Severed Threads (12 page)

"Just give me two weeks," Devon pleaded. "That’s all I’m asking. I’ll find him. I'll get all of it back."

From the self-satisfying look on his face, Pollero was enjoying this far too much. He pulled out a stick of gum and jammed it in his mouth. “Carla’s gonna give me shit for messin’ up another shirt,” he claimed.

“
Carla?” Viktor asked.

Pollero smirked. “New maid. Hot ass.” He held out a hand. “Don’t ya got anything smaller than that Crocodile Dundee knife?”

Viktor reached into the top of his boot and produced a switchblade.

Pollero flipped the knife open and snapped it back again. “Ah, that’s better. By the way, Lyons, exactly how were you plannin’ on fixing this?"

"I know everyone who’s connected to Moten,” Devon claimed. “I just need time to check his phone messages, search his records and emails. The guy isn’t a genus. He’s bound to have left a trail. Just let me go, Gabe. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

But that wasn’t exactly true. Even with all the time in the world, Devon knew finding Moten with all the money he’d stolen would prove nothing short of a miracle. It had been close to a month since anyone had seen or heard from his buttoned-up boss. Nosey reporters had been poking around for weeks. The firm’s phones were ringing off the hook. As of four hours ago, half the staff on the twelfth floor had been called in for questioning by bank examiners and members of the Securities Exchange.

Pollero pursed his lips. "Okay, just cause you done me some good in the past, I’ll cut ya some slack."

Devon heaved a sigh of relief.

"One of my associates has been shuttling this creep all over the place," Pollero said. "Meetings, parties, you name it. The fool’s got more money than brains, handing it out right and left. Looking down on the world from his fuckin’ ivory tower. Lucky for you, he’s got a hard-on for someone
real
close to you."

Devon racked his memory. Who could he possibly be talking about?

"Since you’re not gonna cough up my mill anytime soon, you better hope she'll cover your ass."

Pollero motioned at Viktor, sending him running to the end of the warehouse. He returned a few minutes later with Marcos trailing behind. The jaw-crushing mobster stopped short, right in front of Devon. He lowered the large laundry bag that was slung over his shoulder. When his load hit the floor, a single high-heel escaped, confirming a woman was concealed inside.

Selena?
Surely Pollero wouldn’t use his own sister against him. Would he?

With one rough pull on the bag, the woman’s disheveled clothes fell into place, covering her long shapely legs. Her pale wide-eyed face came into full view. For Devon, the only salvation rested in the fact that silver duct tape remained firmly attached to the hostage’s chastising lips.

Rachel
. If not for the dilemma he now found himself in, Devon would be laughing out loud. If they searched the world, they couldn’t have found a more uncooperative person. Over the past four years, she’d assumed their mother’s role, adding her own brand of criticism of Devon. Her disapproval extended to all aspects of his life, including all the women he’d chosen to love.

Even after making her own mistake with that loser, Chase Cohen.

As far as Devon was concerned, Rachel had inadvertently brought them to this impasse. If she’d accepted his advice and put her sentimental logic aside for one minute, they could have sold their old man’s house six months ago when they received that reasonable offer. With Devon's share of the profits, he wouldn’t have had the need to impress Gabe Pollero or be involved with his shady dealings.

"Why’d you bring
her
here?" Devon challenged. "This is between you and me."

Pollero’s eyes swam between them. "Not anymore." He cracked the gum in his mouth and smoothed the side of his shiny black hair. "You know, my friend…terrible things can happen to beautiful women like your sister here. Things a man like you could never imagine."

He reached out and stroked Rachel's cheek. She instantly pulled away. Fortunate for him, her rant was muffled beneath the tape. He motioned for her to stay back. When she complied, he circled around her and cut her cinched hands free. With her eyes still riveted on Devon, she reached up and jerked the tape off her mouth.

"Oh, my God," she blurted. "What have you done now?"

* * *

Rachel stared at Logan, dangling from the warehouse ceiling. His battered head was stumped over. Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth and had pooled beneath him on the concrete floor. The pale color of his skin left her wondering if he was still alive. Pollero waved a demanding hand in front of her face, capturing her attention. Her hands shook at her sides as she obediently followed after him, entering an adjacent room. She lowered herself into the chair across from him and took a deep calming breath before accessing her surroundings. His office housed a collection of showroom décor: a stainless ultra-modern floor lamp, taupe leather sofa, matching occasional chair. A bronze sculpted horse and rider clearing an equestrian post. All of his furnishings had no doubt fallen off the back of a delivery truck. Aside from the framed photos of his spearfishing buddies and him posing like Lorenzo Lamas behind the wheel of a red Lamborghini, the only insights into Pollero’s “hobbies” were the bottle of
Patrón
Tequila on top of his file cabinet and a spread-eagle centerfold taped to the wall above his mahogany desk.

"Your wife?" Sarcasm dripped from her words, braver than her cowardly manner.

Pollero grinned. "Only on Fridays." He pocketed his phone and stared openly at her cleavage. "Feeling better?"

She reluctantly nodded before looking away. There were plenty of rumors circulating about this thug. Whenever his name appeared in the news, it usually had something to do with drugs and criminal mischief, yet somehow he always managed to keep his freedom.

"My guys are useless," he claimed. "Haven’t got a clue how to treat a lady." He pulled out a silver flash and offered her a drink. She declined and he threw back a swig.

"Can you at least tell me why this is happening?" Her voice sounded small in her ears. "What is it you want, Pollero?"

