Dead Spaces: The Big Uneasy 2.0 (3 page)

If Ellie Calvino had survived, she’d be on his suspect list, but it was St. Cyr’s widow who was out on bail for the hit on her husband. Sounded like they had a solid case, too, even if the hired shooter’s brain had short circuited a bit after his arrest.

As he recalled, the sorta geeky Hannah had been the one to dig the bullet out of St. Cyr’s skull. Why did he find that kind of sexy? He’d had a thing for smart girls since high school. He liked it when she turned her analytical gaze on him. Just wish it stayed longer. Holy Hannah. Pity a partner’s sisters were off limits. Especially when his partner had so many of them. All blonde and all easy on the eyes. It was Hannah who tested his self control, though. So far he’d managed to keep it. He didn’t want to get punched. Alex had been wanting to punch someone since people started shooting at his girlfriend. Pity Calvino or St. Cyr hadn’t given him an opening. Dude needed to feel better, even if it wouldn’t last.

While Nell did nothing for Ferris, he could see why she had Alex’s wheels spinning. They both had that look couples got when love whacked them upside the head. He wasn’t one to wish marriage on a bubba but dude, it was coming, with or without the wishing. He’d wish Alex luck if Nell weren’t related to two mob families. Okay, he did wish him luck. The guy was gonna need it.

Why, he wondered, did Alex care if Ellie Calvino helped them or not, other than her being Nell’s grandmother. Man, the guy was up to his eye balls in crap. He needed to step back and take a breath. Use his brain. Ferris would have told him that—which brought him back full circle to not wanting to get punched. He looked speculatively at Alex. On the other hand, maybe he was distracted enough to not notice Ferris chatting up his little sister. If the other sister hadn’t been in there, he might have made an excuse to stroll back in—

Alex’s cell shrilled. He answered with a curt, “Baker.” Then his eyes widened. He lowered his arm, a frown forming on his face.

“What?” Ferris knew that look. Someone had died, but a someone whose death made the world a better place.

Alex rubbed his face. “Someone popped Bettino Calvino.” He made a gun with his hand and pointed at his temple, then added, “In City Park.”

So why the frown— Ferris stopped. “Don’t tell me we’re Guido’s alibi?”

Alex’s frown deepened to a scowl. “One of these days, he’s going to give me an excuse to hit him.”

“Be better to arrest him,” Ferris pointed out mildly. Ingrid Baker was on duty, so that meant she’d have to go to the scene, leaving Holy Hannah all alone…

“I need to talk to Nell, hopefully before this hits the news.”

Ferris looked at his watch. “Lunch hour?” He cast a speculative glance back at the NOCC. “Why don’t you pick me up back here?” Alex arched his brows. “Body’s gonna end up here. Maybe I’ll hear something.”

Alex nodded an okay. “Want me to bring you something?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Ferris said easily, pulling the door open as Alex headed for their wheels. He didn’t rush retracing his steps. In the park with the gun. In the head, too. Like the Kens. Did that mean Afoniki was next in line to get his? A guy could hope. And wonder why it had taken so long…

G
uido Calvino found
it easy to let Claude—
clod
—get ahead of him. Four bodyguards waiting outside? Claude probably thought it made him look powerful, not scared of his own shadow. He’d waited too long for power. Should have taken the old man out years ago. It had been obvious to everyone that Phineas St. Cyr had neither feared nor respected the spare heir.

St. Cyr had liked to think of himself as the “gentleman” mafia king. Guido could admit to wondering why his Uncle Bettino hadn’t moved on St. Cyr. He’d been the weakest of the three—his thoughts stalled.

This Ken is a fake, a ringer.

Another day, Guido might have been intrigued with the idea, but St. Cyr was dead. A clod was now in command of his empire. If—
if
there had been some sort of agreement between Bettino, Afoniki and St. Cyr, it would be void, would it not? Not that Guido was eager to kick up Afoniki’s anthill by making an obvious move on the clod’s stuff. Afoniki made Uncle Bett—who saw himself as old school mafia—look like the family pet. St. Cyr had been a polite killer and Uncle Bett a practical one, but Afoniki? He liked it, the power, the corrupting and the killing. Guido knew better than to let it show, but he’d been as uncomfortable at Afoniki’s dinner party as his reluctant new cousin, Nell.

