Jamie Hill Triple Threat (40 page)

She saw him occasionally, and her brother less often. Danny had taken over the business, demonstrating to everyone that no matter what his name, he truly was his father's son.

Her brother's wedding had been an ostentatious event. His then-fiancée, Teresa, lived with a maiden aunt and had no one to throw the wedding of her dreams. The groom's father happily footed the bill, and it was a day to remember. Clad in layers of peach chiffon and taffeta, Gina fulfilled her maid of honor duties then proceeded to get drunk, hanging over the champagne fountain.

The whole affair was a showy extravaganza.
If I ever get married, it won't be a three-ring circus like Danny's wedding
. A small, dignified ceremony with a couple of witnesses would be her preference.

Gina brushed a lock of hair from her face and wondered where the wedding idea sprang from. She never planned on getting married. Since the fiasco with her boyfriend at college, the words 'happily ever after' had been stricken from her vocabulary. Men were liars and opportunistic bastards who let their pricks do most of their thinking. Besides, her family was screwed up, and she wouldn't inflict that on anyone.

Brady's face appeared in her mind and she couldn't help but smile. He wasn't just anyone. He wasn't a bastard, either. For the first time in her life, there was someone who had her thinking marriage might not be so bad after all.

"You're smiling. Have you changed your mind,
cara
?"

She glanced at the old man and his piercing gaze. Something in his eyes scared her, more for Brady than for herself. She'd been wrong to come here. There was no way she'd ever spy on Brady for her father. Stark realization dawned on her—Brady and her family would never meet. They couldn't. It would ruin everything. "I've got to go," she said suddenly, reaching for the doorknob.

"
Bella figlia
," her father called after her, but she allowed the door to slam between them.

Beautiful daughter
. The
words raced through her mind. She didn't feel beautiful at that moment. She felt sick—and dirty. Tears streamed down her face as she ran to her car, slammed it into gear, and peeled out of the long driveway.

* * * *

Brady looked over his information sheet as Costa drove them to their stop that afternoon. Victor Moretti was listed as the owner of East Asian Imports, and his offices were located in a nice building on the west end of town. Brady wouldn't be surprised if there
was
no Victor Moretti. They'd have to talk to someone, and go from there.

Forrest had assigned the other warehouse owners to various detective teams in the Special Investigations unit. He saved the ones with the most promise, Moretti and Gianni Macchio, for Brady and Costa. As one of the most experienced detectives in the WPD, Brady knew Forrest counted on him to get to the bottom of whatever was going on. He also knew it'd be a good teaching case for his new partner.

"Here we are." Costa pulled into the parking lot of the tall building. He gave a low whistle as he looked the surroundings over.

"No shit." Brady threw off his seat belt and got out when the car came to a stop. "East Asian Imports must do a hell of a business."

Costa hurried to catch up. Inside the building they studied the locator map outside the elevator. "Looks like we want the tenth floor."

"Yep." Brady punched the call button, and they entered when the elevator arrived. There was no one else in sight as the doors closed, and they ascended. "I thought Moretti sounded Italian," he commented.

"It is Italian," Costa confirmed.

"Then I wonder why the 'East Asian Imports' name? Suppose he has a bunch of Asians working for him?"

"Seems unlikely."

"Yeah." Brady thought so too. When the elevator stopped and they found the right office, the blonde woman who greeted them confirmed it.

"Hi." She smiled. "May I help you?"

"We'd like to talk to Victor Moretti." He returned her smile, taking in her appearance and the surroundings at the same time. Not a thing said '
Asian
' about the office, nor the shapely secretary whose smile faded.

"He's not in. May I help you with something?"

The answer was not unexpected. Brady reached into his front pocket for his badge. Flipping it out he showed it to her, and said, "Then we need to speak with whoever's in charge."

The petite woman examined the badge for a moment. "Mr. Moreno is in. Who shall I say is calling?"

He removed a business card from behind his badge and handed it over. "Brady
Marshall
and Joe Costa, W.P.D."

She nodded and stepped toward the hallway closest to her desk.

Pulling out a notepad, Joey repeated, "Mr. Moreno? What's his first name?"

She looked at the younger detective briefly before replying, "Anthony." Strolling down the hall, she stopped at the first door and knocked.

Brady saw her step inside, and when she returned a few minutes later, a man was in tow. Medium height with thick black hair, he could possibly have been Italian. He certainly wasn't Asian. Brady continued to be intrigued.

"Detective Marshall? I'm Anthony Moreno, Chief Executive Officer of East Asian Imports."

Brady extended his hand and they shook. "This is my partner Joe Costa." The two men shook hands and Brady continued, "Could we speak with you for a few minutes?"

"Of course,"
Moreno
said. "Jenny, hold my calls please."

"Yes, Mr.
Moreno
." She watched the detectives follow her boss to his office.

Costa looked back and smiled. "Thanks, Jenny."

"Sure," she replied, sounding flustered, and Brady bit back a chuckle. He was the one who taught Costa that flattery would get him everywhere with women. For some reason, the idea of flirting with her hadn't crossed his mind.
Damn, was he that whipped already?
An image
of Gina standing over him with a leather whip caused him to smile, but he quickly put the thought out of mind. He had business to attend to.

Stepping into
Moreno
's office, he glanced around. For such a nice building, their offices were plain and sparsely furnished. He took one of the two seats the man motioned them to, and watched 
Moreno
sit in front of them, perched on the edge of his desk.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?"

Brady took the lead, as usual. "There've been a series of break-ins in the warehouse district. Several of your properties have been burglarized, and we're investigating."

