Assassin P.I. (8 page)

Ascending the steps to the front door, Jack rang the bell and was immediately greeted by Trevor’s father, Senator Paul Santino.

What, no butler?

“Mr. Gaines, I presume?”

After a firm handshake, Jack was ushered into the former Senator’s study, but not before he caught a glimpse of the twin spiral staircases that flanked the foyer, stretching skyward ending at the second floor catwalk. Jack could only guess at how many rooms the massive home had and couldn’t fathom ever needing that much space just for two people.

But these were people used to getting anything, and everything, their hearts desired with a simple flick of the wrist.

As the door shut behind them, Senator Santino took a seat behind a monstrously large desk. He motioned to an empty chair and waited for Jack to take a seat before speaking. “I have to say, Mr. Gaines, I was quite surprised by your phone call. I’m flattered by your interest in our late son’s death, but I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time. The police closed the case some months ago.”

Straight to the point.

“I’ve been hired to dig into his death, so to speak.” The study was spacious and arranged in a way that clearly positioned Senator Santino as the one with all the power. Jack wouldn’t be surprised if the legs of the chair he sat in had been purposely sawed off to force him to peer up at Santino. A box of strategically placed cigars sat on the corner of the desk.

“By whom?”

Jack leaned over and removed a cigar from the box, fondling it as he mulled over giving Angie up as his client. Inhaling the rich, heady scent, the chocolate undertones took him by surprise. A Padron? The same brand Jack’s father enjoyed indulging in before he’d finally given up the habit. A quality, and expensive, smoke. He returned the cigar to the box.

“Do you smoke?”

Jack smiled recalling the times when he’d catch his father indulging when his mother wasn’t around. Even after he quit, he still kept a Padron tucked away for safekeeping and would take it out to sniff it on occasion. “On occasion.”

Jack shook off the memory and refocused on why he was there in the first place. “My client chooses to remain anonymous.”

“Ah, so it’s her then, is it? That woman was never good enough for my boy.” The senator stood and circled the desk, resting his hip against the counter. He clasped his hands together and smiled. It was a move Jack assumed was meant to show camaraderie, to prove they were on the same side in the situation. “I suppose we always knew this day would come. How much does Angela need?”

In spite of the offensive comment, Jack kept his anger in check. Something in his voice told Jack that Mr. Santino knew far more than he’d let on. “How long have you known?”

The senator’s eyebrow quirked upward. “Known what? That my son wasn’t actually married to that piece of trash? You don’t think I know a scam when I see one? As soon as he first mentioned her name, I hired a private investigator, much like yourself, to dig up any dirt on her he could. It’s hard to be married if no marriage license exists, Mr. Gaines.”

Touché
. So the man was street smart. Good. “I’m only here searching for answers. Nothing more. I take it Trevor liked to flirt with danger?”

“I won’t deny that Trevor was troubled, yes, but eventually he managed to turn his life around. He had a good job, was making a difference in the city. Before he died, he was even running for office. She was the only thing dragging him down, dead weight, and he paid for that mistake with his life.”

Could Trevor’s association with Angie have cost him his life? Jack’s mind flashed back to her short, weasel of a boss. Could he have had the playboy taken out, out of sheer jealousy? Possible.

“Senator Santino, why was no autopsy performed?”

“Didn’t need one. He was gunned down by a gang member. A witness corroborated the story, but before the suspect could be brought to justice, he committed suicide. Case closed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere else I need to be.”

Based on the senator’s flinty stare, the case was far from closed. Jack surmised there was much the senator wasn’t saying. If right, Trevor’s father had used his considerable clout to pull some stings, successfully avoiding the autopsy, which would prove Trevor’s addiction to opiates. One thing was clear. The good senator probably didn’t off his own son.

Working a witness for information took finesse. And time. Neither of which Jack had the luxury of was
ting.

The trip to Glenwood Park to interview Trevor’s hoity-toity parents had taken longer than he’d expected. By the time he’d dumped Angie off back at the office, with a firm warning to be gone by the time he got back, daylight was fading quickly in the short winter day.

