Be Careful What You Wish For (2 page)

Levi scooted into a sitting position and squinted through his right eye.

Five!

Levi managed to drag himself to a standing position on wobbly legs. He clamped his left glove over his eye again.

The referee got in Levi’s face, saying something I couldn’t hear over the shouts from the crowd. He whispered something to Levi, who removed the glove, giving the referee a good look.

The noise from the crowd got louder as the referee led Levi back to his corner, where a guy with
Doctor
sprawled in yellow letters on his jacket was waiting to check him out.

Levi’s team crowded protectively around him like vultures circling carrion, blocking any view by the cameras.

Shortly after, the referee declared Levi unfit to carry on fighting due to the deep gash above his eye and pronounced Ricky Jackson the winner by TKO. Ricky bounded around the ring like an excited puppy, punching his arm in the air and smiling so wide I could see his gums.

I downed the last of my wine and Brad paused the playback before pouring me another.

‘OK, did you see that Levi was distracted by that guy who was shouting at him?’ Brad said.

‘Yes.’ I thought about the scene I’d just witnessed. ‘Did you see the look on Levi’s face when he heard him? Levi’s head whipped around to face the guy, and he looked really shocked by whatever he was saying. Scared almost.’

‘That’s the impression I got, too. Levi is a professional boxer – he’s trained to not let anything going on outside the ring distract him, but he was certainly distracted by that. It doesn’t seem right to me.’ Brad turned to face me on the sofa and stretched his arm along the back so his fingers were within easy reaching distance of me. They radiated heat like a furnace.

‘So, what, you think that little scene was staged to make Levi throw the fight and go out deliberately in the sixth round?’

Brad thought about this, head on one side, for a moment. ‘Probably not. I don’t think any boxer would want to risk unnecessary injury by not keeping his defence up. There are easier ways to throw a fight, if that was the intention.’

‘What then?’ I sipped my wine, staring at the screen to avoid thinking about the crackling tension I could feel through the small gap between us. ‘Do you know the guy who was shouting at Levi? I recognize him from somewhere.’

‘You should do. He’s Carl Thomas: he and his wife live near your parents.’

I nodded. ‘Yes, that’s it. He’s the CEO of that bank…what’s the name of it?’

‘Don’t you remember? It was plastered all over the newspapers last week.’

I turned and rolled my eyes at him. ‘When do I have time to read the papers? My boss has me worked off my feet!’

‘You love it.’ A grin danced around the edges of his mouth.

Well, yes, I suppose he had a point there. In between debating my love life, I lived for my job catching bad guys. Actually, no, that wasn’t strictly true anymore. When I was a cop, I caught bad guys. Now I investigated insurance claims, but somehow I always managed to catch cases that still involved the bad guys. Lucky or crazy? I’m not sure which. This was precisely why I needed my investigatorish tools of a stun gun and my SIG handgun. I was a good shot, too. I’d even popped a cap in my ex boss’s ass. Not that I’m proud of it, really. OK, maybe just a little bit. It’s a long story and she more than deserved it.

‘OK, I’ll help you out,’ Brad said. ‘The bank is Kinghorn Thomas, owned by Carl Thomas and Edward Kinghorn.’

My eyes widened. ‘The same bank that had a safety deposit box robbery last week?’

Brad gave me a cool nod. ‘The very same.’

‘Romeo is investigating that case.’

‘What did he tell you about it?’

I tilted my head down and avoided his steady gaze. ‘Not much. The only thing I know is they haven’t caught anyone responsible yet.’

Brad raised an eyebrow. ‘Aren’t you discussing cop talk in the bedroom anymore?’

I suddenly found my nails incredibly interesting and stared at them until my eyes watered.

‘Well?’ Brad said.

Damn. He wouldn’t stop until I gave up some information. ‘Well if you must know, we’re on a break at the moment.’ I fixed my eyes firmly back on the TV. I really didn’t want to get into this discussion with Brad. Bad things might happen if I did.

