Beneath the Silk (9 page)

She waited, listened for the second whistle. When it came, she knew he’d opened the shower door and found the ceiling mirror.

An odd noise out on the terrace was a welcome distraction, and Sunni left the kitchen and shoved back the curtain in the living room to find Jackson’s partner pawing at her door frame. “Stop that,” she scolded.

Instead of heeding her warning, the dog began to work faster, his long claws digging deep grooves into the vulnerable wood frame.

“No!” Sunni unlocked the door and shot it open.
“I said stop!”

The German shepherd was inside her apartment in one aggressive leap. His next move put him on his hind legs and in Sunni’s face. She staggered backward into the bookshelf as the dog planted his paws on her shoulders, then offered her a kiss that sent his long tongue over her face from chin to forehead in one very wet, slippery slurp.

“Nooo…” She shoved the dog down and wiped slobber off the end of her nose and chin. Still leaning against the bookshelf, she watched him bolt across her white carpet and down the hall. Seconds later he was back—his interest focused on the kitchen. She was still against the bookshelf wiping slobber when he stood on his hind legs, put his paws on the island counter and looked across it at her.

She cringed as his sharp dark eyes studied her, then the living room. A vision of him lifting his leg on the edge of one of her sofas made her groan out load. The noise brought his attention back to her, and that’s when she noticed he was missing part of one ear. His many scars made him look like a bad boy who had enjoyed earning the title, and as arrogant as his two-legged partner.

Suddenly he made one powerful lunge that easily carried him over the counter and put him in the middle of one of her leather sofas.

“Omigod!” Sunni’s jaw dropped, then dropped another inch as he bounced over her glass coffee table to the other sofa without touching the floor. Wagging his tail as if he’d just been given the key to the castle, he jumped over the back of the sofa and nearly took out her eighteen-hundred-dollar Tiffany.

“No!” She made a mad dash to rescue the red-and-amber Calafar. “Jackson!”

The dog jackknifed around and looked at her as if she’d said the magic word. Suddenly he barked, then started spinning in a circle in the middle of the roam.

Sunni abandoned the lamp and raced down the hall yelling for Jackson. On reaching the bathroom door, she jerked it open and…

Sunni wanted to move, she really did, but her feet felt as if they’d been nailed to the floor. She didn’t hear what Jackson said as he met her gaze. His lips were moving, but the shower spray prevented the words from escaping the erotic glass cage that held him captive. His hand reached for the lavender towel atop the rim of the shower. The shower door opened.

He stepped out of the shower, drawing the towel around his iron-hard belly. “This better be good, Sis, because… What’s wrong? You look like someone just aimed a loaded gun at your head.”

This man certainly had a way with words, Sunni thought, her gaze tracking several water beads that were on their way down his hairy chest heading south toward his navel.

“Sis…”

“It’s Mac. He’s… Something’s wrong with him. I’ve got to go now. I’m going now. Work … that’s where I’m going now. Late … I can’t be late.”

Sunni knew she sounded like a robot ready to short-circuit, knew nothing she had said made sense. Retreat was the only thing that would save her now, and she forced her feet to move. In the living room she found Mac still spinning. Only he’d added a piercing bark to his antics as he chased after his tail. He had obviously lost a few brain cells in one of the battles Jackson had referred to earlier—brain cells and fur, along with part of an ear.

She raced out of her apartment and hurried to the elevator, refusing to look back as Jackson called out to her. She poked the button, anxious to escape. The elevator doors opened just as he stepped out of her apartment. Sunni’s eyes widened—if Edna was watching, she’d just been granted an eighty-six-year-old woman’s fantasy and dying wish all at once—Jackson Ward in a lavender loincloth was one awesome sight.

“Come on back inside, Sis,” he called out to her. “Sometimes he acts that way. He’s just excited to see you.”

Chapter 6

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M
asado Towers was definitely a hotel for the rich and famous. The five-hundred-room hotel advertised three restaurants, two lounges, boutiques, swimming pool, and fitness and conference centers. And that was just for starters.

