Better (Stark Ink Book 2) (17 page)

Dalton felt comfortable enough to go to Maria’s alone, since he knew Barnes was actually there and waiting for him. He grasped the handle of the bar’s front door and stepped inside. It was loud as ever. He scanned the faces until he saw the one he wanted. As he threaded through the crowd, Barnes looked up and spotted him. Dalton’s heart sank. He didn’t need to hear what the man had to say. The look on his face said it all. Dalton approached the table and sat down anyway. He sighed. “You got nothing.”

Barnes made a face. “I got a lead. But it’s just that… a lead.” He opened the folder and pushed it to the middle of the table.

Dalton leaned in for a closer look. Mostly surveillance photos.

“You’re right about the money. There’s something there. I followed him for a few days.” He looked up.

The hair rose on the back of Dalton’s neck. “What?”

“Does Zoey know about the strippers?”

Dalton leaned back in his seat. “I doubt it. She never said anything to me, at least. Pretty sure she would have. She’s not the type to tolerate it.”

Barnes nodded. “Could be new, but I doubt it. I followed him into the place. He seemed pretty popular. The doorman knew him.” Barnes tapped the folder. “Anyway, Grant drops C-notes into G-strings like it ain’t no thang. But here’s the interesting part, in a solid two weeks of tailing him, I never once saw him hit the bank or an ATM.”

Dalton frowned. “So, where’s the money coming from?”

“Exactly.” The man tapped his thumb on the tabletop. “I have no idea. It wasn’t enough time to find out. I’d need access to his financials, his work computer, and a forensic accountant to sort through it all. Doable, but not cheap.”

Dalton blew out a harsh breath. “I can’t swing it.”

Barnes’ eyes softened. “I figured.”

That was it, then. The trail ended when the money dried up. It was a huge gamble to pay Barnes when he might still come up empty. Then there’d be nothing left to pay the lawyer.

“For what it’s worth,” Barnes said, “I think he’s skimming at work. Not that I know much about it, but I asked someone. It’s not too difficult to set up a couple of fake accounts and funnel some client money into them. I doubt his boss is in on it, but who knows? Anyway, you can rack up a fat stack before anyone notices. If they ever do.”

“You mean he might never get caught?”

Barnes shrugged. “Depends on who he’s ripping off. If he’s pinching from a sharp guy who could be trading for himself, but just doesn’t have the time or thinks a professional can do better, then yeah, eventually the client’ll cotton onto the fact that the numbers don’t add up.”

Dalton grunted. “But if he’s stealing from some sweet old blue-haired ladies who are just happy to keep the kitties in kibble… Jesus. This guy’s a piece of work.”

“Well, he’s a piece of something, I agree. He keeps his coke stashed in his nightstand drawer, but I didn’t see anything else.”

Dalton raised an eyebrow.

Barnes shrugged. “The doorman at the club slipped it to him. And the fewer questions you ask, the better for all of us.”

Dalton considered his options for a long moment. “Give me the code.”

Barnes’ eyes narrowed. “Sorry. If you didn’t bring your Little Orphan Annie secret decoder ring, I can’t help you.”

Dalton leaned forward. “Cut the crap. You know what I mean. Give me the code.”

“Drink more Ovaltine.”

Dalton pressed his finger so hard into the surface of the table his nail turned white. “I want this man out of our lives. I’ve got a woman and a kid to protect from this asshole and I don’t care what it takes.”

“Maybe you should calm down and order a drink,” Barnes suggested.

Dalton gave him an icy glare. “A year ago I would have punched you in the mouth.”

“You been sober a year?”

Dalton shook his head. “Nope, but no little pissant’s going to fuck it up for me. I’ve come too far.”

Barnes turned away and watched the people on the dance floor. “I’m exposed.”

Dalton shook his head. “No. No way. I don’t take other people down with me.”

Barnes turned back to him and raised an eyebrow. “Really? Not even your brother?”

Dalton’s jaw twitched. “I’m paying him back.”

The man nodded. “Working under the table for Midway Construction. With overtime hours that would kill a man half your size.” He raised his beer. “Or drive him to drink. But you haven’t been to a liquor store in six months.”

Dalton froze.

Barnes took a casual sip of his lager. “Gotta know who you’re dealing with,” he said by way of explanation.

Dalton considered the advice. “You shot a man for threatening his wife with a kitchen knife.”

“I did.”

“But the way I heard it, there’s more to that story.”

Barnes shrugged. “People change.”

“You wouldn’t do it again?”

The man studied Dalton for a moment. “If you get caught—”

“It won’t come back on you,” Dalton promised. “No one needs to know where I got the code.”

