Assassin P.I. (18 page)

Chapter 17

Jack watched Angie dissolve back into that scared girl he’d first met, so many years ago. She’d been stripped of her confidence, her sex appeal, leaving nothing but a pile of exposed nerves and open wounds. Everything she’d confessed to doing, to saying, had been her way of lashing out at him, like she’d done with her dagger as a teenager.

He had every right to be angry. She’d accused him without having proof. But it didn’t make it not true. Proof or no proof, it didn’t change the facts.

Leaning forward again, he grasped both of her hands in one of his. He could feel the tremors shake her body as he caressed the back of her hands with his thumb. Tears fell onto her hand. He turned her hands over and planted a soft kiss in first one palm, and then her other. “You need to go.”

Angie yanked her hand away. “No! I won’t leave you like this. We know you were framed. We have proof.”

All the proof in the world didn’t change the fact he was guilty. Maybe not of this crime, but he was guilty all the same. “You did the right thing, Ang. And now you need to walk away. Walk away and never look back.”

Angie sat, appearing too stunned to move. It wasn’t until he stood and started banging on the windows that she fled the room.

Not long after, Deluca came to see him. “I see your girlfriend came to visit.”

Jack stared at the man, refusing to admit anything.

“I’m willing to ignore the fact that she broke into an interrogation room to have a little
tête-à-tête
with you. We won’t even charge her with any crimes.”

More silence.

Deluca raked a hand through his steel-gray hair, looking every minute of his age for the first time since they’d met. He blew out an exasperated breath. “Still sore at me, eh?”

Jack felt a cold ball form in his stomach. What was he supposed to feel? Joy that it was his best friend who was the one to arrest him and not some hothead detective trying to make a name for himself? Or was he supposed to be overcome with appreciation that he’d received a thirty-second heads-up?

“What do you know about my father’s death that you aren’t telling me?”

He could forgive Angie’s duplicity. It was the truth after all, even if she hadn’t known it at the time, she’d still been right about him, about what he was capable of doing. And he could forgive his best friend for arresting him. He had committed a crime, even if it wasn’t the one he was accused of committing. But he couldn’t forgive anyone who disparaged his father’s memory.

The days following his father’s slaying were a complete blur. The only aspect he remembered with pinpoint clarity was the hero’s funeral he’d received. Was he idolizing the man because that’s what all little boys do, worship their father? Could he be wrong about him?

“Christ, Jack. Not now. Let him rest.”

“No. I want some answers, Sam. My whole fucking life has been shrouded in mystery after mystery. Now Sweeny says my father was a dirty cop. Why, Sam, why?”

“Sweet Jesus Christ, Jack. Why are you always so fucking naïve?” Deluca slammed his hands down on the table, staring him in the eye. “Because he was, Jack. Your father, may he rest in peace, was as dirty as they come. So long as he got paid, he looked the other way, letting rich slime balls walk. Scumbags like Trevor Santino and Benico Acevedo.”

Steeling himself against the heartache that came from shattered illusions, Jack gritted his teeth, shoving the pain down as far as he could. His father was dead. Not good, not bad, just dead.

Disappointment clouded Deluca’s eyes. “I was trying to protect you. Little boys are supposed to worship their fathers. I was hoping that maybe you’d grow up to be different, better somehow.”

But he wasn’t. Bending the law to clean up the streets was no better than being on the take. At least his father had only accepted bribes. Jack’s sins ran much deeper than that.

“On behalf of the Ellington Bay Police Department, we thank you for your time and cooperation. The charges against you have been dropped.”

Every muscle in his body screamed in protest as he stood. The charges may have been dropped, this time, but Jack knew—he could feel it in his bones—that the hellish roller-coaster ride he was on wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

No. He was still clicking along the track, slowly inching his way toward what was sure to be a free fall into Hell.

