“I need to see her.”
He nodded his understanding. “I’ll make that happen as soon as it’s feasible.”
“Thank you.” She took a breath, blowing relief past her full lips. “I need to go. It’s almost eleven.”
Armstrong reached a large hand out, his fingers toying with the charm around her neck. He stared into her eyes. “There will be a team out on the street and someone inside watching. If things go left and you get into trouble, you push this button—is that understood?”
“Yes, but it’s going to be okay. I think I know how to play this. I plan to take Carlo up on his offer to move in with him.” Danni dropped that bomb softly, knowing full well he wasn’t going to take it well. It was why she hadn’t mentioned it sooner.
Armstrong took a step forward. “Excuse me?”
“Carlo knows what his brother does. He’s also closely connected to his grandfather. Maybe more than we even know. He’s my way inside.”
“That’s not going to happen, Danni.”
“Yes, it is. I think I can get him to let his guard down. Maybe even spill something he wouldn’t normally share.”
“Are you interested in this man?”
Danni’s eyes widened slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to imply, but you need to check yourself. I’m here to do a job, and I’ll do whatever I have to if it means bringing down Pius and the rest of his family.”
“I wasn’t trying to imply anything. I know that man is interested in you, and his wanting to help doesn’t have anything to do with having a compassionate spirit.”
“You need to trust me, Armstrong.”
“I do trust you. It’s him I don’t trust!” His voice was raised, the comment coming sharply. His hand fell back to his side, his fists clenched tightly together.
There was a moment of hesitation as Danni resisted the urge to take another step toward him, wanting to feel his arms around her. The desire to be held was intense, and frustrating. Armstrong seemed to read her mind, battling his own wealth of emotion.
“I didn’t mean to yell. I just don’t want anything to happen to you. I would feel bad.” His whole face lifted in a bright smile.
Danni laughed, her eyes rolling skyward. Just like that, the tension between them eased. She pressed her hand to the center of his chest, tapping lightly. “I will call you as soon as I leave the coffee shop.”
“You better, and that’s an order, Detective.”
* * *
Armstrong was still standing in the window of his town house as he watched Danni’s car pull into traffic and disappear at the intersection. Trying to deal with what he was feeling was harder than he would ever have anticipated. But his concern for Danni extended well past his responsibility as her partner. Danni had gotten under his skin, and the way he wanted her was starting to spread like a virus, unchecked and potentially lethal. He didn’t need to compromise his case because he was falling for his partner. But truth be told, he wanted Danni more than he could ever admit to her or anyone else. If he was perfectly honest with himself, the thought of her being with Carlo, for any reason, had him on edge.
Closing the window blinds, he moved back to the kitchen counter and the cell phone he’d dropped against the counter. He checked for any messages, but there were none. He sauntered back to his bedroom, and the master bath. Danni’s revolver still sat on the counter where she’d left it. His heart skipped a beat and then two. He knew her well enough to know she hadn’t forgotten it, the gun left there on purpose for him to find and hold on to.
Leaning against the counter, his mood shifted from angry to worried and back again. Had he known she was unarmed, there would have been no way he would have allowed her back into that lion’s den. But she had known, and she’d gone anyway. After standing in reflection, he heaved a deep sigh and moved out of the space back to his kitchen. He trusted her and he knew enough that Danni didn’t do anything without good reason. After double-checking that the stove was off and everything was back in place, he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. He had a meeting to ask Alexander Balducci a few questions, and he didn’t want to be late.
Chapter 13
The smell of freshly baked cinnamon rolls and newly brewed Colombian coffee met Danni at the door of the coffee shop. Inside, Carlo was behind the counter in deep conversation with a customer. The tall blonde was giggling heartily, clearly enjoying whatever they were discussing. Pie and Ginger were seated at their usual spot in the back, the boys in black flanking them on either side. A half dozen customers sat around the room, each focused on their cell phones or laptops or lost in conversation with a companion. Nothing seemed amiss.
Danni moved to her usual table and sat down. As she pulled off her coat, Carlo spotted her and winked. She gave him a bright smile and a nod. Tossing a quick glance over her shoulder, she caught Ginger staring at her. The two women locked gazes, and it took very little for Danni to know that the other woman was not happy with her. She took a deep breath and waited. It took no time at all before Ginger rose from her own seat, crossed the room and dropped down into the empty chair beside her.
“Hey,” Danni said, her voice a loud whisper.
