Bad Guys Don't Win (Janet Maple Series Book 4) (4 page)

The next day, Janet came in to work in a
much better mood. Dennis really was very good at foot massages, but then he was
exceptional at so many other things too. She felt her face grow warm, the
details of last night with Dennis flashing in her mind with life-like vividness.
Flushed, Janet looked around self-consciously, hoping her expression didn’t
give away her X-rated thoughts. There was really no need to worry since Kirk
& Associates private intelligence agency consisted of four rooms and four
employees: Janet, Dennis and their boss, Hamilton (Ham) Kirk, making up the
investigative staff, along with a recently hired receptionist, Anne Waters. Ham
rarely got involved with the nitty-gritty. Instead, he was busy hobnobbing with
the high-ranking officials at the FBI and big wigs at other government agencies
to ensure a steady flow of work for Kirk & Associates. Years spent as a
senior official at the Treasury department of investigations provided Ham with
an impressive rolodex, not that he needed to work it much lately. Ever since
Kirk & Associates, or to be more specific, Janet and Dennis, had helped the
FBI arrest Eastern Europe’s biggest mobster, the agency was overflowing with
assignments.

Janet eyed her busy schedule on the
computer screen—she really needed to get cracking. She was working on three
investigations at once, and if that weren’t enough, she had a lunch meeting
with the wedding planner. Dennis was supposed to come with her, but she wasn’t
counting on it—he’d said something about doing field research for one of his
cases this morning before leaving her place at the crack of dawn. It was almost
ten a.m. now, and he still wasn’t at the office, so it was unlikely he’d be
able to tear himself away from his desk for a wedding appointment. On any other
day Janet might have been bummed out, but not today. Dennis had redeemed
himself last night, buying himself absolution for a few more skipped
appointments. After all, what man was ever excited about wedding plans? Huff
and puff as she might, planning a wedding with Dennis Walker for a fiancé
wasn’t the worst of chores.

Janet was about to start analysis for
one of her cases when she remembered she was supposed to bring pictures of her
dream wedding cake for her meeting with the wedding planner. She’d prepared a
folder at home, which she now realized was right where she’d left it—on her
credenza. Quickly, she did an Internet search for wedding cakes she and Dennis
had previously picked and hit the print button.

Just then the door of her office was
thrown wide open and Dennis burst in.

“Good morning,” she greeted him,
swiveling in her chair. “How did it go?”

“Have you seen the papers this morning?”

Dennis dumped the paper on her desk with
a thump. The headline read,
Petr Kovar and Nephews Die in a Car Accident
during a Transfer to a Jail Facility
.

Janet put the papers aside. “What a
horrible way to go.”

“Really?” Dennis paced the floor.
“That’s all you have to say?”

“Well, I don’t know— It does sound
pretty horrible, even for the Kovars.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean, exactly?” She asked,
a little exasperated and irked by the fact that Dennis was more interested in a
stupid newspaper article than their wedding cake—he didn’t even notice the
website on her screen. Yeah, sure they had both worked hard on the Kovars case,
but it was old history. And now that the Kovars were dead, there was no point
in rehashing it.

“Read the rest of the article.” Dennis
thrust the newspaper under her nose.

Janet patiently read on, this time out
loud. “Former Eastern Europe crime czar, Petr Kovar, and his nephews, Anton and
Roman Kovar, were being transported to a different jail facility after reported
attempts on the Kovars’ lives. During the transfer, the prison vehicle carrying
the Kovars collided with an oil truck, resulting in a massive explosion. Petr
Kovar and his two nephews, Roman and Anton Kovar, have been confirmed dead.”
Janet paused and looked up at Dennis. “Like I said, pretty horrible. The Kovars
were scumbags of the first degree, but even scumbags don’t deserve to be fried
alive.”

Dennis looked like he was going to
explode. “Janet, wake up! Are you really not seeing it?”