After collecting his belongings, Deluca escorted Jack to the front door of the precinct. The two men eyed each other warily. Too much had been said, too many secrets spilled for one day. Deluca finally sighed and gave Jack an awkward hug. Shielding his mouth from the prying eyes of the surveillance cameras, Deluca whispered in Jack’s ear, “That job you’re doing? Tick-tock, Jack, time’s running out. You’ve got twenty-four hours left as a free man if that job ain’t done.”

Abruptly releasing him, Deluca stepped back and smiled wide. “Have a nice day.”

When Jack walked out of the Ellington
Bay Police Precinct, a free man, it wasn’t the first time that day that FBI agent Nick Shaw questioned his own sanity. What was he doing helping the very same criminal he was trying to put away?

If Jack was surprised to see him, his face didn’t give anything away. He tugged his hat lower.

“Thought you might need food”—he waggled the take-out bag filled with a greasy burger and fries in front of Jack’s face, hoping to appeal to his hunger—“and a ride to the impound lot.” It had been noon when the arrest warrant had been served. It was now well into the late-evening hours and he suspected Jack had missed both lunch and dinner.

Jack brushed past Nick and hit the sidewalk. “She told me everything.”

Denying the truth was pointless. When Angie disappeared into the depths of the police department, not to return until nearly fifteen minutes later, he’d suspected as much. Her makeup had been smudged beneath puffy eyes, but she’d plastered on a fake smile until they’d exited the building a short time later. Silence had permeated the car on the drive to her apartment. He had no idea what kind of deal the two of them had brokered, or how Jack had received the news of Angie’s deceit. It didn’t take much to deduce that the conversation hadn’t gone well. “I figured as much.”

Nick trailed after Jack, curious as to what he would do now that he was temporarily free. Following Jack’s lead, Nick matched his pace. It wasn’t until the man turned into the parking lot that Nick let himself relax. Maybe Jack was going to come to his senses after all.

Jack stopped at the front passenger door. His eyebrow quirked while he waited for the car to be unlocked. “Well? You gonna give me that ride or not?”

The locks disengaged and Nick lofted the fast food bag into the air. Jack snatched it easily and slid into the vehicle. A minute later, the car pulled out and headed for the impound lot. They drove in silence while Jack devoured the contents of the bag.

It was Nick who finally spoke first. He slid a sideways glance at the man sitting beside him. “I believe you.”

At first, he wasn’t sure Jack had even heard him. The only sound he heard was the beating of his own heart, the blood rushing through his veins. Gaining Jack’s trust was vital now that he’d lost Angie’s help with the case.

“Why now?”

“Because it’s true.” They both knew it. No point in rehashing how he knew. “How in the hell do we take down an entire force of corrupt officers?”

“We don’t. I do. You?” Jack appraised Nick, apparently contemplating Nick’s role. “You follow the money trail.” Any further discussion of the issue was cut off when Jack tugged his hat down over his eyes, and within seconds had dozed off.

Nick drove the rest of the way, lost in thought. Jack might not believe it now, but he was no match for the corruption that had grown like black mold. Corruption like this didn’t happen overnight, and it rarely was localized to one small group of people. No. Immortality had pervaded the town, seeping into every nook and cranny and it would take more than one man to single-handedly clean it up.

Jack stirred, but didn’t open his eyes when Nick turned left into the impound lot driveway. “Lot’s closed.”

“Not for me, it isn’t. You aren’t the only one who has friends in high places.”

They say when you’re caught between a rock and a hard place, wi
th death staring you in the face everywhere you turn, your body’s fight or flight response kicks in. And right now, every fiber of his being was screaming at him to run far, far away. Run to that island he’d been saving his pennies for. Forget he’d ever been a cop in the first place. It’s what any smart man in his position would do.

Twenty-four hours.

Jack mulled over the possibilities. Packing would be a cinch. His sparse apartment held few, if any, true items of value—sentimental or monetary. A closetful of suits would do him no good on the sandy beaches of Bora Bora or Costa Rica. Truth be told, other than a couple of keepsakes from his parents and the cash he’d stashed, he’d have no trouble walking away from the meager life he’d built.

