Ties That Bind (2 page)

She intended to draw him and Jimmie as close together as possible. Then, with blackmail and begging if necessary, she planned to offer Vinetti’s private books for a spot in the witness protection program. The IOC wanted Jimmie, which she could provide on a platter, while she wanted freedom. Special Agent Mitchell Vincenzo Kerlin was her last chance to get it. For once in her life, Ashli Vinetti was going to get out of her brother’s shadow.

She dropped back into her caramel brown leather chair, twisting her hair between her fingers as her thoughts muddled with the best approach to her end goal. She had no problem sleeping with him if it was necessary but he had an effect on her that she hadn’t anticipated. He could get any woman he wanted, she had no doubt of that, and making sure that she was the one he wanted was an obstacle she wasn’t prepared for. She had never lacked in men – her last name alone caused power hungry men to flock to her.

But Mitch wasn’t someone looking for a job. She had come to him and he recognized that. She chafed, wondering if she had made a mistake by bailing him out and then thought better of it. It was the right move it just meant she would have to work harder to be inaccessible to him. He enjoyed a challenge…she could see that from the moment he strode past her guards and into the inner offices. She checked her reflection in the computer screen’s monitor, debating whether or not it was time to get her hair cut. Or highlighted at least.

“New boyfriend?”

Ashli didn’t bother to turn around at the voice, knowing he would notice the flush to her cheeks. She stopped fiddling with her hair and turned her attention back to the computer screen.

“No. What do you want, Jimmie?”

“Heard you had a visitor,” he answered, dropping down into the chair Mitch had vacated. “I haven’t seen you so edgy since we dumped that fed you were bedding in the ocean.”

Her eyes narrowed, her voice a low growl. “Do you need something?”

He smiled. “I just want you happy, Ashli. When was the last time you were happy? Do you even remember?”

“It was not a new boyfriend,” she relented. “If you must know, Mitch Kerlin dropped by for a visit.”

“Kerlin?” Jimmie perked up. “What the fuck does Coppell want now?”

“Coppell was shot in the head last week. Where have you been?” she admonished. “Kerlin got arrested in Atlantic City for the murder. I bailed him out.”

“Friendly of you.” His voice dropped several notches. “Did he do it?”

“Of course not,” she laughed and sent him a self-satisfied smile. “Loyalty is only absent in
this
organization.”

She had hit a nerve and knew it. Jimmie had spent the last few weeks talking nonsense of loyalty and honor. She knew better – the people working for them were only loyal as long as the bonus checks kept coming in. It mattered little to her but she didn’t lead the life Jimmie did. In his one commendable action as a big brother, he had kept her far removed from the darker side of their business. She told him when she had a problem and by the next day, he had it handled. Some small part of her appreciated his gesture but it had long since been buried with the knowledge that she was the cause of hundreds of deaths over the years.

But Jimmie wanted to believe. He wanted people loyal to him and him alone. He desperately desired a family that no longer existed solely in his imagination. Though he rarely feared for his own safety, she knew it plagued him to never have someone that he could be honest with. His unwillingness to share things with her had caused this rift but he refused to revert to different behavior. It was his burden to bear, he told her each time she tried to get him to open up, and he would bear it alone. That was what she hoped to change.

“Please remind me, why does Vinetti Industries care about this?”

“Because Coppell left no heirs,” Ashli spat, her temper beginning to rise as he questioned her decision. “And the last time I checked, neither one of us knows anybody in Canada.”

“The last time
I
checked, there’s nobody in Canada I care to know,” he retorted, standing up and moving to fix himself a glass of orange juice from the bar. He drank it in silence, amused to see her eyes flashing at him. She hated it when he involved himself on her side of the business dealings. But considering that everything after the initial contact was going to end up his responsibility, he’d forewent placating her years before. He wanted to know what he was getting into before it blew up in his face. His facial features must have changed because her anger was now gone, replaced with what he could only imagine was sympathy.

