From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (2 page)

“Carmen Gragera?” he asked.

She watched his hands. Said nothing. A
couple brushed past them, the woman’s head on the man’s shoulder. Carmen could
smell the flowery perfume the woman left in her wake.

“You and I should talk,” he said. “I’m a
friend of Alex Williams.”

“That’s your first mistake,” she said.
“Alex didn’t have any friends.”

His brow furrowed. “What gives you that
idea?”

“Maybe you meant to say you were
colleagues?”

“That’s not what I meant to say. I was his
friend. Since childhood.”

“Then you know Alex well. Where did he
grow up?”

“Indianapolis.”

Anyone could know that, but only those
closest to Alex would know what she was about to ask. During their last two
weeks together, when they spoke freely about their private lives, he brought up
the one topic that haunted him most. It was something he said he’d never be
able to live down. Not with himself, not with his family.

“What was Alex’s biggest regret?”

“There were a few things.”

“Why not take a shot at one of them?”

“Should I start with his family?”

“If you want.”

“OK, so you want the obvious one. Alex
regretted not being there for his father’s death. He had the opportunity to
catch a flight and spend some time with him, but instead he chose to take
another job. He thought his father had more time. He was wrong. He died while
Alex was away. Alex regretted that, and when he asked me if I agreed that he’d
made a mistake, I told him that he had. He knew better. He should have been
there.”

It was the correct answer. He took a step
closer and she took a step back.
Watch his hands.

“I’m not here to hurt you.”

“Even if you were, I’d kill you first.”

“I’m here to help you.”

“Help me with what?”

“I work for Katzev.” He raised his
eyebrows as if in bemusement. “Strike that. I used to work for Katzev. Now, he
wants me dead just like he wants you dead. If we talk frankly, we might be able
to help each other. I think that would be a smart idea.”

“How do I know you’re not working for him
now?”

“You don’t.”

“Well, there’s a balm of reassurance. Take
your hands out of your pockets.”

He did.

“Who are you?”

He looked around him. “We should get a
cab,” he said. “I’ll tell you what you want to know inside. Right now, we’re
too exposed.”

“Can’t handle it?”

“After what happened last night, I’ll
admit I’m on edge.”

“What happened last night?”

“They came after me. I’m lucky to be
alive.”

“I wonder how lucky that makes me.”

He didn’t answer.

“How did you find me?”

“Do you want the 101 version, Carmen? I
used my contacts. You were seen at LaGuardia. You were followed to your
apartment on Fifth and Eighty-First. Done.”

“Bullshit. I wasn’t followed.”

“Sorry, but you were.”

“Nobody followed me. I would have known.”

“Apparently, you didn’t, because you were
followed, just as you and Alex were followed to Bora Bora.” He paused. “Which
you also knew about. Right?”

Obviously, she didn’t know. Point taken.

“I received a call from Alex not long
before his death. It was just before you went to the island. He told me he was
in love with you, which concerned me. You have a reputation for being arrogant.
I told him to stay away from you.”

“I wish he had. He’d be alive now.”

“We don’t know that. All we know is that
Alex and you were targeted, and now I am too. Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then maybe we should help each other
figure it out before we both wind up dead.”

“What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer.

She sighed. “Then, what do you want me to
call you?”

“Jake.”

“Jake?”

“You got something better?”

“I’m Carmen Gragera,” she said. “But you
already know that. We’ll call you Jake for now. When you’re comfortable telling
me the truth and that your name is probably Hamlisch, or worse, we’ll likely be
on better terms. As for now, you’re Jake.” She nodded at the street. “So, Jake,
let’s grab that cab so you can tell me everything you think I need to know. I’m
eager to hear.”

CHAP
TER TWO

In the cab, they told the driver they were
new to the city and that they just wanted to drive around and enjoy the night.
The driver, a middle-aged woman with dark hair pulled back in a thick braid,
was happy to oblige.

“I’ll give you the full show,” she said.

“Perfect,” Carmen said. “Would you mind a
bit of music?”

“What type?”

“Dance?”

“You got it.”

“Thanks.”

The driver turned up the volume and they
drove down Fifth. The thump, thump, thump of the driving dance beat was just
loud enough to conceal their voices. It would be awhile before she trusted this
Jake person, but his hands had yet to dip back into his pockets and he was
correct about Alex’s chief regret. Her hand was still around her gun. She was
ready to act if she thought for a moment that he was a shill. Still, she had to
give him a chance, because if he was legit, he might have information she could
use.

“How long have you worked for the
syndicate?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“Three years.”

“How many jobs?”

“A dozen? Fifteen?”

“You don’t know exactly?”

“I work for a few different
organizations.”

“Who doesn’t? Over the past seven years,
I’ve done twenty-two jobs for them. So, I’ll ask again. How many?”

He thought for a moment. “After last week,
fourteen.”

“Who was last week?”

“There were two. Each a board member at
Light Corp.”

“How’d you do it?”

“I was told by Katzev to shoot each in the
head.”

As far as Carmen was concerned, before his
death, Jean-Georges Laurent was the former unofficial head of a syndicate she
knew very little about, which is how they wanted it. He tried to trick her and
Alex into killing each other, but it didn’t work. They found out about it,
which was bad luck for Laurent, who was tracked down and took their bullets in
his face instead.

