From Manhattan with Revenge (The Fourth Book in the Fifth Avenue Series) (3 page)

“The fake Russian?”

“Katzev isn’t Russian?”

“Scottish. He’s got the accent down,
though. I’ll give him that, even if he is a bastard.
 
Same goes for his former associate,
Jean-Georges Laurent, who I hear is dead now. Bullets to the face at the Four
Seasons in a room filled with people that included the likes of my old friend,
Leana Redman.” He let a beat pass. “Firing a gun into that crowd must have been
quite a sight.”

“It was.”

“Nice job on that, by the way.”

“I didn’t do it alone.”

“So, I hear.”

“You hear a lot.”

“I think I’m becoming something of a
guru,” he said. “People tell me things. That was just one conversation out of
many that day. I can’t remember who told me, so there’s no use in asking.”

She knew better. But she appreciated his
discretion even if it meant she wouldn’t learn who told him and why.

“So, what’s going on?” he said. “How are
you in trouble?”

She told him.

The syndicate she and Alex worked for
targeted them for death. She wasn’t sure why, but Jean-Georges Laurent nearly
tricked her and Alex into killing each other. Did Laurent do it because he felt
she and Alex knew too much about the organization? Impossible. She only knew
what he and Katzev told her, which was minimal.
 

In an effort to send a message that
threatening them wasn’t an option, they retaliated by killing Laurent. Then,
weeks later, Alex was murdered and she barely escaped death.

Now she was back in Manhattan to seek her
revenge.

“The people who killed Alex,” Spocatti
said. “Why are you convinced it had anything to do with the syndicate?”

“Because we killed Laurent.”

“So? You and Alex have taken down dozens
of people over the course of your careers. It could have been anyone. Why
them?”

“Because for whatever reason, Laurent
wanted us dead. I’m sure there are others who’d like to see that happen, but
I’m not directly aware of them.”

“Just because you’re not aware of them
doesn’t mean someone else isn’t targeting you.”

“Do you know something I don’t?”

“I usually do,” Spocatti said. “But not
this time. Just keep your options open. Anyone could have it in for you. In
fact, plenty do. But for now, let’s go with the obvious and say it is Katzev
and the rest of the syndicate. They’re hell-bent on revenge because you killed
Laurent. You’re hell-bent on revenge because they killed Alex and almost got
you. How can I help?”

“I need to know where Katzev lives.”

“I have no idea.”

“Best guess?”

“Probably Manhattan. Maybe Milan. Could be
Paris. Hell, it could be Russia, since he obviously loves the motherland enough
to associate himself with it. Or Scotland, since he is, after all, Scottish.
What I’m saying is that he could be anywhere. Whenever I’ve dealt with him,
it’s been through a secure line. I was offered the job, we negotiated the
price, I received half the money the next day, and the rest of money was wired
to me when the job was done. I assume it’s been the same for you.”

“It has. But you have connections,
Vincent. Everywhere. You must know someone who knows where he lives.”

“I know a few people who might know, but I
can’t give you their names, Carmen. That’s not how I work. You know that.”

“Then leave it up to them,” she said.
“Would you call them and give them my number? If they choose to help me, that’s
their decision. This way, you haven’t compromised anyone. It’ll be on them to
call and decide if they wish to get involved. You know I won’t say anything if
they agree to help me. That’s not how
I
work.”

“I know it isn’t.”

“Will you make the calls?”

“I’ll make the calls.”

“I appreciate it, Vincent.”

“It might not be Katzev or the syndicate,
Carmen. You need to consider every job you’ve ever done. I know that’s a
daunting task, but you need to do it and you need to think who else might be
targeting you. You have to figure out how someone suddenly found you in Bora
Bora, of all places, when you’ve had a place there for years. After all this
time, how did they find you now? This stinks of something recent. Have you
looked into Alex’s life? Did he slip up and talk to someone? If he did, who did
he talk to? And who did that person talk to?”

She felt a chill and looked down the long
corridor that led to the bar, where Jake was waiting for her. He mentioned that
he spoke to Alex before they left for the island. Who did he speak to after
that?

“I have to go,” she said. “I’ll take
everything into consideration. You’ll make the calls?”

“I said I would.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Watch your back, Carmen. Keep an open
mind. And stay in touch. I’ll do what I can from afar.”

CHAP
TER FOUR

She hurried down the corridor, hoping she
was wrong but knowing in her gut that she was right. She rounded the corner and
looked for him at the bar. He was gone. So were their drinks. The bartender
caught her eye and held up a piece of paper for her.

She had no time for this. She had to get
out of here now, while she still had a chance, but she needed to know what he
wrote to her since it might inform what she did next. She walked over to the
bartender, a stocky man somewhere in this thirties whose dark hair was slicked
back in such a way that it revealed a handsome face.

“My husband,” she said. “How long ago did
he leave?”

“Ten minutes? He wanted me to give you
this.”

She took the note and opened it. Five
words inside: “Sorry. I had no choice.”

She looked behind her, saw nothing out of
the ordinary then turned back to the bartender. “Did you happen to see him use
his phone?”

“I did.”

So, he called ahead. Or they called him.
Either way, he told them she was here. But why? If they wanted her dead, he
could have shot her an hour ago.

