Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

  “Might as well talk to everyone at once,” Cassie said.

  Within a few minutes, her makeshift family was gathered in the living room. She wanted to tell them everything, but she couldn’t, so she worked through what she could and couldn’t say.

  “First off, thank you all for taking me in so easily and becoming such amazing friends…” A lump rose in her throat. After she made it through this and was on her way out of the city, she’d let herself cry over the loss of these amazing people, who she’d most likely never be able to see again. “It’s not safe to tell you everything. All I can say is that I was in the wrong place at the very wrong time, and some bad people want me dead. They almost succeeded at making that happen—twice.”

  Maude covered her mouth, and Deanne reached out and took Cassie’s hand. Cassie clung to it like a lifeline.

  “I’m guessing the FBI wants me for their case against…the bad people. But I don’t know if I can trust them. So, I hoped I wouldn’t have to leave like this, but I always knew I was living on borrowed time here. I’ll miss you all so much.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly swiped it away.

  Deanne jumped up and hugged her, then Maude got in on it, and Owen, Levi, and even Harold joined in.

  “Thank you again for everything,” she said as she soaked in the hugs and the love.

  Then she took a deep breath and got ready for her second round of life on the run.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Vince tugged on his T-shirt as he walked into the kitchen. Bobby was already up and making eggs.

  Burnt, disgusting-smelling eggs. He slid a plate across the counter to him. Vince wanted Bobby out of town, even as he wanted him there, because at least he had his brother back. But he worried what would happen when everything came to light about Vince’s involvement in Carlo’s arrest. Honestly, he worried Bobby would call him a rat. A traitor. That he’d hate him as much as Carlo would.

  Not to mention he worried about Bobby being too close to old friends and dealers who might get him in trouble again. But he went to meetings constantly, checked in with his counselor from the rehab center often, and had a local sponsor. He also volunteered at an animal shelter and worked as a waiter at Rossi’s. Apparently being beyond busy helped him avoid the quiet times when he started thinking about how nice it’d be to escape for a while.

  This week, Vince would have to break it to him that he’d need to quit and disappear again, and he hoped having to start over somewhere else wouldn’t undo all of Bobby’s progress.

  Vince shoveled a bite of eggs into his mouth and tried not to gag.

  “When are you going to tell me what really happened with Cassie?” Bobby asked.

  Burnt egg bits got caught in Vince’s throat, and he downed half a glass of water to keep from choking on them. “I told you. After everything that went down at the club in New York, I was afraid Big Al might come after her. So I got her out of town, told her exactly who I was, and after that she didn’t want anything to do with me, which was what I’d hoped for.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. And I can’t mention her to Carlo because he’d be mad you told her about the organization. You must think I’m stupid and high if you think I actually bought that story.”

  Vince’s fork clattered against his plate. “If you tell Carlo, you’d put my life in danger. And if you don’t care about my life, think about Cassie.” He knew he should’ve told Bobby a different story. He worried feeding him the lie about Cassie being dead would send him spiraling since she was the one to believe in him in the first place. Plus, he’d seen how much Bobby immediately liked Cassie, and he didn’t want to tell that big of a lie to the only person he had left. “Don’t think he can’t get to any of us just because he’s behind bars. I really need Cassie and my relationship to be kept between you and me.”

  “Chill, bro. It hurts me that you think I would do that to you or to her. Even at my worst, I…well, I put your life at risk. I was a shitty brother, okay? But I wouldn’t purposely send anyone after you, knowing that they’d hurt you.”

  More than anything, Vince wanted to trust Bobby. He’d nearly broken down and told him everything a dozen times since he got out of rehab. But the risk of him slipping and talking to the wrong people, even if he didn’t realize he’d done it, was too great.

  Vince ran his fingers along his jaw. “Speaking of Carlo, have you been to visit him?”

  “Hell no. He gave crazy New York dealers permission to kill me. He can rot in jail for all I care. The question is, why haven’t you visited him?” Bobby narrowed his eyes. “Did you two have a falling out? I know something’s up.”

