Burnout (NYPD Blue & Gold) (9 page)

“Nice try, Chef Cassie,” Mike said in a low voice. “I’ll remember this.” His last words were spoken harshly, matching the hostile look he threw her just before turning to head out of the kitchen.

“I was only kidding,” she yelled after him. “It was a joke.”

Mike spun and stalked back to her until they were nose to nose. “You think assaulting a police officer is a joke?” His jaw muscles flexed as he clenched his teeth.

“Assault by hot sauce?” Cassie couldn’t hold back the snicker.

“Lady, you’ve got one sick sense of humor. You could have burned my tongue off, not to mention destroyed my entire digestive tract! That’s assault in any courtroom.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “With three older brothers, I was forced to learn innovative ways to keep up with them.”

Mike hooked his hands on his duty belt and shook his head. “What, did you grow up with the Manson family? ’Cause if that was your idea of a joke I’d hate to be around when you have a family spat.”

Chuck, Leo, and Danny started to laugh again, stopping short when Cassie shot them an angry glare. Somehow, she had to make good here with Mike. She really was beginning to feel lousy about what she’d done. Or
almost
done.

“We’re not quite as bad as the Manson family,” Cassie said. “We’re really more like the Brady Bunch, or the Partridge Family.”

Mike uttered a sarcastic laugh. “More like the Sopranos, I’d bet. Bumping off anyone who looks at you the wrong way.”

“No, not the Sopranos.” Cassie shook her head, racking her brain for a way to defuse the situation. She gave him a hesitant smile. “The Sopranos were Italian.”

Sighing, she took a risk and rested her hand on his forearm, feeling the steely tension simmering beneath his skin. The wary gleam in his eyes softened, and for a moment Cassie could swear he was about to smile.

“How can I make it up to you?” she asked.

Mike opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by a call on his radio.

“Chief, the state police colonel is trying to reach you,” the dispatcher said.

Mike canted his head and clicked the mic. “Tell him I’ll call him in five.”

“Ten-four.”

To Cassie, he said, “Rest assured, I’ll get back to you on that.” A moment later, he was gone.

Oh boy.

Cassie didn’t want to contemplate what kind of sentence he’d impose on her. She continued to watch him as he shoved open the door to the Nest, got into his Explorer, and drove in the direction of the police station. An eerie chill crept up her spine. She of all people knew that look on a cop’s face.

She’d made a rookie mistake and let her feelings get in the way. The result—she’d just been added to the top of the police chief’s shit list.

Chapter Eight

The hearty aroma of tender meat, fresh vegetables, and red wine filled the kitchen as Cassie stirred the pot of beef bourguignon with a long, heavy spoon. She sighed, feeling like a complete idiot.

She’d assumed Mike had broken off their steamy, sensual, roadside embrace because he had that hot little brunette waiting for him at home. But in the two days since she’d spiked Mike’s chili with hot sauce, Sue and Rose had discreetly uncovered the identity of the brunette Mike had been having coffee with. Mike’s sister, Moira.

Turned out Moira was a freelance food critic who traveled all over the country. Mike hadn’t seen her in over a year, and she was passing through the area on her way to see their parents in the city.

The biggest, most shameful and humiliating lump formed in her throat. She’d practically poisoned the chief of police and all for being affectionate toward his sister. And she’d lumped him in with the likes of her last date. Come to think of it, their behavior
had
been more like siblings, not a couple. She’d just wanted—no, needed—to believe it had been otherwise. Or she’d have had to address her feelings for him.

Something that scared the hell out of her.

As much as it killed her, Cassie had a flock of crow to eat and owed Mike a mountain-sized apology. And now that she knew he really hadn’t been flaunting a woman in her face, taking her mind off their hot roadside encounter was a virtual impossibility.

For the last two mornings, she’d awoken with the bedsheets twisted around her sweat-soaked body, her mind running rampant with erotic thoughts. She could still taste him, feel his lips on hers. His strong hands on her bare skin. His mouth on her nipples.

Visions of Mike and what his bare, toned body must look like beneath all that Kevlar insinuated themselves into her thoughts. She imagined him unclasping her bra, running his hard, callused hands over her—

“Earth to Cassie,” Chuck yelled from the far side of the kitchen. “For the third time, are you there?”

“What?” She looked up from stirring.

Chuck smirked. “We realize you’re preoccupied with your failed attempt at murdering the chief of police the other day, but do you have a cell phone in your locker?”

“Yes.” She stopped stirring. “Why?”

“It’s vibrating.” He inclined his head to a metal locker labeled “Chef” against the wall behind him.

She slapped the heavy spoon onto the counter, splashing droplets of meaty sauce everywhere, then hustled to her locker. The phone went off again, sounding like a swarm of bees. Cassie retrieved the phone and cued up her voicemail. She listened to Dom’s message telling her to call him right away. Not a good sign.

While dialing Dom’s cell, she called out to Chuck and Leo, “I’ll be outside for a few minutes.”