“Have you ever met Katzev?”

“Never. You?”

She shook her head. While Laurent had been
her chief contact at the syndicate, she often worked directly with the person
she assumed was second in charge—Katzev. With Laurent dead, Carmen had to
assume that Katzev now was leading the syndicate. “We’ve only spoken via
encrypted e-mails and satellite cell phones, each untraceable. And I doubt his
name is Katzev.”

“Maybe it’s Hamlisch.”

Carmen ignored the joke. She didn’t know
this man and she certainly didn’t know if she could trust him. She was willing
to listen to what he had to say, but not without her gun trained on him. “What
happened last night?”

“Two men came after me.”

“Details?”

“I was having dinner under the Gowanus in
Brooklyn. I’ve gone to the same restaurant for years. It’s a hole in the wall,
but I like it there because the food is OK, it sits on a corner, and it’s
obscure. It blends in on a street filled with porn shops and similar low-rent
joints.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“For people like us, it is.”

“I was being serious.”

“The layout is good,” he said. “You can
sit at the rear of the restaurant, facing the front glass door while keeping an
eye on it. I was keeping my eye on it. Two men walked past the door twice
during the hour I was sitting there. I recognized one of them. I did a job with
him once for Katzev. I knew what happened to you and to Alex, so I saw what was
coming. I ordered another coffee and waited for night to fall. When it was
dark, I approached one of the owners. He knows me as a regular. I asked if
there was another way out. Without missing a beat, he took me to a side door.
No questions asked. The door led to a side street. With the exception of some
transients, it’s kind of dead down there, which is another reason I like it.
When I stepped outside, the man I didn’t recognize was on the sidewalk having a
cigarette. He was startled to see me, but before he could drop the cigarette
and reach for his gun, I had my arms around him and crushed his chest. It was
quick. I lowered him to the pavement so he was leaning against a car. He didn’t
look dead so much as he looked passed out. The owner watched all of it. When I
finished, I looked over at him and he just sort of shrugged and said, ‘Coffee?’
I declined.”

“What about the other man?”

“He was the challenge.”

“How so?”

“He came after me. He was younger. Faster.
In fact, he was really fast. We ran several blocks before I took a chance and
ran into oncoming traffic. I was lucky and made it to the other side. He was
unlucky and got flattened by a truck. End of story, at least for last night.
More is coming. Not just for me, but for both of us.”

“You know I’ll be able to verify his
death.”

“I expect you to. We need to get on the
same page, Carmen. I need you to trust me before they reach us. Or I can just
leave. We can tackle this individually. It’s up to you. But there’s something
to be said for joining forces and finding out why this is happening. Why do
they want us dead? Why did they kill Alex? We must know something they don’t
want us to know. Do you have any idea what that could be?”

“I’ve been racking my brain since they
attacked us. I have nothing.”

“Do you have any way to reach Katzev?”

“Encrypted e-mails. Satellite cell
phones.”

“Same here.”

“We wait for them,” Carmen said. “But that
doesn’t mean I can’t find out more about him, maybe even where he lives. No one
is completely safe or invisible. We both know that.”

She checked her watch, saw that it was
approaching midnight, and had an idea. She leaned toward the driver and raised
her voice above the music. “That was great,” she said. “The city is beautiful.
Would you drop us at the Waldorf?”
 

“Sounds romantic.”

“I hear they have a great bar,” Carmen
said.

CHAP
TER
THREE

When they arrived at the Waldorf Astoria’s
Peacock Alley Bar, each ordered a martini and a glass of water, though they’d
only touch the water. They bought the drink to satisfy the bartender.

“They won’t think to look for us here,”
she said. “Let me make a phone call. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be back.”

She maneuvered her way out of the bar,
took a right, walked down a corridor lined with Art Deco brass elevators on one
side and restrooms on the other before she entered the massive lobby.

It was a Thursday night and it was late.
The few chairs along the periphery were empty. She chose one just beneath the
grand piano, which was elevated above her on the mezzanine, and sat down.

There was only one person she knew who
might be able to help her through this—her colleague Vincent Spocatti. He
was the best in the business. He had more skills, instincts, and contacts than
anyone she knew. After working with him a year ago on a Wall Street job, she
hoped he wouldn’t mind a call from her now.

She found his number on her cell and
dialed.

If anyone knew anything about Katzev, how
she could get close to him or find out where he lived, it was Spocatti. And if
he didn’t know, he probably knew someone who would.

“Carmen,” he said when he answered.
“Surprised to hear from you. What am I to read into that?”

“That I’m in trouble.”

“I heard about Alex,” he said. “Sorry. I
liked him. I also hear that you liked him.”

She didn’t reply.

“Where are you now?”

“At a hotel in Manhattan. You?”

“Behind some curtains at a house in
Capri.”

“I see.”

“What you should see are the views.
Stunning.”

“If this isn’t a good time,
Vincent—”

“The owner will be here soon, but we’re
fine for now. They said he might run late. What do you need?”

“I need you to help me find someone. If
I’ve worked for him, you certainly have.”

“Who is it?”

“Katzev.”