From the safety of his car, he scoped out the dock where Edwin worked. It was near closing time and Edwin was due to get off in five. From the looks of things, the workers had knocked off long before quitting time and were currently loitering around in and amongst the multitude of cars whose warranties had long since expired. Smoke, cigarette and otherwise, wafted on the equally stale air.

Jack watched the raucous crew, five in all. He checked the mug shot again just to be sure, but there was no mistaking the pale Irish American man amid his darker-skinned cohorts. Edwin broke away from his friends and loped across the empty parking lot. Seagulls circled overhead.

Time to make his move.

Jack shifted his car into gear and rolled down the window, cutting Edwin off before he could cross the street. “You Edwin?”

Startled, the man took a step back and reached for the gun he had concealed in his waistband.

Clearly Edwin wasn’t an angel. Real men, honest men, didn’t need to carry weapons in their pants to feel secure in their manhood.

He gave Jack a wary stare. “Who’s asking?”

Interest piqued, the grease monkey crew headed toward them.

Time to hurry this along. “I hear you got some info I need.”

“You a cop?”

“Do I look like one?” Jack shot back. He tried to imagine what the man saw as he took in his 5 o’clock shadow and his attire, which consisted of a suit, tie, and tan trench coat. Even a rookie new to the beat knew enough to blend in.

Satisfied, the man shrugged and glanced over his shoulder at his friends. “My mem’ry’s not so hot these days. Took too many beatin’s to the head in the boxing ring.”

“Thought you might say that.” Jack took out a roll of cash and peeled off ten bills. “How ‘bout now?”

Edwin counted the dough before pocketing it. “S’pose we can do a bit of business. What kind of info you paying for?”

“Call off your boys.”

Edwin waved them off. “My new friend here just wants to chat. ‘S’all good.”

Jack motioned to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

Edwin slid into the car. “Leather. Nice.” He whistled appreciatively before getting down to business. “So let’s talk.”

“Not here.”

The car eased into traffic and cruised down the boulevard before pulling into a parking structure. “Ever know a guy by the name of Trevor Santino?”

“Nah, doesn’t ring a bell.”

So the man needed some convincing, huh? “Let’s see if this helps.”

Jack pulled his gun out and laid it on the dashboard. “Let’s try again. Trevor Santino. Assistant D.A. Murdered a year ago.”

“Yeah, so what? I knew the prick. Douchebag got my brother on some trumped-up charges. He’s serving twenty upstate because of him.

“A little birdy told me you were a witness to the Santino murder.”

Edwin let out a snort. “Nah, dude, you got some bad information. That shit’s all bogus. I wasn’t even there, man.”

Jack picked up the gun and toyed with the safety. “Then tell me why the case file lists you as the sole witness?”

“Cause that’s what I was paid to say.”

“By who?”

“Hell if I know. But even if I did . . . I ain’t no snitch. If I was you, I’d leave well ‘nuff alone. The man wasn’t no saint. Rumor has it he was willing to strike a deal with the devil himself if it got him what he wanted. He got what was coming to him.”

“What did Santino want?” Drugs probably. Just how far was he willing to go to feed his addiction?

“Do me a favor. Forget we ever met.” Edwin got out of the parked car, loped across the parking lot, and disappeared out onto the street.

Jack watched him go, still reeling from Edwin’s confession. Somewhere in the Ellington P.D. was a dirty cop calling the shots. Either that or Mr. Edwin Doheny was one hell of a good liar in which case made him suspect number three. Or four, if you counted Trevor’s old man, the ever-virtuous Senator.

Any police force was bound to be infiltrated by some level of corruption, at least on a small scale at one time or another, and the city of Ellington Bay was no different. Lauded as the city’s savior, Chief Fagan claimed to have cleaned up the corruption, but Jack knew the truth. The former chief was nothing but a puppet with a mouth. Someone else was working the strings. Someone who had enough clout to be able to catch the chief with his pants down, to get rid of him quick. After Jack had been framed and fired, he’d saw firsthand how pervasive the dishonesty was. The only one he could trust was Sam Deluca, his former partner and best friend. But for how long? As the new Chief of Police, Deluca was bound to be feeling the pressure, had appearances to keep up, a job to do.