In the misty darkness, the car idled while he contemplated his next move.

Left or right. His brain ping-ponged, weighing each option carefully. Left or right.

Left led back to his place. In five minutes flat he could be packed, his trunk full of cash, and hit the open road, leaving everything behind. The Fed. Angie. Deluca. Sweeny. All of it. Just a bad memory like a hangover after a night spent drinking too much tequila.

But could he really walk away?

An image of his mother, tears streaming down her face, floated in front of his mind’s eye. She was the only innocent victim in the whole damned mess. His heart clenched at the thought of leaving her alone to fend for herself, forever locked inside her own memories, trapped in her mind with no way of communicating to the outside world. Alone.

He’d never been one to walk away from a case, let a killer walk free to do what they do best . . . kill. But then again, he’d never had the Feds breathing down his back, either. Coupled with the filth of corruption that had infiltrated the town he loved, Jack wasn’t sure the city was worth saving anymore. Let some other schmuck be the hero for once.

But running away wouldn’t—couldn’t—save him from his own demons. Eventually he’d have to face them. Wouldn’t he?

Twenty-four hours.

The stoplight turned green. Decision time.

Fight or flight? Left or right?

Ah, hell. He’d never claimed to be a smart man. If he was going to go down, he’d go down swinging. He flicked his turn signal on, and turned right—right back into the cesspool of danger, where death eagerly awaited him.

Chapter 18

Thirty minutes and a half dozen phone calls later, Jack ducked into a local pool hall, scoping out the lay of the land. For the most part, the joint was empty, save for a few harmless drunk and disorderly types. Ahead of him was a bartender swiping down a countertop. To the left were the bathrooms, and to the right Little Frankie and the boys were bent over a pool table chasing the eight ball. Jack veered to the right.

Gathering the boys together on such short notice wasn’t all that hard to do. What he was about to ask them to do, was.

A groan went through the group as the cue ball missed its mark, dropping into the pocket instead. When Frankie turned and saw Jack ambling his direction, relief lit Frankie’s face. “Look who made it out alive, boys.”

The other men stopped what they were doing to gawk at Jack. There were no illusions anymore about whether corruption had tainted the local police department. Ellington Bay politics had been tainted since Jack was a child. The only question now was how far and how deep the depravity went. That’s where Frankie and his boys came in.

Vito clapped a hand down on Jack’s shoulder. “Hope you gave ‘em hell.”

One of the boys whistled for the bartenders to bring another round of beers. The moment over, the men drifted back to their perspective locations around the pool table.

“Rack ‘em, Jack.” Mo used the back of his wrist to push the hair off his forehead. Each pocket was emptied, pool balls rolling in Jack’s general direction.

The banter between the men resumed while Jack set up the next game. Could he really ask his friends, the last of his father’s friends, to follow him into the black jaws of hell? He couldn’t guarantee their safety, or his, anymore. But what choice did he have?

With the balls in place, he returned the rack to its place on the wall and picked up a cue stick, waiting for Mo to break. Cocking his hip against a wall, he glanced toward the door and caught the vision of a Greek goddess walking toward him in strappy heels that led to long-legged goodness. Gold-flecked eyes glimmered as they caught and held his gaze. He sucked in a breath, and waited for his heart to start beating again.

God, he was going soft.

Despite all that had happened between them, both in the past and now, his stomach still flip-flopped every time he saw her walking his way. He could forgive her for siccing a Fed on him, accusing him of offing her lover. Hell. He’d done exactly that and far worse. But could
she
forgive
him
? Somewhere, deep in the depths of his psyche, he knew he could never have her. She’d never be his, truly, especially once she knew the truth about what he’d done.

But none of that mattered when he watched Angie make her way toward him. His heart still rejoiced, his body responding in a way that made him want to drag her off to the nearest hotel to have his way with her. To make her come again and again until she screamed his name.

