Assassin P.I. (4 page)

“And what’s that? Off her husband?” Deluca sat down and wrapped his fingers around his glass again.

“Somebody already beat me to it. She wants to hire me to find the guy who did it.”

Deluca slapped Jack’s back. “Drink up, buddy, looks like we’re both screwed.”

A light bulb flickered and swayed, threatening to plunge him into inky darkness. Fingertips glid
ed over crumbling wallpaper, guiding the way down the hallway of unmarked doors. He twisted the first doorknob. Locked. Pressing an ear to the door, silence was the only sound that greeted him. The next three doorways were the same.

He crept on, certain he’d been there before, could almost sense the door he needed to open. Just a few more to go. A sudden whoosh of wind blew his hat off. He reached for it, but it was gone, tumbling down an endless hall and into a dark void.

The light above faltered, and for an instant, he was blind. His breath caught in his throat. Stomach clenched with dread. Unable to get his bearings, he closed his eyes and focused on taking deep, even breaths.

A scream echoed through the hallway, only to be abruptly choked off as another light, further ahead, sputtered to life.

Spurred into action, he stole toward the light, his ears keenly alert to every muffled sound. He had to get to her, to save her. A terrible sense of foreboding slithered down his spine until its fingers wrapped around his heart and burrowed in. If he didn’t reach her in time, she would be gone forever.

A figure shrouded in shadows materialized at the end of the hallway.

Angie.

She screamed.

His knees buckled, his energy siphoned by the bulb above that suddenly began to glow bright. Too bright. The bulb burst, sending shards of glass and sparks flying. An ember caught the wallpaper and instantly flames licked the walls.

Save Angie.

Her name reverberated in his head, pinging around until his entire body trembled with fear. With need. With longing.

He couldn’t lose her. Not again. Not this time.

The harder he tried to run to her, the more stubborn his feet became, growing roots, which fused with the worn carpeting. Breathless, he watched, helpless as flames dripped from the ceiling, igniting her dress until she stood naked before him, laughing. God, she was beautiful.

A door swung open and he was sucked into the abyss. Angie’s deep-throated laugh followed him.

Where was he?

A volley of synchronized gunshots rang out. A twenty-one-gun-salute. Ousting birds from their roost, they took to the dusky sky. Somewhere someone sobbed and the heavens cried with them, dousing the ground in tears.

A casket, draped in the American flag, sat perched above a freshly dug grave, poised to be lowered. A little boy saluted and placed a white flower on his father’s steel-gray casket, a hero being laid to rest too soon.

The cemetery.

It wasn’t until the second volley of shots slammed into his gut, wrenching his heart with its power, that he realized the tears were his own.

A clipped voice broke through the silence. “Make ready!”

Seven uniformed men cocked their firearms.

“I’m disappointed in you, Jackie-boy.”

His father’s voice, deep and sure, echoed through the cemetery, nestling deep in Jack’s psyche.

“Take aim!”

A little boy, no bigger than seven or eight appeared by his side, tugging on his coat. “Hey, mister! Your turn.”

Seven rifles swung around, pointed directly at Jack.

“You’ll never be the hero I was,” his father’s voice taunted.

“Fire!”

Jack woke with a start, hands clawing at his throat, gasping for air. Throwing back the blankets, he swung his legs to the floor. He raked his fingers through his hair. There would be no sleep for him tonight.

Chapter 4

“
You came.” Angie drew her robe tighter and cinched the tie in a knot. She hadn’t been expecting him this early in the morning. If he’d come any earlier, she’d have missed him while in the shower. When he’d slipped out during her show without saying goodbye, she figured he’d decided to not take her case after all. She held the door open.

He slipped past her and whistled as he took in the open floor plan of her downtown loft. “Swanky place you have here.”

Angie watched Jack’s gaze dart about her living room, taking in the vintage white sofa and matching settee adorned with crimson pillows and charcoal-gray throw casually tossed over the back. Two zebra print armchairs sat opposite the couch. The contrast of the white, red, and gray color scheme against the dark mahogany floors was striking and elegant, something she was very proud of. The furniture had been an expense she couldn’t live without, a gift from Trevor before he’d died.

“The apartment feels bigger than it really is. Don’t really make enough money to furnish this space properly.”

Hanging his hat on the coat rack, Jack stripped off his trench coat and hung it up before walking down the steps to the living room. He took a seat on the sofa, striking her as all together too manly for her delicate furniture.