Barnes’ gaze darkened. “They’ll think you got it from
her.
”

Dalton shook his head. “I’m not going to tell her about it. She never needs to know. And if anyone comes asking, not that they ever will, they’ll know she’s telling the truth. Besides, I made a promise. I’m not going to kill Grant.”

Barnes pursed his lips. “A promise, huh?”

Dalton nodded. “To my old man.”

The ex-cop shrugged. “So? He won’t remember tomorrow.”

Dalton tensed before taking a long, deep breath. He met the man’s eyes. “You keep trying to bait me.”

“Grant’s gonna do worse than that. Just seeing him is going to make you want to forget all those promises, all those noble aspirations. Coming face-to-face with the man who put his hands on your woman is not a thing you should take lightly. Trust me.”

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”

Barnes didn’t answer.

“What happened to him?” Dalton pressed.

“Well, I’m sitting here. So you know he didn’t
die
.”

“Grant won’t die. I’m not even going to touch him.”

“Famous last words.”

There was a time to talk and a time to wait. Dalton had made his case to the Gods of home invasion. Their chief prophet, Lord Lockpick, took his time mulling it over.

“Flip the page,” Barnes finally said.

Puzzled, Dalton reached out and turned over the paper in front of him. On the back was a five digit number, scrawled on the bottom left corner. Dalton snorted.

Barnes shrugged. “I wanted to know who you were. Peoples’ characters fascinate me.”

“I thought you were
exposed
?”

The other man laughed. Rows of white teeth flashed in the dim light, sharp, a grim reaper grin. “Well, my old boss sure doesn’t carry a torch for me, but I know a few judges. Good luck making anything stick. No one has yet.”

The live soldier stood up and tucked a bill under his dead one. He nodded to Dalton and disappeared into the crowd.

Dalton shoved the paper back into the folder and scooped it up off the table, checking his watch. Not even midnight. He could be there and back by dawn if he drove fast.

Dalton veered off the sidewalk of Zoey’s old street and headed straight for the front door of the house she used to share with Grant. He’d parked two blocks away, circling the house on foot twice already. Grant had security lights on a motion detector aimed at the back door, but not the front. No one would be dumb enough to break in that way since it was too exposed to the street.

Under normal circumstances, Dalton wouldn’t go in the front either, but this wasn’t breaking, in the most technical sense it was just entering. Key at the ready, he slipped it into the lock. In one smooth motion he turned the deadbolt, opened the door, and quietly slipped inside.

The alarm control panel lit up like a Christmas tree as the siren began blaring, piercing and shrill. Dalton had expected it to be set and, moving quickly in the dark, he shut the front door behind him, flipped the bolt back into place, and punched in the alarm code. The racket stopped as suddenly as it started and Dalton was already off down the hall. He just stepped into the dining room by the stairs just as the bedroom door above opened. He held his breath as he waited.

“Hello?”

Jesus, even the man’s voice was annoying.

“Hello? I’m calling the police.”

Dalton suppressed a snort. Fat chance of that.

Instead of going for the phone, Grant headed down the stairs. The floorboards groaned.

Dalton smirked. Shit builders. And like all shit builders, their work was annoying in a thousand little ways. Stairs that creaked, doors that weren’t hung properly, wiring that was spotty.

Doubtless that’s what Grant was thinking now as Dalton watched him inspecting the panel. Why had the alarm gone off? More importantly, how had it stopped on its own?

How indeed?

It was a mystery Grant didn’t seem to be able to solve.

“Piece of shit,” he muttered.

Dalton silently returned the sentiment.

The phone rang. Grant clicked the button and held it up to his ear. “It’s fine,” he said into the receiver. “False alarm.” He gave the password and hung up before heading back upstairs.

Dalton waited a full ten minutes before he crept back down the hall. He punched the panic button, let it scream for a few seconds, then disabled the alarm altogether. Before Grant could emerge from the bedroom, Dalton slipped into the kitchen at the end of the hall. He eased the other cordless extension off the cradle.

Grant stomped down the stairs, cursing loudly. He glared at the panel then slapped at it. “Goddamn it!”

Dalton stepped out from the shadows of the darkened kitchen and into the lighted hallway.

Grant was too busy shouting to notice.

The phone chirped again. Dalton brought up the extension he was holding in one hand, along with the .38 in the other.

Grant frowned at the phone in his own hand, which had cut off mid-ring.

Dalton gripped his extension tightly. “Hi. Me, again,” he said into the phone.

Grant spun to face him, eyes wide.

Dalton leveled the gun at him and sighed dramatically. “You know, I just turned it off for the night. Could you have someone come and look at it? Not until the morning, though. I’ve got to get some sleep. The password? Trade.”

Grant gaped at him.