The bartender set a frosty bottle of beer in front of him. He mumbled a polite “thanks” but couldn’t tear his eyes away from Angie as she crossed the last ten feet to stand before him. A bevy of emotions crossed her delicate features, and he read the uncertainty there.

“You sure?” he asked.

She tucked a rebellious strand of hair behind one ear. “Are you?”

No. For all he knew he was leading them all into certain death. He gripped the cold bottle of beer and raised it to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers.

Angie’s eyes narrowed, dark and playful, as she swiped the bottle from his hands, and took a quick drink. Smiling sweetly, she tsk’d. “Uh-huh. Drunk Jack can’t think straight. Tonight we need Sober Jack.”

For the first time, Little Frankie seemed to notice Angie’s presence. The relaxed atmosphere shifted, the air suddenly thick with tension. With furrowed brow, Frankie took the drink from Angie’s hand and dropped it back on the table in front of Jack. “After what Jack’s been through, the man needs a drink. We all do.”

As if on cue, Frankie and the boys all took a drink from their bottles, defiantly gulping down the mind-numbing swill. He glared at Angie first, and then Jack. “Christ, Jack. Did you have to bring the girl with ya?”

Jack shrugged and brought the drink to his lips. “For better or worst, she’s a part of this.”

Before he could take a swig, Angie relieved him of his drink again and walked around to the other side of the pool table, out of arm’s reach. Jack licked off the couple of drops that had splashed onto his lips. Stalking his prey, he stood and strode toward her, trapping her in a corner. She clutched his beer behind her back. “I believe that’s my drink you stole.”

Her breath quick on his cheek, Jack gave in and touched a lock of her hair, feeling the silky strands as they curled around his fingers. It was too much to resist. He dropped his head and planted a gentle kiss on her neck. The way her pulse quickened beneath his lips told him everything he needed to know. She was his. For better, or for worse, she would always be his.

Behind him, Frankie was still grousing over Angie’s presence. “She’ll just get in the way. Women are worthless in a man’s fight.”

Passion gave way to the sudden thunderstorm brewing in Angie’s eyes. “Is that so, huh?” She thrust Jack’s drink into his hands, and shoved him away from her. Hiking up her skirt, she produced a dagger from its hidden sheath strapped to her thigh.

The challenge had been issued and there was no way Jack planned to get in the way of his lady when she was out to prove herself to the boys. He took three steps back and took a sip while he still could.

“Can a worthless girl do this?” The scowl of concentration that scrunched up her face was cute. Lips pursed, she eyed her target and took aim. The knife let loose, sailing through the air the twenty feet to the dartboard. It sank with deadly accuracy. Bull’s-eye.

She turned and pried Jack’s fingers from the bottle, taking it for herself. With a smug air of pride, she threw back her head and gulped down a quarter of his beer before turning to Little Frankie. “Does it look like I’m a helpless little girl who needs protection?”

Damn. Saucy Angie was almost as hot as Seductive Angie. Then again he also liked her when she was vulnerable, angry, and submissive. But his favorite was when she took charge. Bossy Angie might be his favorite one yet.

“Another round!”

If going out in a blaze of glory was all that the future held for him, he might as well get shit-faced drunk first.

When Nick entered the pool hal
l, it didn’t take long to spot Jack. Surrounded by a small group of over-the-hill men, Jack sat perched on a stool enthralling his cronies with a story. Angie hovered nearby, batting her golden eyes adoringly.

He was screwed. Even if he could prove that Jack killed Trevor, there was no way she’d help him make the case.

Angie saw him first, her lovely smile replaced with a thin-lipped grimace. Distrust clouded her eyes, dimming the joy that had been there only seconds before. She leaned over and whispered in Jack’s ear.

Heads swiveled to watch his approach. The older men stood, cue sticks in hand, and closed ranks around Jack. A protective bunch, weren’t they? They eyed him suspiciously as he made his way to their table.