Jack pushed the unsettling thought from his mind, and turned his attention back to Edwin. Edwin who had been paid to “witness” a crime. Orchestrating fake witnesses wouldn’t even be all that complicated in retrospect. It was almost a genius move but took some serious balls of steel to actually attempt it. How many more cases had been solved that way? If a whistle blower or a suit caught wind of it, how many criminals would be free to roam the city streets again, taking their revenge out on innocent people?

If Jack didn’t know better, he’d say Edwin was scared, and rightfully so. Not exactly scared enough to keep his mouth sealed tight, but nervous enough to keep checking over his shoulder every five minutes. They both knew what happened to snitches. They had a funny way of winding up dead.

Chapter 8

Nick pressed the cell phone to his ear and concentrated on the caller’s words.

“Nick, it’s Trevor. Please don’t blow me off, I need your help. I’m in deep this time and there’s no one else I can trust. I think . . . I think someone’s trying to kill me. It’s all my fault, man. If I hadn’t been so stupid and greedy, none of this would be happening right now. Call me back as soon as you get this message and I’ll tell you everything. I swear, this is the last time I’ll ask for your help. Just please, call me back.”

It didn’t matter how many times he replayed the message, the words never changed. Laced with panic, Trevor’s voice shook as he’d begged for help.

“
Please don’t blow me off, I need your help.”

Help that never came. Nick restarted the message.

“Nick, it’s Trevor.”

“You’re doing it again.”

His head jerked up to see his wife, his very pregnant wife, standing in the doorway. A scowl marked her otherwise beautiful face. For a moment, he simply drank her in, trying to memorize everything about the woman he’d married less than two years ago. Thick onyx locks cascaded over one shoulder, a stark contrast to the pale blue of her eyes. His eyes flicked to the swell of her belly. The countdown to delivery day had begun.

“You have to stop torturing yourself,” she said. “There’s no way you could have known what was going to happen to Trevor. None of this was your fault, hon.”

But it was. Like a broken record, Trevor’s words played on an endless loop in his mind.

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me . . . Just please, call me back.”

She crossed the room and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, laying his head against her breasts. While Sara could never be accused of being tall, with him seated on the rocking chair ottoman, she towered above.

Guilt washed over him. It wasn’t fair to her, or to the baby. “I know. But . . .”

“Nick, it’s Trevor. Please don’t blow me off, I need your help.”

“But nothing. There’s nothing you could’ve done to save him.” Angie made a soothing sound with her voice and stroked his head.

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You don’t know that, Sara.” He gulped back the pain that came from losing his oldest friend. “Maybe if I had answered the phone, instead of letting it go to voicemail. Maybe if I had listened to his message that day, or even the next, instead of ignoring it for a week, maybe I could have helped him. Maybe he wouldn’t be dead.”

She took a step away from him, tipping his face so she could see his eyes. “Maybe’s an awfully big word. You can get lost in all the maybes of the world. You have to stop torturing yourself like this.” She brushed a thumb over his bottom lip and gave him a sinful smile. “Come back to bed.”

His eyes searched hers, hoping to find a fathomless pool of understanding there. She’d been so supportive right from the start. “I can’t. I can still feel him here with me, still hear the fear in his voice. I don’t know how to let this go.”

“Nick, it’s Trevor.”

“You mean you won’t.” Her body stiffened and she moved away from him. “It’s her, isn’t it? She can’t let Trevor rest in peace and so neither can you.”

He didn’t want to answer, but he didn’t want to lie to her either. “Angie missed her last check in.”

Sara’s ever-present smile had vanished, taking with it the cute dimple from her left cheek. As they eyed one another in silence, she sucked in her lower lip, worrying it between her teeth.

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

“You’re concerned,” he said in awe of his wife. She’d never even met the woman and yet she couldn’t help but fret over her safety.

“You aren’t?” Her eyebrows knit together.

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

He didn’t deny her accusation. They both knew once he started obsessing over something, anything at all really, he was like a dog with a bone. It was why he’d repainted the baby’s room multiple times already, and with two weeks still left to go until her due date, he’d likely repaint it a couple times more until he found the perfect golden hue.

“You’re going to Ellington Bay to find her,” Sara said, her voice flat and resigned. Her scowl deepened. “Aren’t you?”

“What choice do I have?”

