by Avery Flynn
Ford strode into the captain’s office in the corner and stopped inside the door. “You wanted to see me?”
The captain didn’t look up from his computer screen. “Shut the door and sit down.”
The hairs on the back of Ford’s neck did the conga, but he did what he was ordered, just like he always did. Anyway, if this was going to turn into an internal affairs colonoscopy, he’d rather get the bad news without the entire squad listening in.
“I understand you had an incident this weekend with Gina Luca.” The captain turned in his chair, slid his glasses down low on his nose, and watched Ford over the rims of his bifocals. “Something about a Kiss Cam?”
Ford let out a breath. That had been embarrassing, but not something that internal affairs would want to talk to him about. “Yes.”
The captain took off his glasses and cleaned them with a small cloth beside his keyboard in total and complete silence. First the right lens, then the left, then flip the glasses and do it all over again. Slow. Deliberate. Total power move. The captain loved to make subordinates wait on his next words, and it drove some guys nuts. Ford wasn’t one of them. He just took the opportunity to let his brain spin out the possibilities of what could come next and options for dealing with them.
Finally, the captain replaced his glasses, then folded the cloth in half and then half again before placing it on his desk at a perfect parallel line to his keyboard.
“Is there any reason why you couldn’t interact with Ms. Luca in a professional manner?” the captain asked once he finally looked up at Ford.
“No sir.” He could get past having seen her naked—having trailed his fingers down her smooth skin—even if he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about it.
“Good, because we need to use that perceived connection on her part to our advantage.”
Of the forty-eight possibilities he’d worked out, that wasn’t one he’d been expecting. “Sir?”
“She just called in a deceased person in her attic.” The captain templed his fingers and tapped them to his chin, silent and waiting for Ford to pounce. When he didn’t, the captain went on. “The body’s been there a while, decades, probably. Cold cases should take it but, as you know, her brothers have been making moves.” Another dramatic pause. The captain was a main player in the Waterbury Community Playhouse, and it showed. “We need someone who can give us intel on how much progress they’re making and if it’s tied to the heroin shipment that informant mentioned this week.”
“And you think she knows this?” Gina was close to her brothers, he could tell from the way they’d interacted at the hotel, but according to mob organization rules it would be beyond unusual for Rocco and Paul to share inside information with her. And on the off chance that they did, she wouldn’t be the kind to rat out her brothers. Her sense of loyalty might be misguided, but—after watching her with her brothers—it had been as obvious as the raspberry jelly on Gallo’s tie this morning. Still, there was something to be said for being in the right place at the right time, and since Kapowski’s stakeout the other night had turned up exactly nothing new, the task force couldn’t afford to turn down any opportunity as the date for the shipment got closer and closer. Fuck. He hated to admit it, but the plan to use Gina had merit.
“No,” the captain said. “All indications are that she’s clean. However, a good investigator can pick up all sorts of information—especially about something as big as that Esposito heroin deal is rumored to be.” Off came the glasses again. He picked up the cloth and unfolded it. Wipe. Wipe. Flip. Wipe. Wipe. Fold. Fold. Cloth down. Glasses on. “Are you a good investigator?”
“Yes sir.” It wasn’t ego. It was the truth. And he was beyond ready to prove it. “So, the plan is to get close to Miss Luca to gather intel about the workings of the Esposito family and the upcoming deal?”
All he had to do was get Gina, an innocent bystander, to trust him so that her brothers would as well. People said a lot without ever opening their mouths, every detective knew that. Still, guilt coated his tongue like he’d just taken a swig of rotten milk. That Kiss Cam kiss and the silk of her skin had been on almost constant replay in his mind since the wedding.
She may have thought he’d been joking about him going to her grandmother’s party with her, but he hadn’t been. There was something about Gina that got to him, and that’s why this whole situation pissed him off.
If her brothers cared for her as much as she claimed they did, why weren’t they protecting her from their business better? The whole reason he’d dodged the family business and become a cop was because he believed in fairness, in the importance of looking out for those who couldn’t look out for themselves. Moving in on Gina on false pretenses was an asshole move—he fully admitted that—but that didn’t make it the wrong move, and it was for her own good.
He could do this without hurting Gina, while still getting the kind of information that could put bad guys behind bars and save lives by keeping that heroin from hitting the street. She never had to know her part in this. Correction. She never would know her part in this. He’d do whatever it took to make sure of that.
The captain nodded. “You’ll go in and take a look at the body that, according to the description from the first reporting officer on the scene, looks like what remains of Big Nose Tommy Luca. Then, you’ll find a way to gain her trust and entry into her environment to deduce what the brothers are up to. We know the date of the heroin deal, but not the location or time. From their briefing files, it’s clear she’s close with her brothers. You stay close to her, see what you hear.”
Ford tapped his thumb against the tip of his middle finger too fast to count the beats. “Don’t you think this is a long shot?” Like the Ice Knights with their losing record getting into the hockey championship playoffs long.
“I realize this assignment doesn’t gel perfectly with your sense of cut-and-dried, by-the-regulations way of living, so if it’s too much for your delicate sensibilities, just say the word and I’ll assign someone else. Gallo has time available.”