Slowly he reached out and twirled a strand of my hair around his fingers. ‘Interesting. And why are you on a
break
?’

I tried to ignore him, but it was becoming increasingly impossible. I studied him from the corner of my eye. If I had to rate Brad out of ten, he’d be so far off the scale he’d be hitting quadruple figures. There was no denying how attractive he was. All the elements were there: the grey eyes that had a hint of blue when the light hit them just right, lined at the edges, giving him a dangerously sexy look; the solid cheek bones; the toned sleekness of a big cat; the full and particularly kissable lips – lips which at this moment in time looked like they wanted to kiss me.

Did I want him to kiss me, though? That was the question.

I batted his hand away to stop him molesting my hair any further, but he slipped his fingers through mine before I could stop him.

‘I told you before – stop fishing for information.’ I looked up and my eyes caught his.

I couldn’t tear them away from his. It was like he’d turned on some kind of invisible magnetic pull.

‘I’m not going to give up until I’ve got you back.’ His eyes darkened with determination.

I gulped hard. Yes, that was exactly what I was worried about. Brad could win a stubborn competition easily. Then again, so could I. But who would be the best man/woman standing?

For a moment, I struggled for words, which was very unlike me. Usually, the only time that happened was when I was asleep. Brad was the only person I’d ever met who seemed to have the power to render me speechless.

The sensible part of my brain said,
Don’t even go there, Amber.
The hot-blooded woman side of my brain said,
Stop being such a wimp and go for it.
They met somewhere in the middle, and I broke eye contact before the hot-blooded side took over and my brain turned to mushy goo.

‘We’re talking about Carl Thomas,
remember
?’ I released my hand from his and swirled the wine around in my glass to try and take my mind off lusty thoughts before I pounced on him and ripped his clothes off. ‘So, Carl Thomas’s bank had a robbery last week where a lot of safety deposit boxes were ransacked and property was stolen. What’s that got to do with Levi Carter?’

Brad shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Maybe nothing at all. But there’s something else that feels weird. I’ll replay it again. Keep your eyes on Levi’s manager sitting in the first row in front of the ring next to where Carl is standing. Watch his face when he hears what Carl is shouting at Levi.’ He rewound the fight again to the frame just before Carl arrived ringside.

‘There,’ Brad pointed and paused the frame. ‘That’s Levi’s manager.’ He pointed to an overweight guy around sixty years-old with creepy pale blue eyes and a freshly shaven head. He had the face and body of an ex-boxer himself – chunky and squished around the edges.

I let out an involuntary gasp. ‘Shit! That’s Vinnie Dawson. Better known as Mr. V to his friends or VD to his enemies.’ I chuckled. Childish, I know, but I couldn’t help myself.

‘You know him personally?’

‘Oh, yes, I know all about VD. I put his cousin, Lee, away for armed robbery about ten years ago. Lee and a few other lowlifes robbed the First National Bank.’ I pressed my lips together, trying to recall all the details of the case. ‘That kind of pissed Vinnie off. He and his cousin are like brothers.’ I tucked a stray curl behind my ear. ‘Vinnie did his own time in prison about forty years ago, too, for manslaughter. He beat someone to death who owed him money. He only served five years, though. He got time off for good behaviour.’ A fake laugh slipped out. ‘Good behaviour?’ I shook my head. ‘Somehow I can’t imagine Vinnie getting brownie points for offering to do extra washing up in the prison kitchen.’

Brad nodded. ‘When Vinnie came out of prison he got into the fight promotion industry. He’s made a hell of a lot of money over the years promoting boxers, wrestlers, cage fighters, and Thai boxers. In the fight world, he’s a powerful guy. He also has a lot of inside connections to other sports like football and rugby.’

I snorted. ‘Powerful
and
corrupt.’

‘Did you know that, as well as being the number one fight promoter in the UK, Vinnie is also a manager? In fact, he acts as both manager and promoter for Levi,’ Brad said.