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

Until she’d spoken the words aloud, he hadn’t felt such an urgency to go. Nick scrubbed a hand over his face. Every fiber in his being said that something hinky was going on down in the small seaport town, but he couldn’t prove it quite yet. Whatever Trevor had gotten himself into was big and so far the only common denominator between Trevor Santino and Jack Gaines was Angela Zaro. It was the only lead he had and she’d disappeared into thin air. He had to follow it through to the end. “I guess I am.”

Sara nodded in agreement as the truth of his words sank in. “It’s the right thing to do. I don’t have to like it, but it’s something you have to do. I know that and I trust you.”

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

Crossing the room, he gathered her in his arms. “Besides, you could use a day of pampering with the girls. I’ll call my sisters, you call yours.” He knew that Sara was particularly close to her sister, only eighteen months apart in age, and got along well with all four of his sisters. He’d be willing to bet they’d all leap at the chance to dote on the soon-to-be first-time mom. “I bet you can get an appointment at the spa for a massage,” he said, trying to entice her into a better mood. “Enjoy a bit of lunch at Lux, then splurge on more stuff for the baby. You deserve to have some fun for a change.”

“I deserve to have a husband who puts me and the baby first, instead of a case.”

She was right, of course.

“I know.” Nick dropped a kiss onto her head. He was going to have some serious apologizing to do once he returned. Roses wouldn’t cut it, but diamonds might. He made a mental note to swing by a jewelry store.

Dropping to his knees, Nick slid the black form-fitted maternity nightshirt up to reveal her taut belly. Placing a hand of each side of her baby bump, he kissed her stomach and spoke to his unborn child, still unsure whether it was a son or daughter, wanting to be surprised instead. “I’ll be back tonight. You be nice to your mother while I’m gone, okay? I love you.”

Standing to his full height, he took his wife into his arms once more. “Listen to me. Go have fun. I’ll be back by dinnertime.”

“
I think someone’s trying to kill me.”

Sara leaned back and peered up at him, a challenge issued in her dark gaze. “Promise?” Stripping off her shirt she stood on tiptoe, naked except for her panties, and brushed her lips against his once, twice.

Trevor’s voice inside his head lapsed into silence. He nodded then groaned when she deepened the kiss. With a fistful of his shirt in her hand, she led him back to bed.

“You’re late, Shaw. Walk and talk.”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Special Agent Ni
ck Shaw clamped his mouth shut and fell into step alongside his supervisor, SSA Mark Arletta, resisting the urge to explain why he was nearly fifteen minutes late to work. The man wouldn’t care. Late was late, regardless of the excuse.

Nick studied the man as they walked, noting the way his shoulders were tensed, the lines in his face set deeper than normal. “Actually, Sir, I need to ask a favor. I need to take the day off.”

“Is everything okay?” His mentor stopped short, obviously concerned.

“Yeah, I mean, yes, Sir. Sara’s fine, the baby’s fine, but . . .” He couldn’t very well tell him where he was going or why, but he couldn’t lie to the man, either.

“Say no more. Go. Go take care of your wife. She’s due any day now, isn’t she?”

“She is.” They’d reached the conference room where the team was already assembled and waiting.

“All right then, but wait until after I brief the team on the case. I want you to be in the loop when you return.”

Relief flooded Nick. “Sure.” He slipped into an empty chair between veteran agents Leena Maxwell and Phil Westmore.

Leena cast a quick smile his way. “Hey, Shaw. How’s Sara feeling?”

Concern etched her face. Though his wife and his co-worker had never met in person, they’d spoken on the phone a number of times. When Leena, a mother to three rambunctious boys, learned of Sara’s pregnancy, the two women instantly bonded over their mutual mommyhood status.

“Miserable,” he admitted, “but better now that she’s finally off bed rest. Only two more weeks to go.”

“Baby doing okay?”

“Kicking up a storm and perfectly healthy,” he assured her before turning his focus back to Mark. While his supervisor briefed the team on the progress of their case, Nick struggled to pay attention. His thoughts were already in Ellington Bay. Where the hell was Angie?

