Snow (2 page)

I am never dating again—my taste in men is too terrible for me to try again
.

A brief glance back in the main part of the restaurant revealed the same guys at the bar and she didn’t think more than an ounce of liquid had left their glasses in the intervening minutes. One of them stared up at the muted TV—there wasn’t even anything interesting on, just a recap of a game that played earlier in the day—and she had half a mind to turn the damn thing off.

The clock over the bar still ticked. One twenty-three. Christ, would this night
never
end?

She stepped back into the kitchen and found the garbage sitting by the back door. Normally not her job, but the more that was done, the less there’d be to do at the end of the shift and maybe she could take off early. She swiftly crossed the kitchen and grabbed the bag, kicked the spare brick over and wedged it under the open door so it wouldn’t lock behind her.

A faint dusting of snow fell on the ground outside and chilly air wrapped around her bare arms. Liliana shivered and sighed a heavy breath that fogged in front of her, then hauled the heavy bag into the alley. Orange light from the bare bulb above spilled over the snow and threw shadows over the cramped space. The dumpster sat at the far end of the alley near the street, and Liliana began the long, cold trek there weighed down by the garbage bag and slowed by her high heels.

She was shaking by the time she got there, goose bumps running up and down her bare arms and legs. Before she could reach for the lid of the dumpster, her attention caught a car parked on the street near the mouth of the alley. She let the bag drop and peered around the building.

The dark BMW was definitely Elise Hartley’s. Fresh tire tracks and no snow on the vehicle suggested she’d just parked there. She must’ve gone in the front.

Good, she’s here—I can plead to go home
.

Her arms hugging her torso to help stop the shivering, Liliana started back down the alley as fast as her shoes would let her.

The orange square of light over the snow-dusted pavement, cast from the upstairs office, was suddenly shadowed by figures. She glanced up, squinting at the window as thick flakes fell and clung to her lashes.

Jimmy and Polly were still up there, moving now, and by the looks of it, Polly wasn’t interested in whatever was going on. She passed the window, her face red like she’d been crying and lips parted as if she shouted. Jimmy came at her, grasping for her shoulders, but her hands pressed up against his chest and shoved.

What an asshole. Bad enough he went after everything with tits and a pussy that walked by him, now he couldn’t even restrict it to
willing
participants? Clearly she didn’t want to be anywhere near him.

Liliana debated for a moment. She’d run to the office and break it up in a heartbeat, but that would place her directly in Jimmy’s path as a target. Earlier in the night they kept a bouncer by the door at The Palace but if he wasn’t around now, he probably lucked out and got to leave early as the restaurant emptied out. That left
maybe
one of the guys at the pool hall next door—she knew them, chatted with a few on their smoke break now and then, and they were good guys. Maybe—

Polly slammed against the window suddenly and Liliana startled, her eyes growing wide and train of thought derailed entirely.

Jimmy had his hands wrapped around Polly’s throat, holding tight as she clawed at him, his dark eyes fixed on her face and the veins in his neck straining from the effort.

Jesus Christ, he’s trying to kill her
.

Liliana ran back toward the door. Slipped, twice, as her heels skidded on the snow-slicked pavement and nearly landed on her ass both times but kept going. Adrenaline rushed through her veins, making her forget about calling for help or the stupidity of confronting Jimmy on her own—Polly needed help and she’d damn well get the girl out of there, then figure out the rest later. The guy had an ugly temper that Liliana usually managed to steer clear of but she’d glimpsed enough of it to know he wasn’t playing around.

She slipped inside, left the back door wedged open still, and ran through the kitchen. Her heels clacked loudly on the tile, then the stairs. She had a fleeting moment of wondering if she should’ve looked for a weapon, like a pot or something to hit him with, but it was too late—she was already upstairs.

She stopped walking abruptly when she realized it was silent upstairs.

Her heart hammered loudly, like it was trying to burst through her ribcage, and she sucked in a breath.
Why
was it so quiet? Minutes earlier, Polly was struggling. Did she get away already?