Nick scratched the side of his head. Why exactly was he here? Because Jack asked him to be there. How quickly the tables had turned. Yesterday, he was hot on the trail of an accused killer. Today, he’d joined forces with his suspect, following orders like he was a damned sidekick. Thank God his family wasn’t here to see it. He’d never live it down if they were.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is, boys. The Fed. You got some serious
cajones
coming in here.” This from one of Jack’s buddies, a short rotund man sporting a head of silver-gray hair. A pool stick aimed at his throat prevented him from coming any closer. “Who says you’re invited to the party?”

Nick debated his answer, choosing his next words carefully. “Who do you think sprang your buddy?”

The standoff lasted a couple more tense seconds until Jack put his hand on the cue stick and forced it to lower. “Down boys. I invited him. This little powwow of ours isn’t complete until we’ve got all the players in place.”

One of the men grumbled, “You’re working with the enemy, Jack.”

Jack laughed and slapped the man on the back as the group disbursed. “According to the fine, upstanding officers of Ellington Bay P.D., I
am
the enemy.”

“No. You’re one of the last good guys.” This from another gray-headed man with overly hairy arms.

Taking a seat, Nick gave Angie a curt nod, before turning his attention back to the ringleader of the older men.

“Geez, kid. Could ya’ lose the FBI duds? You stick out like a sore thumb with that baby-faced innocence jive you’ve got goin’ on.”

“Leave the kid alone, Frankie. Someday he’ll be old and jaded, like us. All in due time.” Jack shook Nick’s hand and signaled for the bartender.

Draping a protective arm around her boyfriend, Angie regarded him from her stool. Behind those half-lowered lids lay a seething pool of suspicion. She didn’t trust him any more than he trusted her at this point.

Nick waved off the drink the bartender brought him. Once formal introductions had commenced, and several minutes of mindless chitchat had been dispensed with, the group migrated back around the pool table where Jack took charge.

Using the table as a map, Jack placed a ball down in the center of the green felt. “Here’s our local friendly Ellington Bay P.D. And here’s where Edwin Doheny, our paid witness, washed ashore.” He placed another ball on the far left side. “Whoever paid Edwin to lie about Trevor’s death saw Edwin talking to me and had him killed. I’d be willing to bet Edwin’s brother knows who that person is. Frankie, I need you to drive Upstate a ways and have a little chat with him. Grease enough palms and I’m sure the prison warden won’t mind at all.”

Another ball, this time to the right of the table, was dropped into place. “This is my ma. Mo and Vito are gonna take her for a nice drive up the coast. I don’t care where you go, but get her someplace safe. Someplace she’ll be comfortable and taken care of. And take Shamus, too.”

There was no discussion of how Jack would be in contact later, no mention of bringing her back home once the dust cleared. By the grave expressions on the men’s faces, it occurred to Nick that none of them expected Jack to make it out of this alive. Not even Jack.

From the corner of the pool table, Angie stood, solemnly taking in the elements of the plan. Nursing the cocktail she held, her body taut with tension, she cast furtive glances Nick’s way. She wanted to talk. He could feel it.

Either that, or she wanted to kill him. He couldn’t be sure which.

From within his trench coat, Jack produced a journal or ledger of sorts. He handed it to Nick. “This is Trevor’s records. Somewhere in here you’ll find a money trail. Follow it, no matter where it leads.”

A cryptic message? Did Jack suspect where the trail led? Or did he already know? Nick turned the ledger over in his hands, but resisted the urge to fan the pages until he was alone.

Jack appraised the two remaining men gathered round. He nodded to each in turn. “Sal. Knuckles. Angie’s your responsibility now. Take her wherever the pretty lady wants.”

Angie exploded. “Like hell they will! I’m not going anywhere.” No one spoke while Jack and Angie faced off in a battle of wills. “And where will you be, Mr. Big Shot? What’s your part in all this?”

“I’ve got a job to finish and some loose ends to tie up.”

Nick had a good idea of what that job entailed: Killing Benicio Acevedo. And he couldn’t let that happen.