Perfect Crime (9 page)

The question made Scott smile. "Mmm, no," he admitted.

"Good. We have a bit of an understanding, me and her. When I turn eighteen, she's gonna let me take her out. Until then, well, she's saving herself for me."

Scott looked solemn, nodding at the territorial statement. The chance of it being true was slim to none, but having been young once himself, he appreciated Tessa's tact. "I hear ya. You need to stay in school until then though—she likes educated men," he coached.

With a nod, the young man sauntered off. He'd said his peace, and appeared confident that Scott knew how things stood. Scott looked around the room for Tessa, but she wasn't in view.

She had gone outside.

The area around the front door was brightly lit, but beyond the scope of the light the street was pitch black. "Baby Koch," a voice growled from the shadows, "you shouldn't have come here."

Tessa squinted, trying to focus into the darkness, to follow the voice. "Tell me what you know, Cage."

The sound of gravel crunching under heavy boots pinpointed his location. "I took a call from Mr. Perelli," the faceless voice said. "Guess he figured you might come in." A long pause ensued before Cage took a step into the light to face Tessa. "I'm supposed to call him if you show."

His stoic stare held her gaze. "Do you know what would happen to me if someone found out that you were here, and I didn't call in?"

She nodded her head knowingly, "Ya gotta do what ya gotta do, man," she offered casually, hoping that her forgiving attitude would get her some answers before she left. "Just tell me when Cy got back to town. I thought rumor had it, he was six feet under?"

"He came out a little while ago."

"Any idea why?"

"Said his sister was in trouble."

"Anything else?" she prompted.

"Nope." Even if there was more,
Omerta
, the code of silence for all who knew better, held his tongue. "I'll give you five minutes head start, and then I'm putting in the call," he said through a tight jaw.

"I need ten, or we're going to meet at the tunnel," she explained, referring to a narrow street that linked the adjoining area to this. If they weren't given more time, there would be a good chance they'd be caught.

He shook his head. She wasted precious seconds asking, "Have you seen Father Luke tonight?"

"Was here, but he left about an hour ago—said he had an appointment." He blinked. "Four minutes."

Conversation clearly over, Tessa went back inside, quickly stepping over to Scott. She reached out and grabbed his hand, half pulling him to hurry him out. "We've got to go," she said sharply.

"What's the hurry?" It amazed him how quickly she could hustle if she wanted to. Scott found himself in a half jog on the way back to the car. He didn't need the handclasp to find his way, or follow in haste, but he was reluctant to release the familiar contact.

Skidding to a stop in front of the car, Scott yanked on Tessa's arm gently as she tried to move towards the driver's door and out of grasp. "Wait a second," he urged, concern evident in his voice.

Tugging the laced fingers again, he pulled Tessa toward him, refusing to let her move beyond the hood of the car. He took a step and closed the distance. Toes touched. The fragrance she always wore rushed up to great him. It didn't annoy him like it usually did.

The sudden reluctance to go any further caught Tessa off guard, sending her two-stepping back to Scott; one hand caught up on his chest, the other still tangled in his fingers. For a split second she forgot why they were in a hurry. Tilting her head upward, long auburn tresses fell off her shoulders to line her back, the ends grazing the hood of the car.

"Somebody told you something. Come on, spill it," he said.

His easy smile made her want to believe that they were not in danger. Sliding her hand from his chest, to settle on the edge of the car, she realized her fingers were still tangled in his. A quick blush filled her cheeks that she hoped would be shrouded by the artificial light that circled their presence.

She let go, and Scott's hand fell by his side.

"Unless we want company, we'd better leave now," she said. Aware that there were ears nearby, she didn't want to say more. She handed him the car keys.

Scott's touch lingered in warmth on her fingers. Tessa closed her hand, trying to hold the feeling an instant longer. Trusting that he would take her lead, she stepped around the side and climbed into the car.

"I messed up," she said, "I shouldn't have brought us here. Let's head to the airport."

"Going to spend the weekend with me?" he asked. She didn't laugh, instead she busied herself watching out the rear window. Scott pressed, "How'd you know I planned to go to New York?"