"Well, Miss," he started, "it seems your brother and I have a difference of opinion. See...he thinks he shouldn’t be accountable and I think he needs to honor his commitments."

She shifted in her seat, studying the hood – memorizing every detail about him. Jet black eyes, expressive brows, prominent nose, thin lips. Coarse, irritating voice. She would need a frame of reference when she was called in to identify him in a lineup.

"What exactly did my brother promise you, Mr. Pollero?" she asked.

"Gabe," he corrected. The snake rattled off a sequence of events, touching on his missing investment and pissed off partners in Vegas, all expecting to get a piece of the action. He stopped briefly to verify she was following his tale of woe. That she understood the resulting damage to his credibility and the unfortunate necessity to detain her. He had just launched into his idea of a remedy when his phone rang.

He flipped open his cell and arched his head, affording Rachel the opportunity to peer into the warehouse through the large tinted window. Logan’s abusers had gathered in a dark corner like a band of nasty crows. Across from them, Devon remained slumped in his chair. He tilted his chin down and looked up at her through his blue-green eyes. The masked fear in his face was unmistakable. She’d seen it throughout his life. When he was ten and the lawnmower went up in flames. The time the police brought him home after joyriding and crashing their father's car. The day he returned from school and found out his mother was never coming home again.

Recently, instincts had told her Devon was in way over his head. His schemes always had a way of sounding too good to be true. As she looked down, contemplating her options, Rachel wished to hell she hadn't been right this time.

Pollero ran his finger under his nose and sniffed. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Take a chill pill and relax, BOSS." He laughed and was still chatting away on the phone when the opening door turned her head. A black man entered the room. He moved to a corner, watching her through hooded brown eyes. At six foot five with his dark leather coat and shoulder-length braided hair, he cut an imposing figure. He pulled on a thin cigarette and blew a line of smoke to the side. Even though he stared at her, for what seemed like an eternity, not a single word fell between them.

With his call completed, Pollero eased back in his chair. “Novak. It’s about time you showed up,” he directed at the dark stranger. “Thought I told you to be here an hour ago.”

A shrug was his only reply.

“
You deliver the goods like I told you too?”

“
Yeah.”

Pollero’s eyes swung back to Rachel. “Like I was sayin’, the only bargaining chip your brother has is for you to sweet talk your boss into bailing him out. If Nash delivers and everyone keeps their mouths shut, we can all go about our business as usual, like nothin’ happened. Right, Bo?”

Bo Novak.
Rachel would make a point to remember his name.

“
Sure,” came from the man of many words.

Novak and Pollero obviously didn’t have a clue as to how a foundation operated or the safeguards Warren Nash had put into place. Even though his grandson maintained a comfortable lifestyle, Rachel knew full well he didn't have access to the amount of money Pollero was talking about. Any sizeable payout from the non-profit’s account required bank authorization and the consent of every member on the board.

Pollero snapped his gum. “You ready to make that call?” He held his phone out to her but she didn’t take it.

"What if there's nothing he can do?" she asked.

His jaw stalled. “You don’t want to know.”

Rachel swung her eyes toward his captives beyond the windowpane. Tied up, bruised. One barely alive. For the sake of all of them, she had no choice. Not with a solution only fathoms away. She brought her eyes back to the scowling villain and drew a long, deep breath.

"Mr. Pollero…I mean Gabe," she began. "I’m assisting a team of divers involved in recovering a Chinese vessel and the valuable cargo she was carrying. One of the items on board is a priceless relic known as the heart of the dragon. Perhaps we could come to an agreement..."

Eleven

Chase watched
Alegria’s
blower work its magic on the ocean floor for nearly an hour. Sand disappeared in a vortex, replaced by shell and sandstone. He maintained his grip on the metal detector as a rock took shape before him. The particles continued to swirl, revealing the curved side of a blue and white porcelain jar. He freed it from the clinging soil and slipped it into his goody bag.

With two tugs on the air hose, Chase signaled a move and continued swinging the rod. He finished scanning another five-foot section where over twelve meters of silt had already been removed. He was close to calling it quits, when the detector blasted a melodious tune. He brushed the fine sand away, uncovering links in a heavy iron chain. His heart thumped wildly in his chest, anticipating the discovery of Sam’s elusive anchor. And there it was…covered in silt.

The ancient wooden structure pictured in Sam’s book, unlike anything he’d every seen before.

Chase feathered the sand in the opposite direction, following the chain’s length. When he reached the end, the chain disappeared from view. Whatever had been attached to it was hidden on the other side of a mountainous outcropping. He smoothed his hand over the wall's jagged surface. A crack in the rock face caught his glove. He wedged his fingers between two loosened boulders and pivoted them in place. In domino procession, surrounding stones fell away, adding a blinding plume to the murky water. Anticipating a violent avalanche, he pushed off and waited. Remarkably, the hillside remained intact. He swam back and directed his flashlight into the dark portal, leading to another world. The glowing beam moved across the mossy rocks. On a second pass, he lit up a metal canister, tucked neatly into the undergrowth. A red-striped device crushed almost beyond recognition.

Sam's missing flashlight!
Had his deceased partner made it this far? With unstable seismic activity in the region, perhaps Sam had been struck by falling rocks. If his air hose was compromised and he panicked before freeing himself, there might be a reasonable explanation for Sam's death. A cause not involving the dive gear Chase had personally checked.