If Afoniki had hoped to turn the girl back to her roots, well, he’d failed and not just for now. Nell had been remarkably resilient, not to mention resistant to exploring her darker roots. His cousin, Cinzia, had it right when she’d said her bedroom was probably cleaned by singing birds and mice.

He’d never been opposed to corrupting the innocent, but Alex Baker had made it clear, you messed with Nell, you messed with him. In this city, there was one truth even his side knew to respect. You messed with one Baker, you messed with them all.

The hounds of hell would be easier to manage.

It was possible the ill-timed shooting at the dinner party had tipped the balance for Baker. He couldn’t be steered, led, or warned off. No one had owned up to it, but then if someone did, it would be their last act in this life.

Nell’s return to New Orleans had stirred up more than old dirt.

Guido paused in the hallway, watching as Claude’s SUV halted long enough for him to scramble inside. Guido smiled. He would be lucky to survive to the end of the year. Not that Guido wanted to ignite a turf war with Afoniki. Both the old man and his heir were most likely formulating their own plans for seizing what Phin had left so ill-protected. The widow, she might have been able to keep it together, but Claude was weak. And Helene was old and under indictment. She would be of limited help to Claude. Always assuming he wanted her help. Or she wanted to give it. No love lost there.

If there was an agreement between the three old men, how very much he’d like to see the details. It must be powerful indeed to have kept three such men in check for so long.

And where did Nell Whitby fit in? What did uncle Bett fear from her? Was there a secret still waiting to ooze up out of the past? And was it a secret that would help—or damage—Guido’s very bright future?

Guido flexed his hands, feeling his own readiness to assume control. He was fond of his great uncle, but that would not stop him if he saw a chance. It was, after all, what uncle Bett had done.

He glanced back, past his two bodyguards, to the door of the autopsy room, just in time to see Ingrid Baker leave. She didn’t look his direction. Her phone held to her ear, she moved rapidly, though with commendable grace. The Baker girls. The younger Baker boys weren’t unappealing either. He shook his head a bit ruefully. There were times when it seemed a great pity they were all so very law abiding. All were attractive, some rather interesting, even—his gaze went back to the closed door, still swinging slightly from the recent transit. It would be amusing to wind up Alex Baker. Amusing and easy. One just had to be careful not to push him too far. Big fists and a good shot, so Guido had heard. Still…

“Wait here,” he said, striding toward the swing doors. Hannah Baker might be as honest as her big brother, but she had a dark side to be able to work in this place. He went in, letting the door swing closed behind him. She’d tossed the goggles and loosened the protective thing, so he could see her tee shirt and jeans. She didn’t look at all like her big brother, though the frown—

She turned with a less than graceful jerk. And her startled eyes were quite remarkable. One hand clenched something. Something small. Her hand slid into her pocket. A secret? He loved secrets. Could smell them in the air, knew how to nose them out. Secrets become leverage.

Her lips parted, but before he could speak, his cell shrilled an incoming text. He smiled, held up a finger. “A moment.”

He looked down and the smile faded. Without speaking he turned and left. He would find out her secret later. She would keep. This—he smiled in deep satisfaction—would not.

F
erris checked
at the sight of Guido Calvino shooting out of the autopsy room like someone let the dogs out. He watched him head down the hall, his cell to his ear. He’d only caught a glimpse of Guido’s face, but he looked like a guy who just won the lottery. Must have got the news about Uncle Bettino.

Ferris hesitated outside the door, then pushed it open and slouched in, his grin on the side of deprecating. “What’d you do to Guido? He came out of here like his pants were on fire.”

Hannah had been frowning as he entered, but the frown faded into a grin he’d call careful. A bit of wary in the eyes.

She half shrugged. “He got a call. Tried not to look shocked.” She thought for a minute. “Tried not to look pleased.”

Her brows arched a tiny bit. Holy Hannah. He’d always wondered what a cool drink of water would look like. Which was kinda funny, because there was nothing cool about his thoughts. Blonde and curvy in the right places and those eyes. He’d like to get close enough to figure out what color they were. He hesitated, not because it was a big secret, but because he didn’t want to talk shop. Still, she’d find out when they brought the corpse in.

“Someone popped Bettino Calvino. Guido just won the bad guy lottery if he can hold onto it.” The sharks were certainly circling Claude St. Cyr. Odds were against him holding on until the end of the year.

