SHANK (A Wilde Crime Series) (20 page)

“S
ure.” I took a step back, trying to control my ragged breathing.

“I mean it, Ian. We have to stop this.”

“Tomorrow.” I unbuttoned her jeans with a flick of my wrist.

“Right….Tomorrow….”

Those were the last printable words we shared for the next three hours.

******

The next morning I awoke alone, stretching, I grinned at the bite marks on my chest. Frankie was anything but shy. My cell phone rang. I glanced down at the number and swore. Mickey. Fuck. Guilt replaced the afterglow. I was a shumck. The worst kind of friend.

“Speak,” I said into the receiver.

“Ian…I….You have to get over here….”

I shoved on my jeans. “What’s wrong?”

“I got something in the mail that you have to see.” His voice betrayed urgency but nothing else.

“Okay, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“The cops were here looking for you. So be careful.”

“I will.”
We hung up and I looked down at the tangled sheets. How the fuck was I going to face him?

“Mickey, open up.”
I knocked on Mickey’s apartment door fifteen minutes later. It had taken me an extra five minutes to give the cops the slip. Beth answered the door, not looking happy. Face creased with worry she looked older than her thirty years, but she still had that cute schoolteacher way about her.

“Mickey’s in the back.”
She held the door open and I walked in. The apartment looked and smelled like a woman. Everything had its place and the room smelled fresh and clean. I wondered what Mickey thought about that.

“Can I get you something
to drink?” Beth asked, always the good host.

“Coffee would be great.”

She
nodded, and I entered the back room. Mickey sat in a chair, his face in his hands. A stack of photographs sat spread out before him.

“Mickey? What’s going on?”

Mickey looked through me. “Here.” He handed me the stack of pictures.

I flipped
through the first three and understood. The photographs featured Mickey’s sweet innocent baby sister, naked, her limbs wrapped around an equally unclothed Nick DeMarco. “Oh, fuck.” I threw the photographs down. “Who sent these?”

“I have no idea. No return addr
ess. Postmarked from the Kitchen.”

If Nick
weren’t already dead, I’d have killed him. “What the fuck was she thinking?”

“I don’t know, man. I knew she wasn’t a virgin, but Nick?
” His lips thinned. “Christ, he’d fucked half the phonebook. I thought she knew better.”

“They’re old,” I said, and
Mickey glanced at me. “The photographs. They were taken years ago.”

“Why do you say that?”

I couldn’t tell him about the missing tattoo on her hip, a Celtic sun. Or tell him how I’d run my tongue along it last night. “You can tell. Look how young she looks…”

He
nodded, unsure. “I guess you’re right.”

“
Did you ask her about them?”

He
shook his head. “What the fuck am I gonna say?”

I had no idea. Shit. “Where is she now?”

Mickey stared blankly. “I thought she was at the bar. Isn’t she crashing on your couch?”

“
Yeah, but she wasn’t there this morning,” I lied. She’d snuck away sometime late in the night like a thief. I dialed her cell. It rang four times and went to voice mail. The sterile voice of a computer asked me to leave my name and number. I hung up instead. “Odd timing.” I frowned, thinking to myself.

“What do you mean?”

“Drew mentioned Nick was blackmailing Frankie. Nick gets killed and the photographs end up on your doorstep. Why? Nick didn’t send them and why would anyone else bother?”

He
nodded. “You’re right.”

“S
omeone wants us to think Frankie killed Nick.”

“
To what end?”

“
It takes suspicion off them.”

“But why send them to me? I know Frankie didn’t kill him. Why not send them to the cops? Or Sal?”

Fuck. “Maybe they did.”

“
We have to find her.” Mickey jumped up.

“You take the north side.” We headed for the door, each terrified
Sal would get to her first.

An hour later, I dialed Frankie’s cell number for the hundredth time. “Come on, answer the phone.” The woman standing next to me at the crosswalk inched away. Her umbrella at ready, a true New Yorker always on the lookout for pickpockets and crazies. I glanced at the cloudless sky and shook my head, wondering which one of us was crazy.

“Hello,
” Frankie answered, her voice sounding like heaven.

“Where the fuck are yo
u?”

“I’m at the bar. What’s wrong?”

“Lock it up. Grab the shotgun and go upstairs. Don’t let anyone in.”             

The woman with the umbrella took another step aw
ay and gave me a slow look over. Probably ensuring she’d be able to identify me on the witness stand.

“What happened?
” Frankie asked, her voice filling with fear. “You’re scaring me.”

“Just do it. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” I hung up before sh
e could ask any more questions and gave the woman a slight bow before I walked away. I dialed Mickey’s cell. “Frankie’s at the bar. I’m on my way there. I’ll call when I get her some place safe.”

“Be careful.” Mickey paused
, relief sounding in his tone. “Thanks, Ian. I don’t know how I can ever repay you.” Mickey trusted me to keep Frankie safe; yet, I couldn’t keep my hands off her. Shame slowed my steps. Worse I’d do it all again. Mickey be damned. 

Fifteen minutes later, I unlocked the bar door,
making as much noise as possible. Last thing I needed was a shotgun blast to the chest. “Frankie?”

She ran from behind the bar,
searching me for bullet holes. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” I locked the door
and slid the iron rod in place.

“What’s going on?”

“Mickey called me this morning.”

“
Is he hurt?” She rushed for the door.

I grabbed her arm. “He’s fine. He got some pictures in the mail.”