Cassie pushed open the rear screen door and walked to the far end of the staff lot where she’d parked her Trail Blazer in the shade of a large elm tree. A light breeze rustled the leaves overhead, cooling the sweat on her face. Ten thirty in the morning and it had to be eighty-five degrees already.

When Dom answered she got right to the point. “Please tell me you have good news.”

“Sorry,” he said. “After you told Gray about not leaving that light on in your house, he had forensics sweep your place.”

“You found something? Prints?”

“No, your place was clean, but Gray and I interviewed your neighbors. Several of them said a man was asking for you.”

She frowned. “What man, what did he look like?”

“Average height, average build, mid-thirties, brown hair, brown eyes.”

“That’s no help.”

“One more thing.” Dom paused. “He also had a goatee and a hook-shaped nose. Ring any bells?”

Cassie shook her head. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Damn, we’re running in circles here.” Strain was evident in Dom’s voice, and Cassie knew he had to be putting in loads of overtime on this. “The hit doesn’t make sense. You dying wouldn’t free Manici. I still can’t shake the feeling we’re missing something.”

She leaned against the Trail Blazer and pressed her fingers to her forehead. No matter how much she deluded herself, her life was still very much in jeopardy and remaining hidden was essential. “I know everyone is doing the best they can.” She hoped she sounded more encouraging than she felt.

“Gray and I contacted every snitch we have on the street, but so far everything’s a dead end. Is there anything else you can think of, anything you said or did or saw while you were working at that place that you haven’t told us?”

“For the hundredth time, no.” A headache began pounding behind her forehead. “The only other thing I can suggest is to keep reviewing Manici’s secret stash of videotapes. Could be something there I don’t know about.”

“The only thing we confirmed from interviewing some of the guys on the tapes is that Manici really was blackmailing his customers. He’d pick out the rich ones with a wife, kids, good job, and a reputation to protect, then turn on the camera to record a back room session with one of the girls. Later, he’d threaten the customer with sending a copy of the tape to the guy’s home or place of business. Manici squeezed one pathetic sucker, a smarmy lawyer named Andrew Gould, for twenty grand.” Dom barked out a laugh. “When Gray interviewed him, Gould broke down and cried like a girl, no offense. Pissed his pants, saying it would ruin his marriage and he’d lose his job if word got out about his preference for underage girls.”

“Twenty thousand?” Cassie whistled. “Manici had some little side business.”

“Not so little. There are plenty of others to be interviewed, and we haven’t gotten through half the tapes yet. We’re running a full set of financials on Manici and La Femme to verify his holdings and whether he’s stashing cash somewhere. We’ll do the same for every name on those videotapes. Might give us some new leads.”

“Forgive me if I can’t manage any sympathy for these guys, even if they are being blackmailed.”

“I’m with you there, partner.”

Cassie couldn’t imagine any price these perverts paid would be sufficient penance for their roles in ruining countless young girls’ lives.

“We’ll figure this out, Cass. Meantime, remember to keep your head low. You know how I hate breaking in newbies.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Cassie teared up at the thought of how many people cared for her and were working to keep her safe. “And Dom?”

“What?”

“Thanks.”

“Aw, don’t go getting all mushy on me.” To Cassie’s amusement, Dom actually sounded a little choked up. “I hate when a grown detective cries. Even if she is the prettiest one I ever saw.”

Cassie said good-bye just as a neon blue Honda screeched to a stop at the intersection, the same vehicle she’d caught Mike eyeing suspiciously yesterday. The engine gunned and tires screeched as the car peeled away and disappeared around the corner in a cloud of gray smoke, leaving the pungent odor of burned rubber in its wake.

That guy was going to hurt someone if he didn’t wrap himself around a tree first. Cassie shook her head and walked back into the sweltering heat of the kitchen. She checked the slips clipped to the order wheel and plated three more breakfast specials, ladling Chuck’s hollandaise sauce over the warm poached eggs. She tapped the bell for Sue and Ginny to pick up their orders. Spying Joey and Abby at the counter, she went out to say hello.

“Morning, Abby. Morning, Joey.” Before Abby could open her mouth to return the greeting, Joey thrust out his latest caricature of the
Hopewell Springs Gazette
.

“See what I drew?” The boy’s face lit with enthusiasm as Cassie took in his artistic rendition of a punk rock band, complete with spiked hair. The best part was he’d drawn them over a front-page group photo of the Hopewell Springs chapter of the Daughters of the American Revolution.

“Excellent job, Joey.” She chucked him under his chin. To Abby, she inquired, “How are you feeling?”

“Good.” Abby smiled, but her eyes unexpectedly became glossy with unshed tears. “I hope Joey’s father will be home before my due date.”

Cassie’s heart went out to Abby. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like to be pregnant and taking care of a rambunctious little boy all alone. “Three more months, right?” She recalled Rose saying Abby was six months along.

“Hopefully no more than that. Joey was born nearly two weeks late.”

Abby smoothed down a tuft of Joey’s light brown hair springing up on the back of his head.

If Mike and I had kids, would they look more like him, or more like me?