‘So what’s the difference?’

‘The manager’s job is to look out for the best interests of the fighter. The promoter’s job is to look out for the best interests of the promoter.’

‘So what does the promoter do exactly?’ I tossed the last dregs of wine down my throat.

Brad nodded to my glass, asking for my approval to refill it as he spoke. I held it out and watched it fill the glass as he spoke.

‘The promoter’s job is to set up and pay for everything involved in a fight – from publicity right down to the chairs in the corner of the boxing ring and the drinks served at the venue. Because he assumes all of the financial risk involved in the event, he gets a bigger cut of the winning purse than the fighters.’

‘And what does the manager’s job entail?’ I asked.

‘Well, the manager will usually sort out gym schedules, travel and fight arrangements, approve the contracts for upcoming matches, paying the trainers – that kind of thing. But if a manager isn’t on the ball, many fighters could get a low cut from their fights and end up broke after years of fighting.’

‘Isn’t it illegal for a manager to be a promoter as well, then? It sounds like there’s a big conflict of interest.’

Brad shook his head. ‘Well, in boxing, as long as the boxer agrees, they can have the same manager and promoter.’

‘I don’t get it.’ I scrunched up my face. ‘Why would any fighter agree to having the same manager and promoter if there’s such a conflict?’

‘OK, let’s take boxing, since we’re talking about Levi here.’ Brad leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. ‘When a boxer is just starting his career and is hungry to be the next champion of the world, I would imagine he’s prepared to take the risk. There’s a lot of politics in boxing, and some of the top promoters can put obstacles in the way to stop or delay fighters getting a title shot.’

‘Hmm. A few years ago, when I was working on the special operations squad, there was a big investigation into Vinnie’s involvement in illegal sports betting. There were allegations that Vinnie was responsible for football match fixing, as well as rigging various fights. I wasn’t involved in it, though, so I don’t know what happened – only that they couldn’t get any solid evidence against him. Guess who was running that investigation?’

‘Who?’

‘Janice Skipper.’ I mimed poking my fingers down my throat and throwing up. Janice and I had history and it wasn’t pretty. ‘Considering she couldn’t investigate her way out of her front door without help, it’s not surprising that they never found anything to stick to Vinnie.’

Janice Skipper was my ex-Detective Chief Inspector and my arch-enemy. She was also the reason I left the police force. Correction – she had me thrown off the force before I got my job back and quit. I seemed to be collecting exes of all varieties. She was also the one I’d accidentally shot in the ass. Who knew I was such a good shot? She deserved it, though. Big time.

‘It’s also possible that the witnesses were too scared to implicate Vinnie in anything,’ Brad said. ‘Rumour has it he’s eliminated a few rivals or people who’ve tried to stand in his way in the past. But Vinnie is involved in it up to his eyeballs, aided and abetted by Lee, who runs a betting shop,’

That sounded about right. If you looked up the definition of a psychopath in the dictionary, I’m pretty sure you’d find Vinnie’s name. ‘What a great family business. I bet their parents are really pleased. What do you do for a living, son? Oh, I kill and torture people who get in my way. Good work, son. I’m really proud of your career choice.’ I snorted.

Brad pressed the start button on the remote control, and this time I wasn’t watching the actual fight, I was concentrating on what was going on outside it.

I saw Carl Thomas stride down the aisle in between the crowd, towards the ring, stopping inches away from where Vinnie sat. Engrossed in the match, Vinnie unwrapped a toffee and popped it in his mouth, chewing slowly. He discarded the wrapper on the floor. When Carl started shouting and pointing at Levi, that got Vinnie’s attention pretty quick. Vinnie’s jaw hung open, his cheeks puffed out and burned red like his head was stuck in a pressure cooker, and he glared at Carl with all the venom of a funnel-web spider. If looks could kill, Carl would’ve been boiled alive, decapitated, and stabbed with a thousand knives simultaneously.