“Seeing what?”

Dennis clasped his hands behind his head
and groaned. “Will you listen to yourself? Do you have cotton in your ears and
wool over your eyes?”

“You’re acting like a maniac. Would you
calm down and explain what’s going on?”

“The whole thing was staged for the
Kovars to escape!”

“I don’t know how anyone could escape
after being fried and blown to pieces,” Janet countered. Sometimes Dennis’s imagination
got the better of him. “Look, I know you like to leave no stone unturned, but
I’ve got something else I’m working on that I have to finish up before the
lunch meeting with our wedding planner.”

“Wedding planner meeting?” Dennis asked
as though he was hearing about it for the first time.

“I’ve told you about it several times. I
assume you won’t be able to make it?”

“Make it?” Dennis repeated distractedly.

“I’ll take it as a no then.” Janet
grimaced. “No worries. It’s only to discuss our wedding cake. I can take care
of it.”

“Wedding cake? I’ve just told you the
Kovars escaped jail and you’re worrying about wedding cakes?”

Now it was Janet’s turn to lose her
patience. “First of all, I’m not worrying about just any wedding cake. I’m
worrying about our wedding cake, which in case you’ve forgotten happens to be a
pretty important part of a wedding. And if ours is ever to take place, we’d
better get the ball rolling!” she finished in a much louder voice than she
intended.

“It’s all this wedding stuff—you’re so
preoccupied with it, you’re losing your edge.”

“Well, excuse me for trying to plan our
wedding. Someone has to—”

“What’s all this ruckus?” In the heat of
their debate they failed to see Ham Kirk in the doorway. “What’s going on
here?” Ham demanded, his hands on his hips.

“Nothing,” Janet mumbled. “We were just
discussing an old case.”

“The Kovars are out on the loose.”
Dennis pressed the newspaper into Ham’s chest. “All that hard work and not a
year has gone by before they’re out on the street again.”

Ham took out his reading glasses from
his inside jacket pocket and turned his attention to the paper. For a few
moments his face remained impassive as his eyes scanned the article. After he
finished reading, Ham meticulously folded the newspaper and threw it into the
garbage can.

“Dennis, my boy, you have a very vivid
imagination. It has served you well in this line of work, but I fear right now
it’s becoming a liability.”

“Excuse me, sir?” Dennis looked at his
boss and mentor in disbelief. “Don’t you think it’s obvious there’s foul play—”

“When it comes to investigations, I
don’t think unless I’m paid to,” Ham cut him off. “And right now I have a long
list of cases this agency is being paid to solve. Unless I’m mistaken, I don’t
remember seeing a retainer for reopening the Kovars case. Therefore, I do not
concern myself with the Kovars’ whereabouts, which appear to be otherworldly at
any rate and beyond our control. I suggest you do the same.”

“But sir—”

Ham looked up sharply from beneath his
reading glasses. “Don’t ‘but sir’ me, Dennis. We’re a private agency and we do
the work we’re paid to do. Let the FBI worry about the Kovars—they certainly
have the resources for the job. We’ve got our reputation to uphold—”

“That’s exactly what I meant, sir,”
Dennis interjected heatedly. “Janet and I both worked on the Kovars case and
now they’ve made a mockery of our work. How can our agency have any credibility
if the culprits we catch walk away scott-free the moment we lock them up?”

“We don’t lock anyone up,” Ham corrected
him. “We merely collect the facts needed to apprehend the offenders. We don’t
detain them and we’re certainly not accountable for keeping them locked up
behind bars—that’s the law enforcement’s job. And if you’re really concerned
about our credibility, Dennis, I suggest you get cracking on the cases piled up
on your desk. Try following Janet’s example for a change and focus on what’s
important,” Ham added, clearly oblivious to the screenshots of wedding cakes on
her computer screen, and left the room.

“You should’ve just left the whole thing
alone.” Janet instantly regretted her words—if there was one thing Dennis
hated, it was being proven wrong.