Ginger shot a quick glance around the room before she responded. “You find someplace to go? Because once you finish your coffee and you’re done playing nice, I don’t want to ever see you again.”
Danni took another deep breath. “I can’t run, Ginger. Not yet.”
Ginger shook her head. “Then you’re on your own. I can’t help you, and I’m not going to run interference between you and Pius.”
“I’m not asking you to. I just need you to let me help you.”
Ginger smiled. “I’ve been doing this too long to need any help now. You just need to take care of yourself. Cop.”
They exchanged a look. Danni’s gaze skated around the room, checking who might be within earshot of their conversation. “I don’t know what...” she started.
Ginger held up a hand. “It’s the only thing that makes sense,” she said, her voice dropping two octaves. “But your secret’s safe with me. Telling could get me killed, and I’m not interested in dying anytime soon.”
“Will you talk to me, Ginger? I could use your help.”
“No. I don’t know anything, and I have even less to say. If you know what’s good for you, you might want to not know anything, either.”
“I’m planning to take Carlo up on his offer to stay at his place.”
Ginger shook her head. “You really do want to get yourself hurt,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
Ginger suddenly stood up. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she muttered, and then she stood up and moved back across the room.
As Ginger stepped away, Carlo suddenly replaced her, moving to Danni’s side. He carried a tray with two cups of hot coffee and a plate of those cinnamon rolls that scented the air.
“Good morning!”
“Hi, Carlo.”
He drew a warm hand across her shoulders as he eased into the seat on the other side of the table. “So, are you feeling better about things today?”
“I’m good. I shouldn’t have said anything. I hope Pie’s not mad at me.”
“Don’t you worry about Pie. So, did you think about my offer? Because it’s still open. If you need someplace to stay, you are more than welcome to stay with me.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.”
Carlo reached his hand across the table and took hers. “You won’t be a problem. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you there.”
“I wouldn’t need to stay long,” Danni said. “Maybe a couple of weeks. Just until I can find a job and make some money to afford a room somewhere.”
“I could always use your help here,” Carlo added. “I don’t pay much, but it would put a few dollars into yo
ur pockets.”
“You’ll get tired of me,” she said with a slight smile. “If I’m here at work and then you go home and I’m there, I’m sure I’ll wear out my welcome sooner than later.”
“Don’t you worry about that. What’s on your agenda today?”
“I actually have an interview at one o’clock down at the mall, and I was planning on putting in a few other applications when I was done.”
Carlo nodded. “Well, when you’re done, just come on back here and I will take you and your things over to my apartment.”
“Will it be okay if I leave my duffel bag here?” She pointed at the oversize bag sitting at her feet.
“Not to worry,” Carlo said. He stood up and reached for her case. “I’ll just store this in the back room for you until you get back.”
“Thank you,” Danni said, “for everything.”
“Everything is going to be fine,” he said as he leaned to kiss the top of her head. “I promise.”
* * *
An air of superiority echoed off the walls of the prestigious Union League Club of Chicago. It imbibed the essence of high society: the well-dressed elite, fine china and silver in the dining rooms, and the smell of old money. For 140-plus years the Chicago landscape had been idealized, compromised and defined within those walls. The decor was opulent with one of the most impressive private collections of fine art covering the walls. Situated on Jackson Boulevard, the social club was mere minutes from the Chicago Board of Trade building with a membership largely comprising high-profile professionals—investors, attorneys, physicians, politicians and most of the Black family.
The downtown refuge for the rich and powerful had been a staple in Armstrong’s life since he’d been in his teens. His parents had been members for what seemed like forever, and as he neared maturity they often brought him and his siblings there to rub elbows with many of Chicago’s young elite. As an adult he’d often sipped scotch in one of the club’s many bars, the twenty-three-story structure boasting quite a few.
The private club was known to open doors, members influencing every aspect of the city. Philanthropy was essential to the club’s mission statement, funding numerous charitable outlets. The Union League was known to champion causes such as racial equality, women’s suffrage, labor reforms and civil rights. It was there, in the Presidents’ Room, where past club leaders were honored, that Senator Dick Durbin convinced Barack Obama to run for the presidency of the United States.
Armstrong’s parents had sponsored each of their children for admission into the enclave. Multiple references had been necessary, and after a review period, their memberships were approved by the Board of Directors. Now he maintained the privilege with a monthly check.
