Hard to Stop (7 page)

"Mick I only have sketchy information on. Juvenile stuff is hard to get, even for me."

He passed a sheet of paper over to Max listing some petty crimes, including shoplifting, fighting, and truancy. "This isn't much. Do you know if there's more stuff the kid's been involved in and his sister buried or made go away?"

"Hard to say for sure, but my guess is no."

"She seems genuinely involved in his welfare, from what I can tell. Maybe overly involved at times," he muttered, more to himself than Jennings.

He never knew about Jennings's past or how he came to head up The Alliance. It was one of those mysteries that seemed better off hidden in the dark recesses of the mind. Not unlike his own stuff that nightmares were made of. The past wasn't discussed easily or often between them. That felt like a whole other lifetime, as far as he was concerned.

Going from begging for food and then waiting for the other shoe to drop once they were in Petrovich's stronghold, it was impossible to dismiss his responsibility for where they'd ended up. But that was ancient history. He needed to consider the current situation and not get caught up in the past.

"So let's hypothesize that at least Joey and Frankie were paid to hassle Damon—or him masquerading as you—enough so that the sniper had a chance to take his shot. Who knows if they knew the real reason why they were doing it? Based on what I see from Joey and Frankie's juvie records, they would be up for that challenge, but I'm not buying the detective's brother knew what was going to go down. I'd bet those two took him along for the ride because they thought it would buy them some kind of get-out-of-jail-free card if they got him on board that crazy train."

"I've got to agree. He might not have been there willingly, but he knows something or has an idea of something, enough so that the heat's up on him."

"What was your read when you tracked them down?"

"The three of them were arguing, or at least talking really loudly. I can't remember the words thrown around other than the F-bomb, but"—Max drew his fingers threw his hair—"now that you mention it, it seemed like it was two against one, which is how I caught up with Mick rather than the other two."

"What if they're holding something over him that he can't see a way out of? How does that spin things?"

Max sighed. "He kind of alluded to something when I caught up with him last time. I wondered if he's worried about his sister. At the time I was so focused on him trying to get away with something, I kind of pushed it to the side. I'm pretty sure he won't confide in his sister. But with enough reassurances, I might get him to trust me." The idea coalesced slowly. "The cocaine is definitely the red herring in this equation. I'll check around about that, but I don't think there's a connection now that I know about the sniper shot."

"It makes sense that Mick got roped into something, especially since it seems like he might have changed things around over the last year. It was like maybe he decided to sit up and fly right and then got sucked into trouble for some reason. I don't know about you, but that kind of thing makes me real curious."

Max nodded. He had respect for Jennings's instincts. While Max was rusty in his skills, his siblings were working for the good guys and figuring this out on a daily basis. And both were involved with people in the business. Jake's girlfriend was a CIA operative, and Sabrina's boyfriend, Kane, worked undercover for the FBI.

Max sighed. "Do you have anything on Cleo's whereabouts? Since she tried to kill Jake, she's gone off radar. I'd still like to know how she ended up with my mom's ruby locket. I half expect her to pop out of my hall closet one of these days and wouldn't put it past her to be behind this whole thing."

"I suspect she's lying low now that she's on the FBI's Most Wanted Terrorists list after her part in the plot to destroy that navy ship in the gulf."

"I'm not sure if I should be relieved or terrified. She's like a chameleon. Never looks the same twice."

"My feelings exactly. Your family somehow piqued her plot of revenge, and I have a feeling it has little to do with the death of her brother." Jennings drank the last of his coffee and stared at Max. "You know what I have to ask you."

Max closed his eyes and suppressed the shudder. "This is a one-time deal only. I'm not interested in getting back into the life." Besides the fact it had nearly killed him, it bothered him even more that he'd enjoyed it so much.

"What you did in the past doesn't make you a killer. You know that, Max, don't you?"

He nodded noncommittally. Jennings was sugarcoating the truth. He was a killer. He always would be one in his heart. The real burn was that he'd taken his siblings into his venture into hell.