"I didn't really," Tessa said, giving him a quick glance, "until now."

"Ah," Scott chuckled softly as he turned the car towards the highway.

Looking through the rear window, Tessa studied the traffic. No car sped into the street to follow them. She let Scott drive on in silence. If she said anything, he might ask questions, and she wasn't sure what she was willing to answer. Explaining the nickname the kids used back in the club was just one possibility that came to mind, and how could she explain that without revealing more?

Maybe Cage had honored her request after all. After a few more minutes, Tessa said, "Father Luke wasn't there, so I'll try calling him."

"Alright," Scott said, voice quiet, his face obscured in the dim light.

It took several rings before the priest answered. She filled him in briefly, but he was reluctant to discuss the stained glass window, the Bible verses, or any reason why the postcard might be so important to Cy Perelli. There was some shock in his voice over the situation, but he seemed more concerned for Tessa than the truth.

"Leave it alone, Tessa," begged the priest, "We should have taken the window as the warning that it was when it was first delivered."

Tessa chewed her lower lip, her brain searching for answers. "Did the bequest come with anything more direct?"

"What more do you need?"

For a long moment she couldn't say anything, but like countless times before, Tessa pushed the suspicious facts to the side and continued with her original reason for calling. "Christopher Perelli is in town."

"I know, he's been by to see me," Father Luke supplied. "He's worried about Darla."

"Took him long enough, it's been two months."

"Maybe he's just now getting his priorities straight."

She hated his understanding tone, "A little too late, Father, Darla is dead. And so is Kate Russo…I need to talk to Dante."

"Can't help you there. I haven't heard from him for at least a week." The sigh through the line was more fatalistic then sad. "This has hurt so many people, Contessa. Now, you be smart; those shots this afternoon were your warning—take it and walk away."

"Shots? What are you talking about?" the words slowly trickled from her mouth.

There was a second's hesitation, "I heard there was some gunfire at the Tribune tonight."

Obviously that was true, but he wasn't exactly claiming his information came from the 10 o'clock news. She tried to dismiss the paranoia that crept slowly up her spine.

Father Luke's voice was as kind as she'd always remembered. "Tessa, where are you? Why don't you come to the church? You can give the postcard to me. Cy still has some illusions about heaven, he won't hurt me."

"No, it's okay, I'll be fine."

"Go home then, get some sleep."

"Actually, I'm going to leave town for a few days—don't worry about me."

"Where? No, wait. It's probably best to keep your plans to yourself." He sighed before he said, "Call me if you need me."

There was a pause before he added, "Dio sia con te."

"Thanks for the blessing, Father. I think I'm going to need it."

Chapter 9

Communications

"
Ha ha ha."

The ticket agent laughed at Scott's joke. He flirted with the woman behind the counter, ignoring Tessa, although he suspected she rolled her eyes at least once. Her barely concealed disdain only egged him on. And in the end, despite originally having only one ticket for tomorrow's flight, Scott managed to flirt his way into two seats in first class on the red-eye.

Five minutes well spent.

"It's always about the pretty face," Tessa commented while opening the ticket jacket and seeing she'd been assigned the window seat. "I'm impressed. Does the Tribune know about this secret skill of yours, Mr. Shameless?"

For a moment he considered a trite denial, but he didn't plan to defend himself. Humor always worked best. Hadn't he just proven that? Turning towards the security gate, Scott leaned conspiratorially towards Tessa. "Now you know how I managed to scoop you. As for Cyndi," he mentioned the ticket agent by name, "all's fair when they want to bill you for luggage—even when you have none."

"And she comes with a name." Tessa again rolled her eyes. "Poor baby," she teased, "flying into the unknown with only the clothes on your back."

"Easy for you to say," he countered. With a gentlemanly gesture, he took her carry-on, rolling the luggage as they walked towards the security check point.

Scott stole a glance at the monitors and checked the time. He'd been right in his earlier prediction—they never would have made it on time had he gone back to his car for his bag. There wasn't much time to waste; already they were announcing final boarding.