Dennis shrugged. “I guess Ham cares more
about ringing the cash register than keeping the bad guys off the streets. But
that doesn’t mean we have to be the same way.”

“What can we do? Ham is our boss.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t mean we always
have to do what he says.”

“You’re not going to do anything crazy,
are you?” Janet asked, sounding a bit more panicky than she intended. “Neither
of us can afford to get fired right now.”
We have a wedding to plan
, she
wanted to say, but thought it would only add oil to the fire.

“Don’t worry. Everything is going to be
alright,” Dennis assured her, but the adamant look on his face told her it was
going to be anything but.

“You’re not planning to go behind Ham’s
back, are you? Because if Ham finds out, he’ll be furious—”

“I’m not going to do anything crazy.
I’ll just keep my ear to the ground, that’s all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d
better start going through those cases on my desk.”

With a sigh, Janet nodded. If there was
one thing she knew about her fiancé, it was that it was useless to argue with
him when he had his mind set on something.

“Miss Brabec, Miss Walsh, everything
seems to be in order,” the lawyer concluded. “If you could please just sign
here and here,” he added, marking the spots with an X, “we should be all set.”

Mila covertly wiped the unusually clammy
palms of her hands on her thighs and reached for a pen. She never got nervous
sweats, but today both her armpits and palms were oozing moisture. But then it
wasn’t every day she was signing paperwork for a six-figure loan.

“Amy, Mila, I’m so glad to be partners
with you.” Philip shook their hands in turn. “I can tell this is going to be a
very exciting and fruitful venture for all of us.”

“So are we, Philip. So are we.” Amy
flashed him a bright smile. “Now let’s get this baby signed.” Amy scribbled her
signature in the indicated spots. “Your turn, Mila.” She turned the paperwork
over to Mila. “Let’s make this official. I can’t wait to head over to the new
spot and start construction.”

Her throat too dry to utter a word, Mila
clutched a pen with shaky fingers and scrawled her signature across from Amy’s.
She pushed the paperwork away. “All set,” she managed.

Philip squeezed her arm reassuringly.
“Nothing is going to change, darling, you’ll see. Except for the fact that now
you have the means to expand Amy and Mila’s to its next stage.”

“I know.” Mila nodded. “I know.”

“We’d better get moving.” Amy got up.
“We don’t want to be late for our meeting with the contractor.”

“After you, ladies.” Philip held the
door of the conference room open for them. They were meeting in the
headquarters of his company in Midtown, Manhattan. The meeting with the
contractor was at Amy and Mila’s, which was an hour away. But with heavy
traffic in the City, they’d be lucky to make it on time.

After a quick elevator ride, the three
of them exited the chrome and marble encrusted building lobby. Philip didn’t
own the building, but his company occupied the better part of it, and its name
was prominently displayed in the lobby.

“My driver is waiting for us,” Philip
informed them, holding the glass door open.

As promised, a black Mercedes was
waiting for them by the curb. A uniformed driver emerged quickly, opening the
door and ushering Mila and Amy inside. The executive car model had plenty of
room in the back seat for the three of them.

Philip gave the driver the address and
asked him to step on it.

“I’ll do my best, sir, but the traffic
has been horrendous today,” the driver informed them apologetically.

“Isn’t this exciting?” Amy sounded like
a school girl. “I could get used to a life like this.” She leaned back against
the seat, stretching out her legs.

“I dare say this calls for a
celebration.” Philip reached for a bottle of champagne that had been left in an
ice bucket, along with three champagne flutes. He popped the cork and Amy
squealed with delight.