  “Yeah, something is. You’ve got to get to the animal shelter, and I’ve got to go to Rossi’s.” And act like everything’s normal.

  Putting on a false front all the time was slowly eating away at him. They should arrest people and have their trials the next month instead of drawing out the torture. McVee said they were lucky to get a date so close, but lucky was the last thing Vince felt. Miserable described his state the past several months perfectly.

  He tried to keep his contact with the feds to a minimum, but if they were going to insist on protection, Bobby needed to be included in that. Otherwise, Vince would take his chances hiding himself and Bobby on his own.

  “You’re forgetting that I met Cassie,” Bobby said as Vince reached for his keys. “She went to that club with us, and she told me she wouldn’t be okay without you. She knew you, and she loved you anyway. All I’m saying is if I had a girl like that, I would’ve forgotten about this godforsaken place and gone with her.”

  Even though his back was to his brother, he closed his eyes, trying to shutter away the clash of emotions rising in him.

  “You should go find her. With Carlo in jail, it’s the perfect time.”

  Vince wrapped his hand around his keys until the jagged edges dug deep into his palm. Divert the pain. Control the situation.

  After all, the end was almost in sight. As soon as Carlo was convicted and most of his boys were behind bars, Vince was leaving, taking Bobby with him, and going on a search that might never give him the results he wanted.

  Until then, if Bobby didn’t stop bringing up Cassie, he was going to need a new place to live.

  ***

  The water in the tiny hotel shower ran brown for a couple of minutes before it turned clear. Cassie shampooed and let the water run over her hair again. The bubbles were a bit brown, but eventually the water ran clear again.

  She wrapped a towel around herself, used the blow-dryer hanging on the wall next to the cream-colored vanity, and then picked her slightly steamed glasses off the counter and stared at her reflection.

  So that’s what Chocolate Truffle colored hair looks like. Buying hair dye when you were hungry was a bad idea. Everything sounded delicious instead of toxic.

  After the sob-fest that saying goodbye to everyone at the Hurst’s brought on, Cassie returned to the apartment she shared with Deanne. She shoved the essentials in her backpack and everything else she could fit into a small suitcase and hugged Deanne until they both ran out of tears. Then she had to have a fight with Owen, who’d shown up and said he was going with her, before finally compromising a little and letting him drive her to a car rental place.

  She drove long into the night and made it through most of Missouri before her eyes and body had screamed for sleep. Summoning every ounce of her energy, she made a stop at a twenty-four hour drugstore where she grabbed the hair dye and—thanks to the subliminal names on the boxes—a bag of chocolate.

  Then she crashed until eleven, woke up, and got to work on her transformation. She picked up the scissors, debating what exactly she was going to do with them for a minute or two. Her hair had grown quite a bit in the last few months, which should help with the different look she was going for.

  Hmm. How to change it up even more… She cut herself a thick side-swept bang, and studied herself again. With her lenses now clear, she noticed her b
loodshot eyes. Fabulous.

  Speaking of eyes, I need to find an eye doctor. She shuddered at the thought, but she might as well get it over with as soon as possible. It wasn’t like there was ever going to be a better time to start sticking her finger in her eye.

  She glanced at the phone on the nightstand. To wait, or to find out as much as possible now? The card the FBI agent gave Maude was in her purse, but before she decided whether or not to make that call, she wanted to talk to someone she trusted.

  She picked up the phone and chanted, “Please don’t go to voicemail, please don’t go to voicemail.”

  ***

  “We got it!” Uffizi strode into the room and sat across from Carlo. “We got the complete list of witnesses.”

  Carlo couldn’t believe his lawyer had wanted to delay the trial and drag this prison stint out longer. He wanted out, and he wanted it now. Wanted this whole thing to be done with. He’d sit in front of that jury, charm them, cause plenty of reasonable doubt, and get on with his life.