The building had been deep in construction when Jackson had left three years ago. At that time it was hard to tell what it was going to look like. But it looked fabulous—the outside structure, three marble-and-granite towers to add to the Chicago skyline; the inside finished off in Italian marble, old-world murals, rich wood and mansion elegance.

Again, like he had the first day he’d stood inside the gold-plated front doors, Jackson felt a sense of brotherly pride for what Joe had accomplished. Smiling, he gazed at the private glass elevator that climbed more than forty stories, knowing exactly where it led and the idea that had inspired it.

Yes, the hotel was five-star all the way, complete with a lobby surrounded by water gardens, live foliage and polished marble walkways you could see yourself in.

He glanced across the little stone bridge to the elaborate display window where a full-size stuffed Zion stood stalking a beautiful female mannequin outfitted in a red silk nightgown. Still smiling, he admitted Sunni Blais, like Joe, sure knew how to make a statement. And an entrance and exit, he mused, remembering the look on her face when she’d raced into the bathroom, then exited a few minutes later just as quickly.

While he stood enjoying the memory, a low growl sounded at his side. He glanced down, saw Mac’s eyes lock on Sunni’s lion and swore. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned. “No smart-ass stunts. Got it? As it is you’re going to have to work damn hard to get on the good side of Sis after what you pulled this morning. And she doesn’t even know about the lamp yet.”

A few minutes later, Jackson, with Mac at his side, stepped off the glass elevator on the thirty-ninth floor. At the end of the hall was a pair of shiny gold doors, and next to it sat a muscled-up bodyguard in a shiny black suit.

They were eight feet from the door when Mr. Muscle stood. Jackson said, “Tell Joe—”

“Don’t have to tell Mr. Masado nothing,” the man’s steroid-inflected voice rumbled. “You and the fur ball have been on camera since you entered the elevator.” That said, the guard swung open the heavy bulletproof door to allow them entry.

Jackson stepped aside and once the
fur ball’s
tail cleared the door, it closed behind them. He glanced around, appreciating Joe’s spacious office. The room was first rate, with rich wood walls and a plush carpet. A solid wall of windows overlooked Lake Michigan. Along another wall stood an eighteen-foot bar with an Italian marble surface and six white leather bar chairs fronting it—the gold-framed mirror behind it every bit as long, allowing no one in the room any privacy.

Joe was seated behind a long half-circle desk—five white leather chairs curved around it. He was wearing an expensive gray suit and a smile. Behind him Lucky stood stone sober with a drink in his hand.

What the two Masado brothers shared was equal height—six foot two, to be exact—Sicilian smooth black hair, dark eyes and a straight nose that took center stage on both of their prominent faces. Lucky was thirty-one and Joe was thirty-four, the same age as Jackson.

“What do you think of my elevator, Jacky?” Joe finally asked.

Jackson grinned. “It’s bigger than the dream, Joe.”

“Yeah. You know how kids are. Ten-story buildings seem plenty big to an eight-year-old.”

They shared a laugh while Lucky grunted and tipped up his glass of Scotch. Jackson eyed him, deciding that Lucky needed a new line of work—his job as Frank’s soldier was killing him. He was thinner than usual, the chip on his shoulder bigger, and his eyes … his bloodshot eyes were the result of too much booze and not enough sleep.

Jackson asked, “How’s life. Lucky?”

“It’s a party, Jacky. One big party.” He drained the Scotch. “Joey filled me in. So how long you staying?”

“For as long as it takes to get Sunni out of the hot seat.”

Unlike Joe’s suit-and-tie attire, Lucky wore jeans and a black T-shirt beneath a famous black leather jacket that had a history all its own.

“Have a seat.” Joey motioned to the leather chairs in front of his eight foot polished oak desk. Jackson left Mac near the door and took a seat while Lucky headed for the bar.

“So what’s with the dog, Jacky?”

“He’s my partner,” Jackson answered. “Can’t find anyone who wants to work with me these days but an ornery dog.”

“You saying he’ll rip my throat out if you snap your fingers?”

“I don’t know. Should we try it and see?”