Mila laughed along, but her laugh was
forced. She couldn’t tell what it was, but somehow she just couldn’t seem to
shake off the heavy feeling that had been bothering her all day. She felt bad
about it, fearing Philip might think her ungrateful. Despite his assurances of
how promising their business model was, she knew damn well he was taking a
great chance on her and Amy, giving them the break of a lifetime. And she was
grateful for it—she really was, but she was also terrified that she might not
live up to the expectations, and the last thing she needed was Philip taking
pity on her. At least that was the only reasonable explanation she could find
for her sour mood.

Philip handed Mila a glass of champagne.
“To new and exciting things.”

“That’s my kind of toast.” Amy clinked
her glass against Philip and Mila’s and then proceeded to drain most of its
contents in one long gulp.

Mila forced herself to take a sip. She
was so nervous, she worried she might throw up.

“What’s the matter, Mila? Don’t you want
to celebrate?” Amy nudged her.

“I do.” Sensing Philip’s concerned
glance, Mila forced lightness into her voice. “I just don’t want to get tipsy
for our meeting with the contractor.”

“Your lame excuse won’t work on me, or
have you forgotten how many drinks we’ve had together?” Amy reminded her. “I
don’t remember you being such a lightweight.”

Obediently, Mila drained the rest of her
glass. If she couldn’t shake off the gloominess keeping her down, she was going
to drown it with alcohol.

“That’s my girl.” Amy nodded
approvingly. “How about a refill, Philip?”

“Coming right up.” Philip refilled Amy’s
glass and hesitated before refilling Mila’s. “You don’t have to drink if you
don’t feel like it, darling,” he added—nothing ever got past him.

“It’s all right,” Mila forced some cheer
into her voice. “As long as Amy remembers all the details for the contractor
meeting, we’ll be in good shape.”

“I got it all down pat,” Amy shot back.

After fifty minutes of stop-and-go
traffic, they were finally approaching their destination. Amy and Mila’s was
still a few blocks away when Mila noticed that several surrounding streets had
been blocked off, with traffic being re-routed.

“What are all those fire trucks and
police cars doing here?” Mila asked, her stomach tightening.

“Oh, it’s probably a false alarm,” Amy
said. “I bet some geezer called 911 and the lot of them rushed to respond.”

“I’m afraid this is the closest I can
get, Mr. Barrett,” the driver informed Philip apologetically.

“That’s all right, Joe. We can walk from
here,” Philip said. “Ladies, shall we?”

“It seems we have no other choice,” Amy
said grumpily. “And here I was hoping to impress the contractor with your ride,
Philip.”

“Amy, you don’t need a fancy car to
impress anyone,” Philip said. “I got the door, Joe, just stay put,” he
instructed the chauffer.

“The one day I decide to wear heels, I
end up schlepping over these damn cobblestones,” Amy grumbled, ambling over the
patchy stone pavement that was prevalent in the neighborhood.

“It’s only a couple of blocks,” Mila
said, feeling a genuine urge to smile for the first time since the morning—the
sight of Amy hobbling along was enough to dispel even the direst of worries.

They were a block away from Amy and
Mila’s when Mila felt her insides tighten with increased intensity—the two
adjacent streets were swarming with fire trucks, firemen, and policemen. Just
as they tried to get closer to the building that housed Amy and Mila’s, a
policeman stopped them. “There’s been a fire. This area is closed off.”

“You have to let us through!” Amy
demanded. “We own a bar in the building right on this block—”

The policeman’s face softened. “My
condolences, ma’am, but the building you’re referring to has been destroyed by
the fire. The fire is under control, but we can’t let you onto the scene just
yet. We would like to get your statement, of course. I’m going to need
identification.”

Mila squinted her eyes and felt her
insides lurch—the fire had consumed Amy and Mila’s. The building was no more,
with only smoke and ashes left. She looked at Amy, feeling as though she were
in a nightmare and had somehow imagined the whole thing.

Amy paled, her face turning ash-gray.
“The entire building burned down? There has to be some mistake—it can’t be!”
She broke off, sobbing.

“Calm down, Amy.” Philip offered his arm
for support. “Officer, it’d be greatly appreciated if we could discuss this
matter somewhere more civilized. This is a great shock.”