Dalton pulled the hammer back, emphasizing the need for the man to remain silent. “Thank you so much,” he told the dispatcher. Without taking his eyes off Grant, Dalton disconnected the call. “Trade,” he repeated to the man. “Interesting password. That’s exactly what I came here to do.”

Grant took a step backward, his body tensing.

Dalton knew he was going to run. “I’ll shoot you before you even get one finger on the knob.”

It was a lie. Maybe. Dalton could certainly blow out the man’s kneecap, or even his foot. Neither would be fatal and Dalton’s word would remain unbroken. He didn’t plan on actually pulling the trigger, though.

Pop would be conflicted. ‘Never point a gun unless you’re prepared to shoot,’ he’d always told them.

Dalton was writing his own playbook tonight.

Grant hesitated, probably trying to decide if Dalton was serious.

“I wouldn’t risk it,” Dalton advised. “You’ve already seen what I’m capable of.”

Grant glared at him. “You broke into my house. My fucking house!”

Dalton rolled his eyes. “Anyone could break into your house, Grant.” He waved the phone. “But can they call off your dogs, too?”

Grant’s fingers twitched on his own extension.

Dalton smirked at him. “Really? Why don’t you work that play through in your head? Two seconds to dial. Three seconds for the dispatcher to answer. How long do you think it’d take to give them your address? Let’s say it takes five. I can pull this trigger in one.” Dalton redirected the gun to the table next to Grant. “Put the phone down.”

The other man hesitated, then slowly turned. He paused when he realized what he’d missed earlier and cast a furtive glance at Dalton.

“Sign them both.”

Grant’s jaw dropped. “You can’t do this! This… this is…”

Dalton waited, watching the man splutter.

“Duress!” Grant finally shouted. “This is duress.”

Dalton’s eyes narrowed. “Nobody cares. And you’re not going to tell anyone, anyway.”

Grant’s own eyes flashed. “The hell I won’t.”

“I know about the money.”

A long, tense silence hung in the room. You could hear a pin drop, like one from a grenade— a dummy grenade, anyway.

Grant licked his lips. “Bullshit,” he whispered.

“I know,” Dalton repeated. “And the ex-cop I hired to find out knows, too. So does his girlfriend, the bounty hunter. Of course, I can think of a few people who
don’t
know, but I’d bet they’d sure like to hear about it.”

Grant’s whole body vibrated like a live wire.

“So, you’ll sign the divorce papers and get the fuck out of Zoey’s life. Permanently.”

Grant sucked his teeth as he thought it over. “And the kid?”

“I told you, the kid is mine now.” Dalton gestured to the table again. “You’re going to sign that one, too. He’ll never see you or hear from you. Ever. He’ll never even know your name.”

Grant continued to hesitate, searching for an angle no doubt.

“That’s it,” Dalton declared. “That’s all there is to it. You sign those papers. You give me Zoey and the baby and I’ll let you keep your miserable, shit-stained life, such as it is. I won’t tell anyone else your dirty little secrets. Not even about the coke in your nightstand drawer.”

Grant’s eyes widened. His jaw went slack as the full force of Dalton’s presence in his house hit him. Grant was out of moves.

“Consider this a draw,” Dalton told him. “Now, pick up the pen.”

An hour before dawn, Dalton slipped back into the apartment. He had his hand in his pocket, palming Zoey’s house key, but he immediately froze when he saw her sitting at the kitchen table. “What are you still doing up?” He said innocently.

She rose up out of the chair. “I couldn’t sleep. I was worried.” She folded into his arms. “I wanted to call, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right,” he said, stroking her hair. “It’s fine.”

She pulled away from him. “Where were you?”

Dalton hesitated, unsure of how to answer.

Zoey noticed the papers tucked up underneath his arm and reached out to grasp them.

He let her. “You still have to file them, but you don’t owe him anything. He walks away with whatever he came in with.”

Zoey slowly turned the pages, her jaw slack in disbelief. When she got to the end of the divorce papers, she discovered the other set. “What’s this?”

“Parental rights. He signed them away.”

Zoey’s head jerked up to meet his gaze.

“The kid deserves a father,” Dalton declared. “Well, such as I am. I’ll be around, anyway. And I’ll make sure he has whatever he needs.”

A long silence hung between them as Zoey rifled through the stack again. And a third time. She shook her head. “I can’t believe it,” she whispered. “I just… I don’t… I can’t.” Tears spilled down her cheeks and landed in fat drops on the typeset.

Dalton slid them from her hand and set them on the table to keep them safe.

“It’s over,” she breathed.

Dalton reached out and took hold of her chin with one hand. With the other he wiped her face as he smiled at her. “No. It’s not over, baby. It’s just starting.”