Because they want to bring
you in.

It was possible, but why? She was partly
responsible for Laurent’s death. Did they want to have their way with her
before they killed her? Katzev might want to do the job himself. She could see
that happening. Or they might think she has information she shouldn’t have
access to, though she didn’t know what that could be.

She needed to leave, but she couldn’t go
out the front entrance. Not even the side. Soon, this place would be surrounded
by them, if it wasn’t already.

“Your husband said you had fifteen
minutes,” the bartender said. “I’m not sure what he meant by that, but it might
mean something to you.”

“It does.” Why was he tipping her off? Was
he forced into this? Or was it to make her feel a false sense of security? With
five minutes on her side, she might think she could get out now and escape
them, when in reality, they’d be right outside waiting for her. This could be a
trap. “I didn’t see him leave. Which way did he go?”

“He asked if he could use the service
exit. Sounds strange, but I’ve had stranger requests. We accommodated him.”

Trap.
“I
see.”

He paused. She could feel him studying
her. “Are you in some sort of trouble, Miss?”

Use him.

“I am.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I told my husband I was leaving him
tonight. He told me I wasn’t and that he’d make sure of it. You know what that
means. He’s abusive. He’s had me dealt with before and he’s going to do it
again.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Can you get me into a room?”

“You’d need to check in—”

“You asked if you could help. I need to
get into a room right now. He’s called people to come here and reason with me,
if you get my drift.”

“Miss—”

“It’s important.”

“I don’t have that authority.”

“Then do you have some place I could hide?
A storage area? A conference room I can step into?”

“For how long?”

“An hour? Men are going to come here.
They’re going to ask if you’ve seen me. I need you to tell them that I left the
moment you gave me the note. If they harass you, tell them you’ll call the
police. They’ll leave if you say that. They won’t want any trouble.”

“Why don’t we just call the police now?”

“Because they won’t get here in time. My
husband left quickly for a reason. He used the service exit for a reason. This
note is a threat.”

He looked at the note in her hand, then
down the length of the bar, where another bartender was restocking glasses
while glancing in their direction. “Phil, give me a minute, OK?”

The man looked at Carmen, then back at the
bartender. “We’re closing in forty-five, Jon.”

“I said a minute. I’ll be back.”

* * *

He led her to an area behind the bar. They
started walking down a short hallway that led to a set of swinging doors.

“Just go with this,” he said. “Act
natural.”

They entered the kitchen, which was large
and shiny due to the bright lights glinting off the stainless steel tables,
racks, and appliances. Carmen glanced around for cameras in the ceiling, but it
was so vast and Jon was moving so quickly, she didn’t notice any. She counted
six people in the kitchen. They turned a corner and she counted a seventh, all
of whom were either cleaning up for the night or doing prep for the following
morning’s breakfast service. Another sweep of the room. It unnerved her that she
saw no cameras because she knew better.

“Everybody,” he said. “This is my
girlfriend, Lisa. She just got some bad news and needs a space where she can be
alone. My shift is up in forty-five. Does anyone mind if she hangs out in the
stairwell until I’m finished?”

“I thought you were gay.”

“Funny, Mac. Are we good, everyone?”

Shrugs all around.

“Thanks.”

He took her by the hand, they cut left and
pushed through another set of doors. Below her was a staircase. Is this where
he brought Jake? She turned to him and asked.

“It is, but don’t worry about it. The door
below is bolted shut. No one can get in here and they won’t think you’re back
here. So, stay here. I’ll work on getting you a room.”

“Threaten them with the police when they
come. Get them out.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“You’ll be fine. If they’re coming,
they’re going to want to see me behind the bar. I’ll be back.”

He turned to leave.

Each door had a small square window that
looked into the kitchen. As she watched him go, every set of eyes in that
kitchen turned to her. Carmen stepped away from the windows, incredulous that
she was in this position.

A simple walk in Manhattan to clear her
head had turned into this? She was thinking how unreal the past two hours had
been when her cell phone rang. She reached into her coat pocket and pulled it
out. A number she didn’t recognize. Private caller.

She hesitated before she answered it.
“Hello?”

A man’s voice. Soft, almost fragile.
“Carmen Gragera?”

She didn’t respond.

“It’s all right, Carmen. I’m a friend of
Vincent’s. He called a moment ago and told me you are in something of a bind.”

She closed her eyes in relief.

“Would you like some help?” he asked.

“I would.”

“Are you able to come to me now?”

“I’m in the middle of a situation.”

“I see. Is there anything I can do?”

“I can handle this. Would you be able to
meet tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow’s fine.”

“I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’m old, Carmen. You
probably can hear it in my voice. I don’t leave the house much anymore, but
don’t let that worry you. I live for my calls from Vincent. He keeps me alive
with them. Reminds me why I once was on top and still matter now. Name your
time.”

“Morning?”

“Ten?”

“Perfect.”

He gave her his address.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

The line went dead.

* * *

When his shift was over and the bar was
closed, the bartender, Jon, returned. He looked tense and on edge, but also in
control. His eyes reminded her of her Alex’s—big and blue. Intelligent
and intense.

“Did they come?” she asked.