The light was still on in the office, the door a few inches ajar. Liliana crept forward, one hand braced on the wall beside her to keep her steady as she shivered still. Dread hung heavily in her gut, urging her to run back downstairs, but she couldn’t leave Polly like that without knowing she was okay.

Low voices startled her, breaking through the air—soft murmuring.

“Really, James. You can’t be left alone for five minutes.” A woman’s voice—Elise, maybe? Her tone was reprimanding but quiet, too difficult for Liliana to tell.

“She said she was gonna—”

“Hush now.”

Liliana continued forward and paused in the doorway, peeking into the room as dread sagged heavily in her gut.

Polly was sprawled on the floor, unmoving. Red hair spilled across the beaten hardwood, eyes open but glassy and empty. Purple marks had bloomed on her neck.

Liliana stared in shocked silence, her brain not entirely processing the scene, when movement drew her attention up again to the rest of the room.

The desk was shifted, papers atop it had been knocked to the floor. A pen teetered on the desktop edge, not quite settled yet from the scuffle minutes ago.

The rest of the room was reflected in a wide, ornate dusty mirror hanging on the wall, its angle just right to reveal the rest of the scene.

There was Jimmy three feet from Polly’s body, staring down, his face eight shades of red and hands clenched into shaking fists at his sides. And then his mother, Elise Hartley, at his side. Her thick dark curls were tucked in a loose tail at the back of her neck, revealing a sharp-featured, calm face as she spoke to him softly. Her hand was on his shoulder and Liliana understood everything in that small gesture, had seen it a hundred times between them.

It was the “Mommy will fix it” look. She was going to help her son get away with murder.

Liliana took a step back.

Her heel connected with the hardwood, snapping loudly in the stillness.

Elise’s eyes darted up, hit the mirror and met Liliana’s gaze.

Oh God, she can see me
.

Just as Elise whispered something to her son, Liliana turned and ran.

Back down the hall, the stairs, flying forward. She bolted out the still-open back kitchen door into the night, scrambling so fast she was surprised she didn’t twist her ankle. But her heels held, her feet didn’t betray her, and soon she was at the end of the alley, turning right to run down the street, not looking back at The Palace, the Hartleys, or anything else she might be leaving behind.

Chapter One

Jann Pedersen was already waiting in the private room of the Japanese restaurant before Michael O’Hara got there, and Mike had aimed to be ten minutes early. He disliked being late, even if he technically wasn’t—he prided himself on being early for meetings and taking a seat first. He found Jann sitting in Mike’s preferred spot, his back to the wall where he could see the exits. Though Mike bristled slightly, he didn’t let it show, and approached the table with a nod to the waitress standing just outside the archway.

Jann stood when Mike reached him, offered his hand in greeting, then sat back down. Mike deposited his coat and scarf, both damp with snow, on one of the extra chairs. The waitress stepped up as Mike sat, left them with menus and a promise of a bottle of warm sake, and then they were alone to discuss business.

With the lunch hour rush past, the restaurant beyond was quiet, but Mike still kept his voice low. “It’s been a while.”

Jann sighed and ran a hand through his head of thinning, graying hair. “And I wish it was under better circumstances.”

So he wanted to get right to the point. Good. Mike preferred that. He’d driven three hours out to meet him and given the snow building on the roads, the three hours back to Midsummer would be challenging if dusk fell before he left.

“Tell me,” Mike said.

The older man shifted and lifted his briefcase to the chair beside him. He popped open the lock and withdrew a manila envelope from within, which he passed to Mike.

The waitress returned then with the sake, nodded when Jann said they’d need a few more minutes, and exited once more. Mike waited until she was well out of sight before he opened the envelope and slid out the papers.

First was the signed contract from Seven Security, Mike’s company. All Mike had been told was that it was a bodyguard position and he’d sent the boilerplate contract over, expecting to negotiate. Instead, Jann had signed it as-is and included a check as a deposit for his services.