“Yes, of course. Go down to the station
and we’ll take your statement there,” the officer instructed them.

“Mila, Amy, you heard the officer,”
Philip said calmly. “Officer, if you could please give us the directions to the
station?”

“How did the fire get started?” Mila
managed to ask after the policeman told them how to get to the station. Her
throat was so dry, it felt as though it was going to crack from the effort of
speaking.

“Beats me.” The policeman shrugged.
“We’ve been questioning the onlookers, but no one seems to have any useful
information. You know how people are—they love to gape, but that’s about the
extent of it.”

Mila nodded, barely able to contain her
tears. Amy and Mila’s had burned down to the ground and just like that they
were out of business. Each day would be burning a huge hole in their pockets,
catapulting them to a financial disaster. How on earth were she and Amy ever
going to repay their loan now?

Philip threw an irritated glance at the
policeman. “Thank you, officer. You’ve been most helpful.” He squeezed Mila’s
arm reassuringly. “Mila, Amy, please be calm. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”
Philip quickly dialed a number on his cell phone.

“Who are you calling?” Mila asked, awed
by Philip’s coolness—you’d never guess that he’d just signed paperwork
promising a six-figure loan for a business that had gone up in smoke.

“My lawyer and a private investigator,”
Philip explained and began giving brisk, precise instructions over the phone.

***

It was almost eight at night when Mila
walked into her studio apartment. Exhausted, she dropped her purse on the
floor, shut the front door behind her, and pressed her back against the rigid
surface, closing her eyes. To think that things could go so massively wrong in
a matter of hours. One moment she was on top of the world, embarking on what
she hoped to be an exciting and successful venture, and the next, all her hopes
were crumbling. Of course it could always be worse. Having Philip for support
was tremendous luck, but that didn’t mean she was going to take advantage of
him. No, she was going to meet her obligations, fair and square. The only
question burning in her mind was just how she was going to do it. She and Amy
had bought fire insurance, but as always, insurance companies were very eager
to sell you policies, which they were equally eager to avoid paying claims on.
A preliminary conversation with the insurance agent had made it clear it was
going to be a while before Mila and Amy would see a dime of their claim. Again,
Philip told Mila not to worry—he’d hired a private contractor to watch out for
any funny business on the insurance company’s part. Mila sighed, shaking her
head. How easy it would be to simply rely on Philip and let herself drift along
the tide—let someone else take care of all her problems. But she knew from
experience that this kind of thinking would only bring more problems down the
line.

Enough wallowing
, Mila thought.
What she needed now was a good night’s sleep. It was tempting to simply crawl
into bed, right in her clothes and shoes, but even a disaster of mega
proportions wasn’t an excuse for becoming a slob. That’s how one sank to the
bottom—it started gradually by skimping on little things and then grew, like a
snowball, amassing more misery and self-pity.
I’m going to take a long, hot
bath and then I’m going to bed.
Tomorrow is a new day
, she reminded
herself.

Ignoring her fatigue, Mila stooped to
pick up her purse off the floor. Absent-mindedly she grabbed an envelope that
must have been shoved under her door.
Probably another stupid announcement
from the landlord
, she thought, about to chuck it, but the name typed on
the envelope made her pause—
Milochka
. Only her mother and one other
person had called her that, and Mila was certain there was no way for her
mother, who lived in Prague, to shove an unstamped enveloped beneath her door.
Her hands shaking, Mila pried open the envelope.
I’d go to the end of the
earth to find you
, was typed in the middle of a white page.

There was no signature or any
handwritten marks on either the letter or the envelope to identify the sender,
but Mila felt her back break out in cold sweat, as her entire body began to
shake uncontrollably. She had heard these words uttered many times by a man who
elicited nothing but dread and disgust in her. She knew exactly who had sent
her the letter and she was terrified.