The station coffee swirled in his stomach. There was no way that Gallo should be within a mile of Gina. It wasn’t that the guy would make the same dumbass comments he’d been making around the bullpen to her, but the idea of him being close to her made Ford want to chew the bark off a tree. He couldn’t explain the visceral reaction to the idea, but it was there, and as a cop he’d learned to trust his gut.
“No need for Gallo,” he said as he stood. “I’ll take the case.”
“How will you gain entry?”
“I’ll find a way.” He always did.
“Excellent. Then you have somewhere else to be right now,” the captain said. “Dismissed, detective.”
Ignoring the questioning looks from the rest of the task force squad, he grabbed his coat and his umbrella—fifty percent chance today—and headed out the door to go lie to a woman to save her from having Gallo on her doorstep. What could possibly go wrong?
Chapter Five
Gina was three seconds away from losing her shit completely. Everything was going so wrong that the people at Merriam-Webster or Urban Dictionary needed to come up with a new word for it.
Ford Hartigan was in her house. Her brothers were in her house. A dead body that was probably her long-assumed-dead grandpa was in her house. And all she could think about was the fact that she was in holey leggings and a paint-splattered T-shirt with a drawing of a dog humping a houseplant on it.
The shirt had been a gag gift from one of her besties, Lucy, who lived to buy totally inappropriate things just to watch Gina turn sixty shades of red. In return, Gina left the radio on full blast whenever she borrowed Lucy’s car.
If they hadn’t been friends since they’d discovered their shared love for extra-sour candy in college, they probably would have killed each other years ago. As it was, they were the best of friends.
What she wouldn’t give to have Lucy here now—or Tess, the quiet third of their undateable
crew. Although, they liked to refer to themselves as Single and Slaying It. Definitely had a more empowering vibe, she’d agreed. Instead, it felt like her girls were the only ones in all of Waterbury not stuffed into Gina’s kitchen, which was packed with DIY supplies and boxes, staring at her like she had any answers at all.
“So, walk me through this again,” Ford said, looking way too sexy for a guy wearing a rumpled sport coat that looked like he only put it on in the first place because he was forced to due to some detectives’ dress code regulations. “You were throwing your sledgehammer—”
Rocco turned to her and cut Ford off. “What were you even doing with a thing like that? You coulda killed yourself.”
Really? Her blood pressure spiked. That’s where her brother wanted to go with this conversation? “Grandpa’s body has been trapped between the walls in the attic for years, and you’re worried I’ll brain myself with a sledgehammer?”
He shrugged, obviously unimpressed by her outburst. “Excuse me for caring about my only sister.”
“And how do we even know that was Grandpa?” Paul broke in, his wavy hair sticking up in every direction because no amount of gel could stand up to the constant assault of his fingers plowing through the thick mass since he’d walked in the door. “It could be the bones of some perv who likes to live in the attics of single women.”
God bless him. He was holding out hope that someday Grandpa would come back. She hadn’t. Somewhere deep down, she’d known for years that the man who brought her Twizzlers and packs of glitter pens was gone. She’d done her mourning a decade ago. Her brothers hadn’t. They might be criminally minded, but family meant a lot to them. To her, too. She walked over to him and gave him a quick hug.
“I saw the gold ring, the one he always wore,” she said, her voice quiet. “It was him. I know it.”
Ford cleared his throat. “The medical examiner will confirm the identity and try to determine cause of death.”
“Yeah?” Rocco said with a sneer. “And will that same fine medical examiner also be able to explain how our grandpa has been rotting away for two decades and no one ever noticed? You’re telling me none of the renters who came in over the past ten years noticed?”
Ford narrowed his green eyes and slid the small notebook he’d been using into the inside pocket of his sport coat. “I don’t like to speculate.”
“Do it anyway,” Paul said.
“Please,” Gina added.
For a minute, Ford just stared at her brothers as they stood on the opposite side of the kitchen. Rocco had his back against the fridge, arms crossed, gaze hard. Paul was pacing in the area in front of the bay window with a built-in seat covered by a single long, threadbare cushion. Stillness and motion, that was her brothers. And her? Per usual, she was somewhere in the middle, standing between the two factions and fidgeting with the knob on the junk drawer that always seemed to be loose. Her gaze locked with Ford’s, and her fingers stopped turning the knob. Some expression she couldn’t read passed across his face, and then he began to speak.
“If it is your grandpa, he’s been missing for twenty years,” he said. “If this was due to natural causes, he could have been in the attic, taken a wrong step on the joists since there isn’t a floor up there, and slipped into the small space between the walls. At that point, as no one else lived in the home and your grandpa had questionable ties, shall we say, everyone assumed he’d either skipped town of his own accord or was taken care of in other ways. So, the house stays empty for a number of years. How many was it again?”
“Ten,” Gina said. “My mom really held out hope that he’d come back.”
Ford gave her a small smile, then turned his attention to Rocco. “So, by then the natural decomposition—or at least the bulk of it—would have been completed. It usually takes six to twelve years. After that, no decomposition, no smell. Of course, we won’t know any of that until the medical examiner finishes her report and until then, this is considered suspicious and will be treated as such.”