As Lucky moved to the window behind Joey, carrying another glassful of Scotch, Jackson studied his slow gait, a gait that guaranteed he was in physical pain. Lucky was once as handsome as his older brother, but his street activities had earned him a number of visible scars. But the worst ones were hidden.

Joe, on the other hand, had only one visible scar, but ironically it hadn’t come from an enemy’s fist or knife. The day he’d told his father he wanted to be an architect instead of a player in the family business, Frank had split his cheek open.

“Sunni came to see me this morning,” Joey began.

“And?”

“She explained why she’d offered the false information. I’ve discussed it with Frank. We feel her motivation was solely to benefit Silks, therefore we’re willing to work around the problem.”

“Which is?”

Joey smiled. “I hear her daddy can be noisy when he’s unhappy. We don’t want him making noise in Chicago, Jacky. You keep him in New Orleans and we’ll be happy.”

Jackson nodded. “Okay. Clide stays put. Done.”

“Last night you told Joey you’d just gotten into town. This morning I checked that out and learned you’ve been here five days.” Lucky turned from the window. “Why the lie? What’s your game, Jacky? And who you playing with?”

Jackson rested his elbow on the arm of the chair. “My game is simple. Find Milo’s killer, spring Sunni and head back to New Orleans.”

“Why didn’t you just come to me?” Joey asked.

“The truth?”

“Always, Jacky.”

“I wanted to know who was involved for myself.”

“We didn’t kill Milo, Jacky.”

“I know, but neither did Sunni Blais.” Jackson watched Lucky head back to the bar. “About the alibi story…”

“We believe she’s innocent, too,” Joey said. “It made sense to help her and help ourselves in the process. Masado Towers doesn’t need negative publicity.”

“No, I suppose not. Can Williams prove the alibi story is a lie?”

“No.”

“So now you know whose side we’re on,” Lucky said from behind the bar.

“The side you’ve always been on, bro. Frank’s.”

The blunt statement wasn’t meant to start a fire. It was just open and honest. Joe and Lucky had never wanted to be Frank Masado’s boys. They had wanted their own identities, their own lives. But being born to
the family
didn’t leave them a choice and they all knew it.

As Lucky sat down a few chairs away from Jackson, Joey said, “You’ve had enough from the bar,
mio fratello.”

Lucky looked up. “I’m hurting today. Takes the edge off. And even if it didn’t, you’re my brother, not my mama.”

Jackson grinned. Listening to the bickering felt like old times.

Finally, he decided to cut to the chase. “So who killed Milo?”

Joey’s eyes traveled to Lucky then back to Jackson. “We don’t know. The word on the street is that it wasn’t—”

“Anyone we know,” Lucky finished.

“Are you sure about that, Lucky?” Jackson persisted.

Lucky licked his lips in anticipation of tasting the alcohol he obviously craved. “If you think I’m guilty of sending that worthless piece of meat to hell, try to prove it, Jacky. Be my guest. Spin your wheels.”

“Lucky…” Joey nailed his brother with narrowed eyes. “Unless you want him all over you, back off.”

“Him on me?” Lucky snorted. “He can try, but the only way he’d get the jump on me is when I’m hurtin’, and then only if he played dirty.”

Jackson pulled the knife sheathed at his hip so fast Lucky didn’t make a move until it was too late and the wicked blade rested on his jugular.

“God, Jacky! What the hell are you doing?” Joey was on his feet in an instant.

“I’m playing dirty, Joe. What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Dammit, Jacky, that’s my brother you’re tickling with that thing!”

Before Joey could step around the desk, a low growl filled the room and all eyes moved to Mac as he stalked toward the desk, his lips peeled away from his long, impressive canines.

“Jeez! Call off the dog, Jacky.”

Surprised, though not willing to admit it, Jackson watched as Mac turned into one mean son of a bitch—he was a healthy Nine-lives Lucky on four legs. It was the first time the dog had shown any aggression since they’d been teamed up together. Mostly Mac slept, ate and, when he felt an energy surge, chewed up something. “I guess I don’t need to snap my fingers,” he joked.