“Oh.” Her face paled, going from redhead-white to deathly so.

“What were you thinking?”

“Who sent them?”

“Don’t know.
” I shook my head. “My guess, it’s the same asshole who put a bullet in Nick.”

“I never wanted Mickey to find out
….”

“Guess you shouldn’t have posed for dirty pictures then.” Anger
boiling inside me burst forth. The thought of her hands, the very same ones that rocked my world, on Nick Demarco drove me crazy. 

She glared at me.
“You saw the pictures?”

“Every little detail.”

“I didn’t pose for them.” She blew out a breath. “I didn’t know he was taking them. I found out after I ended it. He tried to use them to get me back.”

“There’re why you went to meet him. You wanted to stop Nick from releasing the pictures.”

“Are you fucking insane?” She spun around, giving me her back. “
What are some dirty photographs in comparison to Mickey’s life? I went to ask Nick to talk to Sal. I thought he might for old time sake.”
              “Why? Because you fucked him once? You’re not that great in bed.” Rage forced the words from my mouth. Words I didn’t mean and would regret later.

She inhaled sharply
, and slowly turned back around to face me. Direct hit. Her lips quivered, but her voice was strong. “I thought he’d help because we loved each other once.”

I flinched,
my fingers dug into her shoulders. “You loved him?”

“Yes…No…I don’t know.”
She shook her head. “I was twenty-two, sheltered by Mickey and you most of my life. Nick was special, smart, and dangerous. He said he loved me, and I believed it.”

“So what happened?”

Bitterness echoed in her laugh. “I found out he loved three other girls from the block too. So I broke it off.”

“He let you?” That didn’t sound like the Nick I kne
w. A stripper once turned him down in favor of me. The next day, the cops had found her beaten almost to death by the East River.

Frankie
shook her head. “No, he threatened me. But you know how he was. The dirty work always fell to someone else.”

“He sent Chris after you. Why didn’t you tell us?”
Chris’ death made sense now. For years I wondered what had brought him to the bar that day. Now I knew, and it didn’t make a damn bit of difference.

A single tear slid along her cheekbone. “I didn’t want Mickey to
know or you for that matter.”

“Why? Do you think I care that Nick took advantage of you?”

“That’s just it. I knew what I was getting into. I’d spent enough time with him to see the truth, but I ignored it.” She stopped and shook her head. “It wasn’t until Chris had his fingers around my neck that I realized how badly I’d fucked things up.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”
The blame belonged to Nick. He knew better than to touch Frankie. Fuck. I knew it better too. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I bet Sal got a duplicate set of photos, and I doubt he’s gonna be as understanding.”

“
I’m sorry, Ian.” Shadows of defeat lined her eyes. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“It’s too late for apologies.”
My cell rang, and I held up my hand. “Speak.”

“Boy, th
at’s no way to answer the phone,” Billy’s voice boomed.

“Sorry,” I said, but I wasn’t.
“What’s up?”

“I spoke with my guy at the precinct. Burgess doesn’t have shit.”

“What’d you mean?”

“He’s hoping to catch
you dirty, carrying or something, so he can revoke your parole. Got a real thing for you. Thought I taught you better than that. You don’t fuck with the cops. Just makes them mean.” Billy’s lecture went on, but I tuned out.

When he finished, I said,
“I need a safe house.”

I could almost hear the veins in his head pop. “
No. No boy of mine’s gonna hide. You made this mess, you fucking clean it up.”

I laughed. So much for fatherly love.
“Not for me. I need somewhere safe for Frankie. Sal’s got it in for her.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so?”

“If you’d given me the chance I would have.”

Sile
nce. Seconds ticked by. Finally he cleared his throat. “I got just the place. It’s on 11th, a fourth floor walkup. Only one way in, and you can see the whole block. I’ll call Mark and let him know you’re coming.” Mark was Billy’s right hand man, and like an uncle to me. A uncle who’d kicked the shit out of me a time or two, but he’d also taught me how to play cards.

“Thanks, Billy.”
I hung up the phone, somewhat relieved. Burgess had nothing on me, and soon Frankie would be safe, from Sal and me. “Pack your shit. You might be gone awhile.”

“What about you?”

“I’m staying here.”

“No.”

“Don’t push me.” My voice went soft.

“The only way I’ll go is if you come with me.” She cr
ossed her arms across her chest.

I didn’t have time for this. “Unless you want me to fucking carry you out of here, you’ll do as I say.”

“I’m done following orders. It’s time you listen to me. If you stay, I stay.”

I weighed the options. Staying at the safe house with Frankie would have certain adva
ntages. One might be seeing her naked. I’d also be there to keep an eye on her. “Fine. But don’t think this changes anything. I give the orders, and you follow them from now on.”

“
We’ll see.” She turned and climbed the stairs.

“Dinner is served.” Frankie placed a plate of mushy casserole in front of me. Greasy congealed along the edges, turning the paper plate an unappetizing orange color. Billy’s safe house didn’t come with all the amenities of home, like glass and silverware, but it wasn’t too bad. A front window gave me a view of the street, which mattered most. No one would ambush us.

“Ummm…thanks.”
I looked down at the plate, held my breath, and took a bite. Worse than I imagined, it tasted like charred feet.

“Well?”

“Let’s order in.”

She laughed. “That bad, huh?”

I nodded, grabbing our plates from the table and tossing them into the trash. “Cooking is not a skill you possess.”