  If people on the witness list needed motivation to change their testimony before that could happen, he needed to get on it. It’d be more difficult with most of his men indicted, but he still had plenty of contacts.

  “So, let’s have it,” Carlo said. Uffizi came in acting like he possessed a golden ticket, and now that he was seated across from him, he seemed to reconsider his excitement.

  Uffizi opened his large briefcase. “Every single one of your guys is on the list as a potential witness.”

  “All my guys are turning on me?”

  “No, but the prosecution is covering their bases, saying they want the right to call any of these guys. Sal, Dante…” Uffizi listed the rest of the guys, from the top of his organization to the bottom, and a couple of Carlo’s other associates, as well as a few forensics experts and FBI agents. “Oh, and some woman.” Uffizi lifted the list and squinted at it. “Cassandra Dalton. No testimony on record, but they have her listed as a potential witness. Know anything about her?”

  “She used to work for Rossi’s as a waitress.”

  “Well, they must think she has some damning evidence. I know the feds are looking hard for her—got that tip from one of the inside guys.” Uffizi leaned in. “He didn’t come cheap either.”

  “Well, in exchange for my life or fifty years behind bars, I’ll pay. As for Cassandra…She won’t be a problem.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “You don’t want to know.” Thank goodness he had her taken care of, or he might start to worry.

  Uffizi held up his hands, like he didn’t already know. But there was knowing and having the words said. Uffizi liked to keep his hands “clean.” Kind of like Vince used to.

  “And that’s the good news.” Uffizi’s lip trembled a bit.

  “Wow, I’m afraid to ask for the bad news.”

  Sweat beaded on Uffizi’s forehead, and he rubbed his palms on his cheap slacks. What was the point in making all that money if he was going to buy a poorly made suit?

  “The photographic evidence of the body they dug up is quite…graphic.” Uffizi slid over a file.

  Carlo sorted through the pictures. A bullet through the head at that close of range didn’t result in a whole lot of pretty.

  “Alvarez’s wife is on the witness list, too. Of course she mainly dealt with Sal, so we can paint it like Sal might be the one who carried out the hit. It’s just that the statement from their key witness…Well, in other good news, the prosecution has offered a deal. Thirty-year sentence, with the chance of parole in twenty. But it’s off the table once the trial starts.”

  “You really need to reassess the word ‘good,’ because I don’t think you know what it means.

  “It is something to think about.”

  Carlo’s temper was quickly reaching the breaking point. “Get to the key witness. Now.”

  Uffizi scooted out his chair and glanced at the guard behind the glass window.

  Carlo curled his hands around the arms of the uncomfortable metal chair. I can’t wait to find out who’s going to die in the worst possible way. His vision took on a red hue and white-hot fury pumped through his body at a rate he’d never experienced before. He’d done things he didn’t exactly want to do before, but this? Well, his only regret was he couldn’t be the one to personally torture out every last glimmer of life before extinguishing it completely. “The name. Don’t make me ask again.”

  Uffizi swallowed, hard. “It was Vince. Your nephew’s the one who gave them all the information they needed and he…” He slid over a signed statement and then yanked his hand away like a snake might strike. “He’s going to testify that you killed Eduardo Alvarez in the alley behind Rossi’s.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Was it weird that between testifying against a mobster who tried to kill her multiple times and seeing Vince, she was more nervous about Vince?

  Cassie let out a long breath, chased her contact out of the little pool of solution, and forced herself not to blink as she put the plastic disc in place. She’d nearly gotten used to it. In the way that she hated it every time and often psyched herself out, but managed to get the damn things in place at least by the second or third try.

  Today she got it on the first try, and she took that as a good omen; she could use all the good she could get. For a few seconds, she had one pale green eye and one murky brown. The lady who helped her with the contacts asked if Cassie was sure she wanted to cover such a pretty color of green with brown. Since she couldn’t exactly admit she needed them for a disguise, she simply smiled and nodded.