“You’d say all of this in front of our sister, your girlfriend, without even a twitch of revulsion?” Paul asked, shoving his fingers through his hair again. “She’s fucking delicate.”
Gina couldn’t decide whether to strangle her brother or hug him.
“I’m not delicate,” she said, ignoring the other part of what he’d said. “I’m a grown woman.”
“And we’re here to protect you,” Rocco said. “Because you can’t trust the cops.”
Ford’s jaw clenched.
“I can trust him.” The words came out before she could consider the truth of them, but as they hung in the air, she realized it was true. There was just something about him that settled the frazzled worry that always seemed to be buzzing in the background of her head.
Rocco let out a humorless chuckle and strode to the table, planted his hands on the back of one chair, and leaned forward. “Yeah, we’ll see. He’s sure not acting like a boyfriend.”
This time, it was Ford’s turn to shrug. “She didn’t tell you I was moving in?”
“What?” she said at the same time as her brothers, no doubt all with different reasons for the look of horror on their faces.
Ford crossed over to her and slid his arm around her waist, drawing her in close. “It seemed prudent. If your grandfather was murdered, then whoever did it might come back to make sure there wasn’t any evidence, since there isn’t a statute of limitations on murder.”
The scent of his cologne teased her senses while the touch of his fingertips on her hip, over the yoga pants and under the hem of her hideous T-shirt, made her lungs tighten. Ford? Here? No. It wasn’t true. She repeated it in her head. He was just trying to be nice. A pity kindness to get her brothers to chill the fuck out. He didn’t mean it.
Rocco looked from her to Ford and back again. “I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, concentrating on the words instead of the butterflies doing the Cha-Cha Slide in her stomach—because Ford being this close and touching her was doing a helluva number on her ability to remember to breathe. “But as you can see, everything is being handled. Why don’t you guys go home? I’ll let you know any updates as soon as I get them.”
Her brothers looked at each other and had one of those silent conversations they’d had her entire life, where things got decided without a single syllable being uttered. Finally, Paul turned to her.
“Okay,” he said. “But call us as soon as you know anything.”
A few minutes of hugs for her and dirty looks for Ford, and her brothers were gone, leaving her alone in the kitchen with Ford while a small army of cops clomped up the stairs to the attic to do all of that crime scene stuff that turned her stomach whenever she accidentally stopped on one of the true-crime shows on TV. Needing something to keep her hands busy, she turned on the burner under the kettle and grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and set them down on the counter. Just because she was about to kick Ford out of her house didn’t mean she was going to be rude.
“You are not staying here.” There. Firm and assertive, but not rude because she said it while handing him a tea caddy with seventeen varieties of green tea. As her mom always said, the little things mattered.
He picked out an orange jasmine without even looking at the labels and handed it to her. “If I don’t, then you can’t, either. Your entire house is a crime scene.”
Everything stopped for a second. None of that sentence sounded right. She wasn’t the kind of person who had threats leveled against her. Well, unless she counted the bridezillas on the warpath, but even that was usually fixed with chocolate or champagne.
“What are you talking about? You said it’s probably natural causes,” she said.
Ford held her gaze. “We won’t know that until the ME’s report, so this is going to be treated as a homicide until we know different.”
“Bullshit.” The kettle’s ear-splitting whistle sounded at that moment as if the universe was putting an e
xclamation on her statement.
“Look, we have to treat the threat with a higher level of concern than we would if it had been called in about a normal citizen.”
She dropped the tea bags into each mug and poured the steaming water over the top. “You mean one without ties to organized crime.”
“Exactly.” As if he owned the place, Ford reached over and set the timer on the oven display for three minutes, the exact amount of steeping time recommended on the back of the tea packets.
He had just told her that her house was a crime scene and because her brothers were idiots involved with the mob the cops were taking it seriously, and yet he still thought it was important to steep his tea properly? What the hell? It was just one more thing to annoy the shit out of her about this entire situation. Why was it that the men in her life felt the need to run roughshod over her?
“So, I’ll just be staying on your couch for a few days until the medical examiner confirms her initial theory that your grandfather died of natural causes after slipping between the walls, and we can make sure that no threats are made against you.”
“Are you deranged?” She yanked the tea bag out of his mug even though there was a full minute and a half left on the timer and tossed it into the trash. “You think I’m just going to agree to that because we told my brothers that you were my boyfriend—as if anyone would believe that. What, do you think people believe this is some lame romantic comedy where the hot guy falls for the ugly chick? Newsflash, I don’t wear glasses, so there’s no taking them off and then suddenly I’m a total babe and believably your girlfriend.”
The words came out in a rush, and by the time she was done her breath was coming out fast and hard. Her cheeks hurt from the heat of embarrassment. God. She thought she’d gotten past all this hurt from being the ugliest girl in the class, but one wedding night prank had raked it all up to the surface, and all of a sudden she was sixteen again and hearing the giggling whispers of Butterface as she walked down the hall.