Even though she’d been the one to invite him to her home, watching him invade her space was unnerving. She hastened to fill the deafening silence that filled the room despite the Billy Holiday record that played in the background. “Tea? Coffee?”

“Scotch?” He craned his neck to check out the rest of her home.

“All out, but I make a killer dirty martini,” she offered.

“Surprise me,” he said, his voice distant. Footsteps echoed through the loft.

When she returned minutes later carrying a tray laden with scones, biscotti, and a glass of orange juice, Jack was gone.

“Jack?” She set the tray down on the coffee table and headed down the hallway. “Jack?”

“In here,” came the reply.

She followed his voice to her bedroom. Lounging on her unmade bed, feet crossed, one arm tucked behind his head, he clutched a photo in the other hand.

“Handsome devil. No wonder you fell for him. You two make a nice couple.”

Her face flushed. Jack never was good with boundaries. No topic taboo. It would never occur to him that she might not want him snooping through her house, particularly her bedroom.

She strode across the room and snatched the photograph from his hand. “Made. We
made
a nice couple, but he’s dead now. You’re supposed to find his killer, remember?”

“And you’re supposed to be paying me to do it, remember?”

Lingering on Trevor’s face in the photo, she tried to remember his laugh. They’d been so happy the day the picture had been taken. They’d been caught laughing at some dumb joke a friend had told. That was right after they met, before their relationship became . . . complicated. It had been so long since she’d heard Trevor’s laugh. Remembering it now only brought a tear to her eye. She set the photo down on the nightstand.

Jack’s hand covered hers. “You still love him.” His weight shifted on the bed, but he didn’t try to take her in his arms. Didn’t try to comfort her.

It was more statement than question really, and how could she answer honestly when even she herself wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Maybe a piece of her did still love Trevor. But it didn’t matter. Justice was what she was after now.

Angie opened the nightstand drawer and withdrew a tall stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Half now, half when the killer is dead.”

She turned Jack’s hand over and placed the money in his palm.

Jack’s eyebrow rose in surprise. “Do you always keep ten thousand dollars tucked away in a nightstand next to a purple vibrator?”

Closing his fingers over the cash, she patted his hand. “Just for you, Jack. Just for you.”

Producing a small box from under the bed, she handed it to Jack. “Here’s everything I have. Right before he died Trevor gave me this box and asked me to keep it safe for him. It’s just some ledgers with a bunch of numbers and abbreviations. I can’t make heads or tails of it. Maybe you can.”

“Ang.” Jack’s knuckles brushed away a tear that slipped down her cheek. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. About Trevor, about us. About everything. Before. Now. All of it.” He dropped his hand.

So was she. She had a lifetime of regrets she couldn’t fix. Trevor was dead, and Jack couldn’t be trusted, least of all with her heart. The only way out of the situation was to finish what she’d started. No matter how badly it ended for either one of them.

The door shut behind Jack leaving
her alone with her thoughts. Angie locked the door and leaned her forehead against it. Was her heart always going to skip a beat anytime Jack was near? Once her pulse returned to a normal rate, she reached for the telephone and slumped down onto the couch.

“Well?” the male voice greeted her.

Geez, the guy was impatient. “Jack just left.”

“You were supposed to call me last night after he met you at the club.”

Angie closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose to stave off the headache that was building. The man might have been Trevor’s best friend growing up, but she found the man insufferable at times. She got the feeling that he’d much prefer if he were the one doing all the legwork on their investigation. Typical male.

Resisting the urge to snap at him, she responded, “A girl’s gotta work for a living, you know. By the time the club closed, I crashed. I guess calling you must have slipped my mind.”

If it weren’t for their mutual interest in seeing Trevor’s true killer brought to justice, she wouldn’t even be bothering with the man.

“How’d he react when you mentioned Trevor’s name?”

She closed her eyes and tried to recall Jack’s face in that moment. The man could be sweating bullets inside, but outside, he was as cool as ice. It was what made Jack a great liar. And a lousy boyfriend. She’d do well to remember that while Jack portrayed the attentive lover to the world, his eyes were always on the prowl, searching for his next conquest. “Not even a flicker of recognition, but then again Jack’s always had one hell of a poker face.” She felt the slow burn of anger fill her veins. “He’d have to have been living under a rock for the past two years to not know the name Trevor Santino. Trev’s face was splashed all over the local newspapers while he was alive, and his death made state headlines. No way Jack didn’t know who he was. I’m not buying it.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line while the man digested her minor outburst. When he did speak again, his voice had taken on a patronizing tone. “Look. I know you want to believe this Jack guy killed Trevor, but is it even remotely possible that you’re trying to turn this guy into a scapegoat because he wronged you in the past?”