"The offer is always open for you to come work for me. I hope you know that."

"I never say never, but I—"

"I get you've got a lot of misplaced guilt to wade through, but when you're ready, I'm always there to talk." Jennings looked him in the eye. "And if you ever decide to take a pay cut and come work for The Alliance, I'd love to have you on board."

Max gulped back the wad of emotion clogging his throat. Thoughts of going back to the life were both intriguing and terrifying simultaneously.

*   *   *

Gia had already decided she wouldn't bother to fight the suspension. A blemish on her spotless record was not going to get her to her goal of being the first female lieutenant in her precinct.

But she didn't want Mick to know, so she was going to play like she would be working from home for a while this morning. She needed to make her time worthwhile, so while he was getting ready for school, she was preparing scrambled eggs, sausage, and toast. Now that she was officially on leave, following him to school might give her a clue as to what was going on in her brother's life. She could only hope she wouldn't want to kill him after the day was over.

"Late start today, sis?" He kissed her on the cheek as he grabbed his backpack and slung it over her shoulder.

If she didn't know better, she would have sworn the kid didn't have a care in the world. But she knew Max Shaw had connections, and through those connections, the heat was on to solve this case. While she had no doubt her brother didn't do the stabbing, he could still be charged as an accessory if they could prove it was him that Max saw.

"Yeah, I've got a late meeting so thought I'd hang out for a while. Do you want a ride to school? Don't want you to be bothered again by the guy who shall remain nameless."

"Seriously? All four blocks? It's been a blizzard, and you never volunteered to bring me to class. What's up? You worried he's going to hurt me or something? Or do you think I'm going to do something stupid?"

"You haven't really talked about the other night." She didn't want to start an argument this morning, but sometimes there wasn't any other option.

"I'm not supposed to talk about it with you or anyone else. They said it was an ongoing investigation. Besides, I already told you I was out by myself and ran into them. You can't honestly believe I had anything to do with what happened to that guy." His eyes grew wide before he put his hand on the door.

"I want to believe you know nothing about it, but I also believed you last year when you told me you didn't know anything about shoplifting. Then you got arrested."

"I didn't take anything. I was there while Joey and Frankie took some stuff. Yeah, it was stupid. I should have left right away, but I didn't. I wish I would have, but I didn't."

"How many times have I told you if your friends are doing something, it doesn't matter if you're not—you're all going to get lumped together. And that's exactly what happened. I told you Joey was bad news, but you didn't listen. Why do you think I pay the money to send you to Catholic school? So you don't hang around with punks like him."

"I learned my lesson."

"Then why were you even within a mile of that idiot? I'm sorry, but I don't buy it was coincidence. Maybe in Brooklyn I would have bought it, but not in Manhattan."

He avoided looking her in the eye. If she could only force him to tell her what was bothering him.

"You're going to believe what you want, but I've got to go to school, or I'm going to be late."

She grabbed her keys and left him no option but to take her up on the offer as she corralled him into her car. The least she could do was make sure he made it to school. Then she would only have to worry about lunchtime, when he had some free time to roam about at will.

There had to be a way of figuring it all out.

*   *   *

Paranoia kept Max looking over his shoulder. With increased security in his house, he felt fairly secure, but once he left the confines, he was vulnerable. And he knew it. Those after him knew it as well. All he kept thinking about was the high-powered rifle shot. That was a sniper shot. One done with the meticulousness of a trained killer. He had to wonder if he would meet the same end.

He pulled on his suit coat and walked out the front door. Tempting fate might draw whoever was after him out. He could only hope. Maybe he had a fighting chance after all. Mick Collini wasn't talking, and getting through to his sister wasn't going to happen, so he had to strut around town and hope somebody took the bait. And he was ready.

He grabbed a cab to his office in the Financial District. When he walked inside, his assistant, Amanda, was monitoring the overseas markets. She greeted him with a wave and a hand motion toward the brewing coffeepot.