She nearly groaned at the crazy thought. After all, it was only a little groping and kissing. And afterward he’d treated her like Typhoid Mary.

“We’d better be going.” Abby stood and hooked her bag over her shoulder, heading with Joey to the register. “Breakfast was great as always.”

“Thanks.” Cassie began clearing their plates as a car skidded to a loud stop outside the Nest. Customers flinched and looked up. It was the same neon blue Honda Cassie noticed ten minutes earlier when it had nearly blown through an intersection. She’d bet her badge the driver would be young, in his upper teens, and looking to raise hell.

The driver’s side door opened and a skinny kid, not more than eighteen, got out of the car. He wore jeans and an oversize black T-shirt with a white skull and crossbones on the front. The kid’s gaze darted in every direction. His legs twitched as he walked. Cassie set the plates down and walked around the counter to get a better look.

“Hey, great risotto the other day,” a customer said to her.

“Thanks.” She peered more closely out the window at the blue Honda’s driver.

The kid walked inside the Nest, startling as the door’s overhead bells jangled. He jammed his hands into his pockets and waited near the register while a customer paid her bill. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking repeatedly over his shoulder.

This kid was trouble.
Big
trouble. His wild driving. Uncontrollable twitching. Watery eyes. Someone touched her shoulder from behind.

“I’ll get those,” a voice said.

Cassie fisted her hands and spun, ready to land the first blow.

“Whoa.” Danny held up his hands in a defensive posture. “I just came to clear away dishes.” He nodded to the counter.

Cassie unfurled her fists. “Sorry.”

Danny filled a heavy gray plastic bin with dishes and headed into the kitchen.

Cassie refocused on the kid at the register, tracking his every move. Abby and Joey partially blocked her view.

The kid reached under his shirt.

A gun.

Instinctively, Cassie dropped her hand to her hip where her holster would normally be.

Where it wasn’t today.

The kid whipped out a stainless-steel Beretta and pointed it at Rose. “Gimme the money!”

Rose gasped and flung her hands in the air.

A customer near the door screamed. Others backed away. Shouts and murmurs came from the dining area as a glass hit the floor and shattered.

Abby yanked on Joey’s arm, tucking him behind her.

“The money! Open it!” The gun shook as the kid pointed it at Rose.

Rose hit the button on the cash register, but the drawer didn’t open. She hit the button again and again. Nothing happened.

The kid’s voice shook. “Open the fucking drawer!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying.” Rose whacked the side of the register with her fist. “It won’t open,” she cried.

“Bullshit!” The kid grabbed Abby’s arm and hauled her against his chest.

“No, please.” Abby’s mouth twisted in pain.

The kid shoved the gun into the side of Abby’s head. “Open the fucking register. Now!”

Cassie’s gut twisted.
He’s going to kill Abby.

Hostage procedures hammered inside her brain. No scenario fit, except calming this kid down. Or shooting him before he shot someone. But her gun was buried deep inside her handbag and secured in a locker in the back of the kitchen. She’d never get to it in time.

Call the police. Mike.

Before this turned into a bloodbath.

The phone on the wall behind Rose was out of the question. With all the customers, there had to be at least a dozen cell phones in the Nest. Surely someone would squeeze off a call.

Chuck, Leo, and Danny were still in the kitchen. Through the opening, she saw Chuck edging toward Rose’s office, hopefully to use the phone.

Abby inhaled sharply. She grabbed the kid’s arm and tried to pull it from her neck. Cassie swallowed the bile rising in her throat. She’d never felt more helpless in her entire life. All her training, all her street experience… Dammit, there had to be something she could do.

She scanned the counter and nearby tables, searching for a weapon, anything at all, even a steak knife. But that was a risk. Before she could get close, the kid could pull the trigger and lodge a bullet in Abby’s skull.

Joey tugged at Abby’s shirt. “Mommy, mommy.”

Cassie took a step, intending to get Joey to safety.

“Get back. All of you!” The kid swung his gun around and aimed it at Cassie. She halted and flung her hands into the air.

Okay, bad idea.

Glazed eyes pinned her before jamming the gun back against Abby’s head.

Gun or no gun, I can’t stand here and do nothing.

With her heart in her throat, she began inching to the register. She eased past Sue and briefly rested her hand on the woman’s shoulder. Rose continued to pound on the register, but the old drawer still refused to cooperate.

“Goddammit, open it!” The kid’s hand shook violently. So did the gun.

“It won’t open.” Rose’s face twisted in fear. “I’m trying, but it’s old and broken.”

“Try harder.” The kid’s arms and neck were covered with scratches and bruises. Cassie would bet he was pill-sick from prescription drugs and suffering withdrawal symptoms. He was so edgy his finger could twitch and it would all be over in a heartbeat. Abby and her unborn child would be dead. Joey without a mother.

Cassie edged closer. Ten feet. Nine. Eight. Good. The kid was so fixated on the register he didn’t notice her. Five feet. Four. Three. Talking from the TV mounted overhead on the wall muffled her steps.