He was tired. It was more than driving all over town and finding few answers that caused the fatigue. On the ride over, Tessa had shared nothing of her conversations at the Kid's Club and he'd only heard one side of the discussion with Father Luke. She wasn't acting much like his partner any more. A little of his cheerful front cracked, a frown settling between his brows as he stalked on towards the gate.

Tessa felt the twinges of guilt tightening her chest. What was she doing? What had she done? She chastised herself for not taking the chance and talking with Cy. She rubbed at a spot on her brow; trying to run from Cy was no different than trying to run from the Mob. And now she was dragging Scott down with her.

Maybe it made better sense to let Scott go on alone, Tessa pondered, trying to decide between the right move and the right thing to do.

She would stay back, make a few calls, try and get a few things straightened out and then meet up with him in New York. Decision made, Tessa stopped a few feet short of the attendant who stood sentry at the boarding gate. She reached for Scott's arm.

"What are we doing?" she questioned, lifting her eyes to meet his. "You have plans made, and hell, I don't even have a room."

He looked down at her hand on his arm, and she pulled back. Now she could add embarrassment to her anxiety list.

"What?" Scott said, clearly confused. There were at least a million hotel rooms in New York; surely she knew there would be at least one vacant.

The gate attendant said something, urging them onboard. Scott ignored her, his attention on Tessa. "You can't stay here," he explained. Snatching the tickets, he handed them to the clerk as he added, "If you don't come with me, I won't tell you what the ticket cost, so you won't be able to pay me back, which means you'll owe me and that will drive you nuts."

He took a tentative step toward the open door to the jetway. "I'm awake, you're awake. You have two hours to try and get the information out of me."

The smart remark she planned to throw at him was interrupted by the sound of her cell phone ringing.

Scott held out an expectant hand as the persistent sound continued. "Are you surprised? I did say I'd call him back." He tapped his foot. "Hate to keep him waiting."

Tessa hesitated, and then rummaged through her purse for the phone. She handed it to Scott, who dispersed with the pleasantries, cutting right to the chase, by giving directions to Cy for a meeting. "Four a.m., Tessa's place."

Flipping the phone closed and handing it back to her, Scott said, "Now you can pick, him or me."

Cocking an eyebrow, she kept any form of smile at bay. "You don't even play fair," she said, feigning slight annoyance. "Trying to plead to Cy's sense of reason now would be about as futile as trying to light a match in a hurricane."

"All he wants is a piece of paper—or so you say."

The gate attendant moved forward. "I'm sorry, Sir, we need to..."

Scott swept a dramatic hand towards the open door, saying, "After you."

The attendant was waiting, with one hand on the door and motioning inside with the other. Not as gallantly as Scott, but the message was the same. Unless Tessa could come up with a damn good reason why not, she was expected to get on the plane. Accepting defeat, she followed the direction they pointed.

Her phone rang again. This time she ignored it.

Following Tessa down the jetway, Scott said, "Let's see if we can keep the focus on Darla. Might make this easier for both of us."

"I doubt it," she said, ending that conversation.

There were only two seats open in first class. Stepping to the side, Tessa motioned to the window seat. "I guess since you're bankrolling this little getaway, you get the seat of honor."

The need to look at the world from thousands of feet in the air did not appeal to her, nor did the feeling of helplessness when the plane banked. Scott took a lasting look at her before he agreed and took the inner seat. Slipping in next to him, she immediately did up her seatbelt. Her hands gripped the armrest, squeezing and twisting unconsciously.

"I remember the last time I was in New York," she babbled. "It was in December, the weather was barely fit for penguins, let alone flying."

"Yeah, if heights aren't your thing, flying can be a hard way to travel," Scott said, lowering the window shade. "Do you get motion sickness, too?"

"No, nothing like that," she answered curtly, obviously not willing to fill in the finer details.

"Let me guess…Christmas shopping in the Big Apple."

"No," she said, her voice soft, "that trip was to claim my brother Rhen's body."

Scott gave a murmur of sympathy.

Feeling an unusual sense of vulnerability, Tessa blurted, "He was murdered…shot pretty much at point blank range; makes me consider, it was someone he knew." She paused, and then added, "Did I ever mention, that Christopher and Rhen used to be pretty tight?"