“What?” he surveyed his suit, checking to make sure he hadn’t put it on backwards in his haste this morning. “You not like my tie or something?”

“We seem to be short an employee this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” she asked, her voice that tender, worried tone that annoyed the hell out of him.

“Screw Alizondo. Probably drank too much and he and that new bride of his took off to Cozumel.”

Ashli moved to his side, her fingers resting on his arm. “Are you alright?”

Jimmie straightened his shirt, tucking it tighter into his waistband and offered her a smile. “Dinner tomorrow night?  You can introduce me to that new boyfriend of yours.”

She didn’t bother to correct him, knowing it would just be cause for more ribbing in the future. “I’ll see what I can arrange.”

He nodded, heading for the door but then hesitated, turning to her with a more serious gaze. “Hey, do me a favor, will you?  Don’t shake off the bodyguards for the next few days, okay?”

That’s why the guards had run in following Mitch’s appearance and why Jimmie had hurried to her office this morning when he’d been told she had an uninvited guest – they were in danger. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t keep the small shake out of her voice as she spoke. “Are we expecting problems?”

“Nothing we can’t handle. We just haven’t been able to locate Alex’s brother.” He offered her a smile gleaming with confidence. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with. I’d just prefer you not go out alone.”

“He’s in mourning, Jimmie.”

“Women mourn,” he returned easily, “Men seek revenge.”

CHAPTER TWO

“My wayward boy returns,” a quiet voice echoed down the empty hallway, its owner hidden deep within the shadows of the abandoned apartment building. “Just where the hell have you been for the last four days?”

“You should know. Don’t your superiors at the IOC tell you anything useful?” Mitch countered, ignoring the inch-thick dust and sinking onto a dilapidated desk. “I’ve been in the Atlantic City jail, Mike.”

“You got pinched for Coppell’s murder, didn’t you?” he laughed. “I heard on the radio that someone had been picked up. Never thought it would be you.”

“Well, thanks for bailing me out,” he grumbled.

Mike’s eyes narrowed and he paced around Mitch. “How
did
you get out?”

“Ashli Vinetti did the honors. I’d hate to see what it cost her, too. She had to have bribed somebody big to get me out before the arraignment.”

“They wouldn’t have charged you,” Mike admonished. “What does she want with you?”

Mitch grinned, straightening his collar for effect. “My good looks?”

Frowning, Mike sank down beside him. Pulling out a notebook and pen, he waited patiently for Mitch to answer. When he didn’t, Mike dropped the pad onto the table. “Come on, Mitch, tell me something here. What are you going to do?  Retire since Coppell bit the big one?”

“Excellent suggestion. Unfortunately, everyone seems to have other ideas. Including you, your bosses up at the IOC and
la familia
.” Mitch moved away from him, sliding off his coat and tossing it onto the desk. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out an exhausted sigh. As much as he disliked the bureaucracy of the IOC, it was nice to be able to let his calm, collected facade slide for a while. If it wasn't for the constant questioning of his actions, he could almost feel like a regular guy when he met with his field supervisor.

“Where were you before you got arrested?  We’d been searching for you for days.”

“With friends,” he returned dismissively, letting him know that he had no intention of answering.

“We thought you’d gotten knocked off with Coppell,” Mike argued. “You can’t just disappear like that. Keeps me up at night.”

“I’m fine, Mike, but thanks for worrying.” He offered him a brief smile then moved away, kicking trash distractedly from one area of the room to another. He flicked the light switches, not expecting them to work but trying to do something to keep his hands busy. The last thing he needed was having his boss see the tremble in his hands from the lack of sleep and copious amounts of alcohol he’d consumed since being released from jail. Another lecture on morality and the sins of the mafia would surely follow and he didn’t think he could sit through that without slugging Mike.