He poured two cups and brought hers loaded with cream and sugar, as she liked it. "Thanks, and good morning, Boss. I was so sorry to hear about Damon. He was a nice guy."

Max winced. It was hard not to think about that and feel guilty. "Yep, that he was." He mulled the idea over in his mind before he decided to ask. "Cops said something about cocaine in his system. Have you ever heard anything about him using drugs?" It was worth exploring the idea. But the kill shot still didn't make sense, except if it was meant for him.

She shrugged. "I've heard traders who work for some of the big houses use it to keep on top of their game. But I've never seen it myself. Don't know if it's fact or fiction."

He'd had a model girlfriend who used it to keep her weight down, but she hid it very well. Did it somehow play into what happened? "It doesn't fit with what I knew about Damon, but I guess you never know."

"Regardless if he made a mistake or not, I liked the guy." She sucked in a shaky breath. "I did see him talking with Troy the other day. You know the guy who's a little too full of himself?" When Max nodded, she continued, "I'm not sure what was going on, but they got into an argument over something. Almost came to blows. I've never seen Damon like that. It kind of freaked me out a bit."

Max mulled that scenario over in his mind. "And you have no idea what it was about?"

"No clue. They were doing the name-calling stuff, which had progressed to shoving each other by the time I got there. When I came around the corner, they stopped." She blew out a breath. "I have to admit, when I heard about Damon, Troy was the first person I thought of, especially since he was at the same event at the museum that night."

Max wanted to believe that whatever happened to Damon had nothing to do with him. But he knew it wasn't that simple.

*   *   *

After putting in his orders for the day, Max took a cab to Bloomingdale's on Third Avenue. From there he could make the rounds and rely on the Shaw itch to keep him safe. Nerves seemed to be a constant lately, and that seemed to ramp up even more today. The place was packed with people on a beautiful spring day, which both reassured him and worried him. He walked through the men's department and was greeted like the frequent customer he was. He wandered down the racks, not really knowing what he was doing there, but at the same time knowing he needed to make himself visible enough to give him an idea of what he might be up against.

He glanced around, taking in the people as the Shaw itch made itself known. Adrenaline simmered inside his blood as he kept a watchful eye out for who might be the cause. A woman admiring a cashmere sweater seemed more interested in him than the sweater. A man stood by the umbrella stand and had a calculating gaze in his eyes. The depth of Max's paranoia began to encompass the salespeople and everyone else—both old and young. He shook off the nerves crawling up his back and forced himself to focus. Paranoia had ruled him for so many years, going back to that place wasn't comforting. It was more like wearing a straitjacket, confining and frightening. But he needed to reengage that self-preservation instinct that kept him safe.

As he got onto the escalator, he felt the rush of people surrounding him and fought off the sensation, instead forcing himself to concentrate and get attuned to the sounds around him.

Click
.

The sound could be a gun. Or it could be something mundane. A small-caliber weapon this close, at the right spot, could do some damage. He'd taken out a local politician in that way. The sound had been muffled. He'd done the deed and woven in and out of people until he got off the escalator and blended into the crowd. It was only after he hit the door to the outside that the man's wound had been discovered. The kidney shot he'd delivered led the man to a slow, agonizing death. It hadn't been his choice—Petrovich always chose the setting and the method.

Max's reflexes went on alert as vulnerability washed through. Someone pressed in behind him as he got on. Considering the escalator was crowded, but not so much that people lost their personal space, that struck him as odd. He estimated the person behind him to be close to his height and male. Better safe than sorry. If he was wrong, he'd apologize later. With reflexes that had gone a little rusty, he brought back his elbow, aiming for the sweet spot right under the ribcage. Then he twisted around to capture the guy's arm, bending it an angle to make it useless. His attempt felt clumsy but did the trick, as he had the guy pinned along the side.

"You want something?" Max growled.