It took another hour before he managed to hit the road. The Los Angeles traffic was
a nightmare as always, turning the forty-mile trip into an hour and a half ordeal. By the time he reached town, it was nearing lunchtime. After locating Angie’s place, but no Angie, he headed to the local police department.

Nick opened the door to the Ellington Bay precinct and was immediately greeted with the sounds of an active station. An officer escorting a man in cuffs disappeared into what he presumed was the booking area. A harried clerk scurried down the hall and disappeared into the records room. A sudden burst of laughter echoed and a steady stream of officers flooded the area.

Must be shift change.

“May I help you?”

A locked door buzzed, opened, and closed again, offering Nick a brief glimpse into the dispatch room where emergency calls were taken. Though never a cop himself, he’d once been told, “Sometimes the only person standing between an officer and danger . . . is the dispatcher on duty. Don’t piss ‘em off.”

“May I help you?” the secretary repeated. Glasses perched on the tip of her nose, irritation flashing in her eyes, despite the practiced polite tone.

“Oh, sorry, yes. I’d like to speak to the chief.”

“And you are . . .?” she prompted.

He flashed his credentials. “Special Agent Nick Shaw.”

Unimpressed, she asked, “And this is regarding . . .?”

Nick cleared his throat. “I’d rather discuss my business with the Chief directly, if you don’t mind.”

“Certainly.” Before she could pick up the phone, a portly man of average stature strode through the doorway.

“Doris, where the hell is my . . .?” He stopped short when he saw the FBI agent standing in the lobby.

The secretary’s lips pressed together at the corners as her eyebrow rose. With a flourish of her hand, she motioned to the officer. “I give you the illustrious, newly appointed interim Chief, Sam Deluca.”

Nick thrust his hand out. “Special Agent Nick Shaw. Nice to meet you.”

Chief Deluca inspected Nick’s outstretched hand and snorted. “So you’re a Fed. Not much to look at, are ya?”

No wonder the chief’s secretary seemed to dislike the man. Shaw offered a weak smile and followed the man into his private office. So far he was doing one helluva a bang up job making a first impression. Once the chief was seated, Nick got right to the point. “What do you know about a man by the name of Jack Gaines? I believe he was a former officer of this department up until a year or so ago.”

After all the research he’d done on the man in the months since Ms. Zaro had first approached him, he could virtually write a book about Jack. Until a year and a half ago, he’d been the perfect example of an upstanding, law-abiding citizen. Following in his father’s footsteps, Jack had joined Ellington Bay Police Department where, for the most part, his career with the force had been stellar. He’d risen to the rank of Detective and had numerous accolades for solving many of the city’s most difficult crimes. The only blotch on his record was the accusation that Jack had mishandled—or worse, pocketed—a large amount of cash following a drug bust. The money was never located. Though never formally charged, Jack was fired, his sterling reputation forever tarnished.

Each night Nick had culled through the vast database of crime records searching for any and all mention of Jack Gaines. As a child, his father had died in the line of duty. Tough break for such a little kid to handle. No wonder why he’d been drawn to the same line of work. Before he’d entered the force, fresh out of the academy, Mr. Gaines had been a stand-up citizen without so much as even a parking ticket. But times had been tough since his removal from the force. There were several drunk and disorderly charges and one assault with a deadly weapon. In most cases, the charges were either dismissed or reduced. His last run-in with the law resulted in an overnight stay in the drunk-tank and a brief stint in rehab.

The chief leaned forward and cocked his head to the side. Curiosity lit his eyes. “Why do you ask?”

Getting information out of the chief wasn’t going to be easy.
Tread carefully
, Nick reminded himself. He wasn’t here on official business. Any misstep on his part would land him in a whole pot of hot water. With only a year under his belt working for the Bureau, and a baby on the way, Nick couldn’t afford to raise any red flags at work. “The name came up in the course of an investigation. I’m just checking out every lead.” He smiled disarmingly.

“What kind of case?” Chief Deluca asked, his voice dripping with a patronizing tone that irked Nick to no end.

It was clear the chief wanted details, details Nick couldn’t give. “The kind that requires investigating,” Nick shot back. Going toe to toe with the Chief of Police wasn’t the way he’d expected the meeting to go. “Perhaps the former chief, a Mr. Fagan, might be more inclined to talk with me?”