt the assault charges were dropped with the threat of another assault.

  His mind spun, searching for something else useful on Dante’s rap sheet. “You’re forgetting the restraining order. Not what a judge wants to see.”

  “That broad is crazy. She was just pissed I dumped her bony ass.” Dante’s smug grin returned. “So as fun as this has been, I’ll just wait for my lawyer to get here.”

  “If that’s the way you want it,” Mancini said with a shrug. “Of course, if you lawyer up, it’ll be hard to protect you.”

  “From who? You guys going to rough me up? Go ahead and try. My lawyer would eat that shit up.”

  “From Carlo.” Mancini tipped his chair back, the front legs coming a few inches off the floor. “We’ve got an inside man, and he’s going to be telling the big guy you’ve turned on him—stir the pot a little, you know. Call it a fun experiment. Will he shoot you? Will he beat you until he believes you? Either way, it’s no skin off my nose.”

  Jim sat still, careful to not betray Mancini’s bluff.

  Dante tried to keep up the tough façade, but the wheels were spinning. “The boss wouldn’t believe that. I’m one of his most loyal men.”

  “So’s our informant.” Mancini smiled. “He’s been talking all about you, too. I’m sure we’ll find strike three, and even without it, you’re going to be put away for long enough to completely forget what it’s like to be with a woman.”

  Nice touch, considering his fondness for the ladies. The lines in Dante’s forehead deepened. They were so close he could taste it.

  “What’s it gonna be?” Jim leaned in, folding his forearms on the cool metal table. “But tick, tock. We got criminals to catch, informants to listen to.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s time for you to pick. You going to rat or rot
?”

  ***

  Vince tossed the paperbound bills on Big Al’s desk, physically ill as soon as it left his hands. For so much money, it didn’t look like much, just about four inches of crisp hundreds.

  Hard come, easy go.

  If it was just money, he’d get over it. But it put a huge dent in his chance of changing his life, of being something—someone—different.

  “Bobby’s out,” he said. “He’s not selling for you anymore.”

  Big Al handed the two stacks to the man behind him and the guy automatically thumbed through it. He had another goon flanking his other side, the thick-necked surly type. “I say when he’s out.”

  “No, I say. You don’t use him to sell, and you don’t sell to him.”

  Bobby whipped his head toward Vince, panic creeping into his eyes. Wanting to be done and having your supplier and source of income taken away were two different things.

  “I agreed to give him a chance to pay back his debt without retaliation, but I’m not losing him or his regulars.” Big Al smoothed a hand down his black silk tie, putting on a bored air. “He’s no longer under Carlo’s protection, in case you don’t remember. So he needs to get his ass back out there, move the product, and as long as he pays me on time—”

  Vince dove across the desk, grabbed the fucking tie, and used it to yank the asshole forward as he drew his gun and jabbed the barrel under the fat man’s ribs. The unmistakable sound of guns being cocked registered, and Bobby swore. Vince wound the tie around his hand, tightening the makeshift noose as he dug the gun into Al’s flesh a little deeper. “Tell them to drop their weapons, nice and slow, and you put your hands on the desk where I can see them.”

  Big Al turned three shades of red and clamped his lips.

  Vince curled his finger around the trigger. “They might get me, but you’ll go first.”

  “Drop them,” Big Al said, blowing air out of his nostrils. He put his meaty hands flat on the desk.