“Want to tell me about Coppell?” he asked, surveying Mitch worriedly. He knew Mitch had hated Coppell. Unlike some of his recruits who often ended up friends with the guys they brought down, Mitch had held nothing but absolute contempt for Coppell and all of his men. He knew Mitch didn’t kill him or even want him dead for that matter, but nearly three years of undercover work had just been obliterated when someone blasted Coppell in the back of the head with a 12 gauge. If he wasn’t upset, he damn sure at least had a right to be pissed.

“Rather not,” Mitch responded.

“Then let me tell you about it.” Reaching into his overcoat, Mike pulled out an oversized folded envelope and passed it Mitch's direction. “Shot in the head at close range. Weapon was a 12 gauge Benelli found at the scene.”

“Registered?”

“No. But the serial number matches one you reported when you cataloged his weapons on premises six months after you started working for him.”

“Montefeltro?”

“Yeah.”

“It was a 20th anniversary present from his wife,” Mitch provided.

“No signs of a struggle and all guards were in the other part of the house.”

“What about Garrison?”  Mitch asked, flipping through the photos.

“The guard that always stayed with you and Coppell?  He was asleep in his room.”

“You drug test him?”

“No. Why would we?”

“I wasn't there. If I'm not there, Garrison wouldn't leave Jeffrey unguarded. The guy would never have just gone to bed.”

“Everyone has to sleep.”

“We don't get a nice eight hours like you, Mike,” Mitch grumbled. “He was drugged. I'll put money on it.”

“So, you out of the country, second hand drugged and the house is wide open for an attack.”

“That house is never wide open. I turned it into a fortress.”

“Yeah, about that. You know the police couldn't even get through your “fortress” to respond to the call?  That was a bitch to try and explain.”

“Proving my point. The guards would've only gone away if Coppell sent them away.”

“You're saying Coppell knew the murderer and sent the guards away?” Mike nodded. “It makes sense. Coppell has a meeting he doesn't want anyone-even you- privy to. Something goes wrong and his private meeting turns into a bloodbath.”

Mitch nodded then paused in his review of the file. “This says two people were noted at the scene.”

“A man's footprint in Coppell's blood. No lead on the tread just that it was a male. Trace evidence of a female, not enough for DNA matching. It could've been from hours before the murder even. Likely one of his whores.”

“He didn't have whores,” Mitch cut him off. “He was married.”

“That doesn't mean-”

“You automatically assume because he's a mafioso that he's out bedding someone new every night, don't you?” Mitch growled. “I was with him for over three years. Yeah he was a cutthroat business man with a dozen murders to his credit but he was a loyal husband and a damn good father, Mike. Stop with the bureaucratic profiling shit, all right?”

Mike held his hands up. “Okay, so who then?”

“Hundreds of possibilities. He has five sisters, two teen daughters and their friends, dozens of female employees with access to his house. Hell, it could be from one of the whores I brought there. Take that back to your profilers, why don't you?”

“Mitch, come on,” Mike tried. “You are getting emotional over-”

Mitch yanked one of the photos out of the file and held it up. The gruesome shot was enough to make Mike recoil even though he'd seen it a dozen times already.

“He died on my watch, Mike. In his pajamas, in his own house where I've spent hours drinking whiskey and shooting the shit with him until dawn. It happened because I wasn't there to prevent it so don't patronize me over how I should be emotionally detached from this because he was a criminal. He didn't deserve this. No one does.”

“Agreed, but-”

Mitch waved him off, knowing his patience had met its end. “Time to move on.”

“You sure you’re ready for that?”

Mitch laughed. It wasn’t as if the IOC ever cared whether he was ready or not. He learned long ago that determining his own schedule was the only way to survive within the IOC. If he didn't have such deep seated connections to the mob, they would have sent him packing years ago for his flagrant disregard for their rules. Now he only chose the assignments he wanted to...and those were getting fewer and fewer as the years went on. “When are you going to ever get another opportunity like Ashli Vinetti knocking on your door, Mike?”