“No,” she spat back emphatically. “I know I’m right.”

“I agreed to help you on the off chance you were right, but that doesn’t mean I’m willing to throw away my whole career to accuse an innocent man. I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, but if we can’t find any proof of his guilt, either through the tracking device in the ledger or through the voice recorder, then I’m sorry but I’m out.”

Her gut told her she was right. Jack killed Trevor. It was up to her to prove it.

After his last case went south, Jack swore he’d never tak
e on another job, especially one that involved hunting a known killer. But then again, he’d never been good at turning down a case. With Angie for a client, it was a double whammy. Any common sense he’d once had, had flown the coop when Angie graced his doorway.

Between his daddy’s tales of grand escapades as a detective tracking down notorious mafia kingpins, and his own time spent on the force, Jack knew a thing or two about tracking a suspect. All it took was a solid lead and a bit of good old-fashioned detective work. If Angie’s intuition was right, he’d need proof.

And access to Trevor’s case file.

Maybe the guys working the case missed something, not that he wanted to disparage his fellow boys in blue, but it happened. Just not on his watch, regardless of what his former commanding officer wanted to believe.

Getting the file out of the station was another thing altogether. Deluca wasn’t too keen on Angie. Even asking would be pointless. He’d have to go in alone. The thought left a foul taste in his mouth. He hadn’t been back on his own volition since he’d been escorted out, framed for a crime he didn’t commit. Now he was working the other side, doing whatever it took to clean up the city streets, his streets.

Standing in front of the PD, Jack slid his hat down to shade his eyes. Time to pull some strings. He threw open the front door and took a sharp right, heading straight for the records clerk, the gatekeeper of case files.

Today was his lucky day. Tessa was on duty. He grinned, a disarming and calculated smile that managed to be seductive and sweet at the same time. A skill he’d honed during his days walking the beat. Within seconds, he could charm a witness and squeeze pertinent information out of even the most frightened of old ladies.

He turned up the wattage and leaned against the record clerk’s counter, a woman with more hips than cleavage. Not bad on the eyes, not so young either, but what the hell. What did he care?

The woman blushed, adjusted her top to slink even lower, and turned her admiring gaze on Jack.

Not so innocent either.

This could work to his advantage if he played his cards right.

“Hiya, Jack. Long time no see.” She leaned forward. “What can I do ya for?”

This would be easy. “Not this time, hon. Just need a bit of info, info that only you can give me access to. You see, I got this case . . . a distraught widow needs closure, and a bit of Jack’s special brand of justice. Think you can help with that?”

“You know I can’t do that, Jack.”

He leaned over and brushed his fingers across her hand, before taking her hand in his. “I’m not asking you to bend any rules, Tessa. Just take a quick coffee break, that’s all.” He leaned close and whispered in her ear, “I’ll make it up to you someday real soon.”

She leaned back, her face flushed. “Promise?”

“You betcha, babydoll.”

She grabbed a pack of smokes and a lighter from her purse. “Lourdes,” she called out, “I’m going on my break.”

She turned to Jack. “You got ten minutes, not a minute more. And Jack,” she said, “don’t get caught. You owe me.”

“Just need five. And Tessa?” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thanks.”

It wasn’t lost on him that he’d been person non-grata in the close-knit law enforcement circles. Tessa was one of the few people who’d maintained his innocence, remaining a staunch supporter of his.

It didn’t take long before he found the file he’d been searching for. With time being on the skinny side of life, Jack thumbed through the file, snapping photographs of each page. Before sliding the camera in his pocket, he slipped the memory card out, tucked it into his shoe, and strolled out.

Rounding the corner, Jack stopped short. Ten feet ahead, Detective Sweeny barred his only exit from the building.

Damn.

“Looky who we got here, boys.”

Three more men joined him, all menacing in their demeanor. They closed the gap between them and Jack.

Double damn.

“Well, I’ll be. If it ain’t former Detective Lieutenant Jack Gaines, in the flesh.”

Detective Wallace, the scrawniest and by far the cockiest of the bunch, spoke. “I thought we done run you out of town.”

“I’m not cruising for trouble, boys. Just came by to say hello to an old friend.”

“You don’t got any friends here anymore, but maybe you forgot that. Let’s remind our buddy, Jack, here just what happens to dirty cops.”

As the men closed in on him, Jack took a deep breath and balled his hands into fists. Fighting would be his only way out.