Her amazing eyes widened, improving his view into them, but he still wasn’t sure about the color. Needed to get closer. Much closer. He halved the distance between them. Nope. Still not close enough.

“Really?” She started to morph into a forensic doc, instead of a girl with a guy. “Any news on how—”

“Bullet to the brain.”

“Oh.” She made a face. Caught his gaze and grinned. “It gets old digging bullets out of brains.”

“Perps should be more creative with their killing,” he agreed, watching the grin bloom into a smile. Almost he licked his lips. Was it the forbidden? Wanting what he wasn’t supposed to have? He’d been the new guy when he first met Alex’s sisters. Was already walking a line, trying to prove he could do the job. Had no inclination to mess with his new partner’s sisters. Well, not much. He wasn’t new now. They were a solid team. Mutual respect. Could tease Alex about almost anything. Knew him well enough to know the no-go list. And he didn’t want to mess with Holy Hannah, exactly. Just get to know her. Maybe kiss her on the mouth once or twice. He studied the mouth in question. Might need more than a couple of kisses to scratch his itch. Keep it this side of serious, of course. She was Alex’s sister. Might be okay to kiss a sister, but not okay to mess with her heart.

“So Bettino Calvino is dead.” Her brows slanted together. “Didn’t he have, like, body guards and crap?”

“Lots of crap.” He grinned, saw the change in her eyes and liked it. “You have to do the autopsy?”

“I’m not here,” she pointed out. “It’s my day off.”

“Alex?” Her nod had a grimace attached to it. “Must be a tough gig for all of you.” He glanced at the coffin just off his elbow, decided it wasn’t too grimy, and propped himself against it.

“Batons of parental-like power were supposedly passed on to the next sib in line as we each left for college. Maybe it’s a brother thing, but I got the responsibility without the power. Alex is the worst. He claims to be hands-off but…” She shrugged. Her head tipped a bit. “You have siblings?”

“My parents kept it simple. Just me and some dogs.” Bit of an edge to his tone, so he added a didn’t-bother-me smile.

“Maddie brought a dog home once. It took one look at the lot of us and ran for its life. Smart pooch.”

“You ever thought of leaving?” Didn’t like the twinge in his chest from that thought.

She laughed at that. “Every day.” She looked around. “Sometimes every hour.”

“When you move to the new building, it should be good.” It was kind of a question. He’d read in the paper that the new coroner had asked for everyone to resign and reapply. Not sure that was a good plan. Didn’t seem like there was a lot to incentivize the reapplication part with the reported state of his budget.

She made a face. Cute and sassy. He liked sassy. She made this place almost bearable. He crossed his arms over his chest. Holy Hannah. How had he missed this version of her?

“One lives in hope.” Her gaze strayed to the row of dolls on the metal table, the one still missing its head. A hand slid into a pocket and clenched into a fist, bulging the fabric.

His gaze narrowed. Color scored the line of her very nice cheekbones. He straightened. “Did Calvino say something? Threaten you?” No hitting on the pretty girl, he wondered a bit grimly, or Alex might not be the only one wanting to pop the wise guy.

Her gaze jerked to his. “He started to say something but got the good news.”

So why the frown pulling her brows together. Her gaze went back to its avoidance pattern and even white teeth gnawed the lower lip. So if not Calvino, then what? He looked down at the coffin. Sensed she stiffened. Stole a look. He thought she’d made a fist with that hand, but maybe it was clutching, not clenched. Had she found something? She turned back to a tray where the dolls lay in a grimy row, and put Barbie’s head back on. Her hand left her pocket, but a slight bulge remained. She went down the row of Ken’s popping heads off, like it was progress.

“You lose your ride?”

Tone was too casual. “Alex wanted to talk to Nell,” he said.

The last Ken lost his head. “Oh.”

He liked the profile, but wanted her to look at him. “You don’t like her?”

The brows arched. “I do like her, just not—”

“…her relatives.” He strolled forward, casting a quick glance in the other coffin. Looked full of dust, too. She stiffened, so he stopped. “There’s one less.”

“Still a passel of nasty cousins.”

She picked up a magnifying glass and a Ken head, subjected it to what looked like a minute scrutiny. But there was this pulse at her neck that beat a bit too hard.