Interesting. Mike would still have to sign it himself before it was in effect, and that Jann hadn’t argued with any of the points—or the cost—made him wary to do so.

He set the ten-page contract facedown on the table beside him, then the check, and then looked at the following papers. A police report, witness statement, more legal files—he scanned all these, intending to come back and take a deeper look when he had the full context.

At the bottom of the stack was an 8x10 photo of a woman—an employment one, if he guessed correctly. Her full lips were painted a deep, blood red and pulled into a half-smile, the kind of grin that promised you could find out what had her smiling if you could keep up with her. Large brown eyes, dark skin, and wide glossy curls that were a raven blue-black rolled down over her shoulders. It was a headshot against a plain brick wall, a black T-shirt and the edge of a logo of some type in white high on the left side of her chest.

Liliana White
, said the sheet attached to the photo. Twenty-six. Waitress.

Witness to a murder.

He flipped back to the photo, her teasing smile drawing his attention again, then lifted his gaze to Jann. “You want her guarded until trial?”

Jann rubbed at his face, the shadows under his eyes seeming even more pronounced than they had been. “Well, the trouble there is that there
isn’t
a trial so far. Because there isn’t a body. The police are still investigating, trying to find something that’ll stick beyond the one eye-witness testimony.”

Mike set the pages down, chewing the information over while he poured himself a cup of sake and took a sip. There were plenty of questions here—why the police couldn’t keep an eye on her and who the hell would be paying for his services when there wasn’t even a trial yet. Jann was a private attorney, so he represented
someone’s
interests here, but he doubted it was the girl’s.

“So the assumption is that she’ll disappear before more evidence can be found, putting the police at square one?” Mike guessed.

Jann nodded. “It’s happened before.”

There
was the link. “Tell me.”

“About three years ago one of my clients lost their daughter. I say ‘lost’ because technically she’s missing still, but we know she’s dead. She was barely twenty, still going through a rebellious period, and dating a man her parents didn’t approve of. Her friends reported to us later that he’d been abusive.

“She’s dead. There is no doubt of that. An hour before she went missing, a homeless man witnessed the couple arguing outside their building and the boyfriend pulled her into his car. It was the last time she was seen and his whereabouts couldn’t be corroborated until the next day.”

“The witness?”

“Also ‘lost’,” and Jann made air quotes around the word, his mouth twisting with distaste, “about three days after he came forward.”

“The boyfriend?”

“Jimmy Hartley. There’s some info about him in the package but you should be able to access his detailed police record if you want it—or what exists of it. His juvie record was sealed. His adult record is sparse, scrubbed as often as possible by his mother. She owns several businesses, has more money than you’d guess at first glance, and has done what she can to keep him out of jail.”

“This girl...” He turned the pages on Liliana White over so they were facedown with the rest of the pile. Her dark eyes remained in his mind, even has he tried to shake them from his memory. “She saw him kill someone else?”

Jann nodded. “Another waitress or bartender or something he was apparently involved with. She went to the police but there was no body, no evidence. Nothing but her word, at least so far.”

“Your clients don’t want him to get away with it again.”

“Exactly.” Jann poured his own glass of sake at last and drank it down in one long sip. Then he poured another. He knew this family personally; clearly it wasn’t purely a business thing. The death of the first girl bothered him—it was in his tired expression, the pain in his eyes, the stiffness in his shoulders. Long term clients, likely—long enough that Jann had watched her grow up.

So the family had kept an eye on this Jimmy Hartley, then come to Jann and said “make sure someone nails him this time.”

Liliana White was their only link to see that done.

“Have there been any overt threats on her life yet?” Mike asked. Jann was an old friend and he’d already decided he was taking the job, but Mike still wanted to know precisely what he was getting himself into. “Or is this purely anticipating something happening to her?”

Jann scowled at this and downed more sake. “There’s barely been a chance yet.”

Mike frowned, checked the dates on the file again. “It’s been three weeks. What do you mean?”

“Oh,” Jann sighed over the lip of his sake before taking a sip, “you’ll see when you meet her.”

****