  The other one took two tries—still not bad—and then she added dramatic eyeliner and a Marilyn Monroe mole for good measure. She wanted to look completely different from her old self, yet blend in enough that she could go unnoticed as long as possible. Not exactly an easy combo. She slipped into a nice fitted but boring black pantsuit. As she’d learned more often than she liked at McCarthy’s, exposed legs got attention, so they were covered up.

  Too bad, because when Vince noticed the legs, it suddenly seemed like a bonus. Her heart gave a couple of erratic thumps, her mood alternating between excited and oh-holy-shit-this-is-really-happening.

  “Well, I look like a reporter and completely different from the old Cassie,” she told her reflection. “So just what I was going for.” A few weeks of crappy motels and little conversation, and she’d started talking out loud once in a while simply to hear a voice. She’d underestimated how badly she would miss Maude, Harold, Deanne—man, she missed her—and even Owen.

  But missing Vince eclipsed all of that.

  I know it’s been months, but he better not have a new girlfriend. Otherwise, he’s going to find out he’s not the only one with a wicked jealous streak.

  After her many gym sessions, she might even be able to drag a girl out of a car window, the way Vince had done with that P.I. Cassie grunted as she picked up her suitcase. Then again, maybe not. Good thing it had a handle and wheels.

  One more exhale and she left the last crappy motel she planned on staying at alone and climbed into the 80s era Toyota. After running poor Agent McVee in circles, a portion of her nerves were reserved for meeting him and his partner. First she’d called Tom Duffy, asked him not to tell anyone they’d made contact, and pumped him for every ounce of information she could get, including if Agent McVee was one of the good guys.

  Tom broke down and told her Agent McVee had contacted him about her missing memories shortly after her accident, so he already had experience with the guy. After giving Tom a day to do more digging, she gave him another call from a different location. Jim McVee had a long, solid record with the FBI, so Cassie called the agent from a payphone at a trucker gas stop just outside of Lexington and laid out her terms.

  She wanted to ensure she was on the possible witness list so she didn’t risk going back to Jersey only to be unable to testify—luckily McVee had already insisted upon that, long before she called. She also wan
ted to arrive in town last minute, right before the trial started. Agent McVee got all riled up over that and told her he could get a subpoena sent. She’d replied that if he found an address, he could go right ahead and pop it in the mail.

  In all of her life, she’d never been so demanding or immovable, and admittedly, it felt rather awesome. It also gave her the sense of control she needed.

  After he grumbled about how difficult she was being, Cassie told him her last request, and while he hadn’t exactly liked it, either, he’d finally agreed.

  From Kentucky she headed back up to northern Ohio. That way, if Agent McVee went looking despite his promises, he’d be on the wrong route and could still honestly say he hadn’t found her yet. It was a pain, but she’d had time to kill anyway.

  Once she arrived in Columbus, she turned in her rental car so no one could trace Kate Jones from Tulsa, and then she hitched a ride to Cleveland—never again, even though the trucker was perfectly nice and she had her gun. From there she bought a used car with cash and zigzagged her way to New Jersey.

  And now here she was, pulling up to the Clarkson S. Fisher Federal Building and U.S. Courthouse. Hopefully Agent McVee would honor her last requirement. Otherwise she’d simply sit and stare when they asked her questions until they gave her what she wanted—no, needed.

  She didn’t care about rules or gray area anymore. If anyone told her she’d feel this way a year ago—or that she’d be making demands of FBI agents instead of nervously spilling her guts—she would’ve laughed.

  As she climbed out of the car, Cassie’s nerves bounced around in her stomach like they were in a tumbling competition. If Agent McVee did as promised, Vince is in that building right now.

  Admittedly, she admired the agent’s refusal to give her information about where Vince was staying, even though he knew their history. It meant he took Vince’s safety seriously.

  Cassie popped the trunk and lowered her well-worn backpack into it. She kept hold of the strap for a moment, finding it harder than expected to uncurl her fingers from the pale pink material. For weeks she’d had her gun within reaching distance at all times.