Her companion looked at her, the betrayal she felt was so evident. "What do the police say?"

Tessa gave a snort of disgust; Rhen had been a hit man, plain and simple. "Oh you know, the usual, they'll contact me if they get any leads. I haven't heard a word. I doubt they're out there looking very hard."

He stared at her; she was so jaded. He pushed. "When was this?"

"December 23rd of last year." The look in her eyes suggested a memory came with the disclosure.

Well, we're talking my town now, I know people," he said compassionately, "Let me see what I can find out. Let me have your phone."

The flight attendant announced that all electronic devices should be turned off and began the safety briefing, but Scott didn't heed the warning. He put through a call to an office at the New York Post.

"Marlayna," he purred, "how are you doing, Beautiful?"

A smirk laced the response. "Hello, Scott. I'm busy Darling, trying to get the next edition out."

"I need a favor."

"Uh-huh. Well, since you don't work here anymore, what can the Post possibly have that you want?"

He ignored the loaded question. "I just need a name this time. Was it Vincent White who was the reporter that covered those murders late last year? I remember him calling them something catchy in keeping with the holiday season." Scott remembered but out of respect for Tessa, he didn't want to have to repeat it with her in earshot.

"Which ones. Are you talking about the DeMarco killings in late November? White, the damn fool, titled one article, 'Garbage In/Garbage Out probably in relation to that garbage contract dispute. All three of those gentlemen were from the same 'family', if you know what I'm saying….the Mob is clannish that way. And then there was a retaliation hit in December – Christmas Delivery. A bow was put on the victim's chest."

Scott could almost hear the frown in her voice as she added, "I can't believe you don't remember."

"Retaliation hit?"

"Now I know that brilliant mind of yours is ticking, Scott."

Suddenly, silence reigned on the other end. "What are you sitting on?" she asked. "I get dibs on the article, too. I want to know anything you find out. We have the time zone difference; I want it to hit New York before Chicago."

"I have to go Marlayna but I'm coming to town. Pull the file for me and I'll buy you dinner tomorrow night." He didn't bother saying it would be a group affair, the same dinner he had promised his contacts on the police force when he'd called them the day before.

Marlayna consented. "Fair enough. You can pick me up at six tomorrow night. My place."

The flight attendant gave Scott a pointed glare about his use of the phone, so he finished the call and passed the phone to Tessa. He wondered if she would release the stronghold she had on the armrest to take back her cell phone. Barely, but she did.

"Do you ever turn it off?"

He mimicked her exasperated tone, "Have you ever dealt with Marlayna Reed?"

Taking her pointed silence as a no, he sighed, "You can come to dinner, too. I wouldn't want you to starve."

The airplane jerked backwards, pulling away from the gate. As the plane started to move, her hand flew back to the armrest, effectively slapping his arm in the close proximity. "Sorry," she mumbled. To disguise her discomfort, she grabbed the in-flight magazine and flipped through the pages at random, only belatedly realizing that it was upside down.

Taxiing continued, and Scott reached out and gently took the magazine from Tessa. "You need to relax. Statistically, flying is safer than driving."

Her head snapped to the side to glare at him, "Is that so? You don't know how happy I am to hear that," each word dripped with sarcasm. "Aren't you afraid of dying?"

Scott turned his head away from her, to look straight ahead, "No," he said.

For the next ten minutes, he remained silent. Only then did Tessa clear her throat, causing him to turn his head. She was studying him in that intense way a cop does when they sense they're not getting the whole story.

"What?" he said.

If she were tactful, she'd leave the question alone. "What's the matter—you have the window closed, and your awfully quiet, almost tense – your shoulders are all stiff."

"Oh?"

"Getting motion sick?"

He didn't find the repeat of his earlier question amusing. "Nope."

The plane leveled off. Tessa removed her seat belt and pulled a leg under her for comfort. The forced air in the compartment was drying and she welcomed a bottled water from the flight attendant. She took a sip. Curiosity about Scott's actions took her mind off her anxiety. She wasn't about to let the puzzle go unsolved.

"Want to play twenty questions?"