"Is that so?"
Moreno
walked behind his desk and opened a drawer, removing a file. "I'm aware of problems on January twenty-seventh and February eighth, but nothing other than that. Is that what you consider a 'series'?"

Costa flipped back a few pages in his notebook and Brady nodded to him. The younger man said, "Besides the dates you mentioned, we show burglaries on January thirty-first, February seventeenth, nineteenth, twenty-fourth and twenty-eighth. There are also a few dates in March—five more to be exact."

"Oh my,"
Moreno
chuckled. "As I mentioned, I'm the CEO of the company. I'm sure I'd know if we'd been robbed that many times."

"I believe you'd know," Brady agreed. "I'm not sure I believe you'd admit it. I think maybe we need to talk to Mr. Moretti, and put all our cards on the table. We're interested in stopping the crime spree that's spreading through the warehouse district. If fine, upstanding businesses such as yours won't come clean with us, it makes our job that much harder."

Moreno
's frozen smile slipped from his face. "We are a fine, upstanding business Detective Marshall, and I don't appreciate your implying otherwise."

"I wasn't implying anything." Brady looked at Costa. "Did you hear me imply anything?"

"No." Costa shook his head.

"Mr. Moretti is unavailable,"
Moreno
snapped.

Brady removed another of his business cards and flipped it on
Moreno
's desk. "The man needs to make himself available within the next forty-eight hours. I can get a subpoena, and he can come to my office, or he can give me a call, and we'll stop back. Either way, my partner and I are going to be nosing around your warehouses. I suggest you let your security guards know we're coming."

Moreno
stood and spoke with irritation. "Don't you need a search warrant for that?"

Brady nodded to Costa, who pulled a paper from his pocket and handed it to the man. "Yes sir, we do. Here you go."

As the surprised man looked over the legal document, Brady nodded toward the door and spoke while following Costa out. "Forty-eight hours, Mr. Moreno. And I'd like to speak to someone who knows something, if you please." He stepped out and smiled when he heard grumbled cursing from the office they'd just left.

Costa nodded to Jenny on the way out, but Brady didn't give her a second look. He wasn't in the mood to make nice.

"That went well," Costa said in the elevator, on the ride to the lobby.

"Right." Brady snorted. "I doubt we'll hear from them again. Did you notice how empty their offices were? Hell, in forty-eight hours that space will probably be vacant."

Costa's eyes widened. "You think?"

Brady nodded. "I do. I may be wrong, but I suspect we've seen the last of East Asian Imports."

"Son-of-a-bitch," Costa murmured, and they stepped from the building and into the sunlight.

"So now we visit Mr. Gianni Macchio. Where are his offices?"

"Actually, his address is in the warehouse district with his property. Wonder if he'll be available?"

Brady removed his sunglasses from his pocket and thrust them onto his face. "I highly doubt it, but we'll see." He stopped in front of Costa's shiny new Ford Explorer. "Want me to drive?"

"No thank you." Costa grinned, popping the door locks and climbing in.

Brady got in his side and buckled up. "But yours is so much cooler than mine. Don't you trust me?"

"With my new car? No, not one tiny bit."

He chuckled. "Remind me what we know about Macchio's operation."

"Um, Macchio's business is called East End Import Company. I think he runs it with his son, or he did. Maybe the son is running it now."

"What's the son's name?"

"I've got that." Costa felt in his pocket for his notebook and pulled it out one-handed while he drove. He flipped pages quickly and said, "D. Morrow."

"
Dee
? As in Dee Snyder or Sandra Dee?"

"Who?" The younger man glanced at him.

"Christ." Brady chuckled and shook his head.

"D., as in A, B, C, D. The letter 'D'."

"Gotcha. Okay, then. We're looking for Gianni Macchio or D. Morrow."

Costa turned into the run-down area by the river and began searching addresses. "Wonder why the son doesn't have the same name?"

"Who knows?" Brady stuck a cigarette in his mouth and waited until they stopped before lighting it. He climbed out and smoked it quickly on their walk to the company's office.

"Not nearly as nice as the last place," Costa commented, upon seeing the crumbling old building.

When he'd crushed out the butt under the toe of his boot, Brady opened the door and they went inside. "Looks can be deceiving," he murmured.

"No shit."

The East End Import Company offices had obviously been housed there for years. Large, overstuffed furniture filled the waiting room, and scenic pictures took up most of the wall space. The woman behind the desk was at least fifty, but Brady instantly liked her better than the last secretary.

She smiled at them warmly and said, "Hello! May I help you?"

He stopped close to her desk and removed a business card from the flap behind his badge. "I'm Detective Marshall with the W.P.D. Special Investigations Division. This is my partner, Detective Joe Costa. We're looking for Mr. Macchio, or perhaps his son Mr. Morrow."

She nodded. "Mr. Macchio is basically retired. Mr. Morrow is the man you'll want to see. I assume this is about that awful business with Damon Jones?"

Brady's mind clicked.
Damon Jones, the security guard killed recently
. "Yes ma'am," he agreed. "Was he a friend of yours?"

"Not really a friend. We have quite a few employees. I knew him, though. He had a wife and a baby on the way." She shook her head sadly.

"I'm so sorry." Brady hadn't read that in the file. Usually he was on top of every detail in his cases. He needed to get his mind totally in the game. "We're very interested in finding out who did this."

She spoke with some agitation. "It's all tied in with the recent burglaries in the warehouses. Mr. Morrow increased security because we've had so many—"