Alexander Balducci agreed to meet him in that space, allowed him to keep the appointment informal. He hoped for answers that wouldn’t necessitate another warrant, with Balducci clamming up beneath the directives of his large team of attorneys. If that happened, he knew he would never get any answers and be forever entangled in bureaucratic paperwork. He was willing to forgo protocol to get what he needed.
He found the man sitting in the Wigwam Dining Room. He had already ordered an oversize steak with a baked potato and sautéed vegetables, washing down his meal with a shot of brandy and a beer chaser. Sitting at the table beside him was Armstrong’s father. Jerome Black had his own plate of food, his meal partnered with a bottle of his favorite French wine. The 2004 Château La Fleur de Bouard was a rich Bordeaux, both expensive and pretentious. As much as his father loved it, Armstrong despised it, never understanding his father’s obsession with it.
Both men stood at the same time to shake hands with him.
“Good afternoon, son,” Jerome said as he tapped his son on the back.
“Hey, Dad,” Armstrong said as he gave his father a quick embrace.
“It’s good to see you, Armstrong,” Alexander Balducci interjected. “I think the last time I had the pleasure to sit down with you and your father was shortly after you graduated from college. Well, before all that bad business with my son.”
“It has been a while, sir,” Armstrong replied. “Under the circumstances, I appreciate your taking a moment out of your schedule to talk with me.”
“Well, it’s not often I get to spend time with the police superintendent and one of his detectives at the same time. I assume this has something to do with the warrant you executed on one of my aircrafts earlier today?”
Armstrong nodded as he pulled out a seat and sat down. “It does.”
“So maybe you can tell me exactly what you and your people were hoping to find on my plane?”
“We had reason to believe that a young woman was being held against her will.”
Alexander nodded his head slowly as he took a bite of his steak and then a sip of his beverage. “Well, I’m sure one of my attorneys told your office that we do not use that plane exclusively for my business. It’s my understanding that a third party had rented it for that particular flight.”
“Yes, they did.”
“So there really isn’t anything that I can tell you.” He dropped his fork to his plate, the utensil clattering against the china. He sat back in his seat, clasping both of his hands together in his lap.
“Do you know a young woman named Alissa Merrill? Or a woman by the name of Lourdes Monteagudo?”
Alexander paused as if he were trying to put a face to either name. He finally shook his head. “No, sorry, neither rings a bell with me. I wish I could be of more help to you. Was this young woman being held against her will?”
Armstrong smiled. “We’re still investigating.”
“Well, I’d appreciate it if you kept my people informed. If someone is abusing their privilege and taking advantage of my generosity, I need to know.”
“I will do that, Mr. Balducci.”
Armstrong exchanged a look with his father. Jerome looked as if there was something he wanted to say, but he held his tongue. He always knew that at some point in time his father’s longtime friendship with Alexander Balducci would prove to be problematic. The two men had been childhood friends, growing up together on Chicago’s South Side until the Balducci family had moved to the western industrial suburb of Cicero. Both men had been away at school during the race riots of the mid-1960s, the violent protests widening the divide between the city’s growing population. Time had eventually brought them back together, their relationship revived with a semblance of decorum and many respective boundaries. Jerome credited Alexander with introducing him to Armstrong’s mother, and over the years, the memories of being boys and friends had allowed their relationship to evolve.
The death of his son Leonard had severely strained the relationship. Despite his parents’ efforts to shoulder much support to help the family through what was obviously a difficult time, their son killing Balducci’s son had pooled a wealth of animosity between them. Then one day, it was if all had been forgiven, the two men moving past and forward together, their friendship having weathered a monumental storm. Armstrong had his father to thank for brokering this meeting, allowing him to do what he needed to do, his way.
Armstrong shifted the conversation. “I had the pleasure of meeting your grandson recently. We had a good time together. I look forward to getting to know him.”
“My grandson?”
“Carlo.”
Something Armstrong couldn’t read washed over the old man’s expression as he forced a slight smile to his face.
Armstrong continued. “We had dinner together at his coffee shop. I look forward to getting to know him better. Maybe he and I might be old friends like you two one day.”
Alexander suddenly pushed his plate away as he stood up from the table. “I’ll have to tell Carlo I ran into you.”
“Please do. Give him my regards and tell him I’ll be stopping by again sometime soon. Maybe
the four of us can get together here at the club for dinner?”
Alexander smiled. “Maybe.” He extended his arm toward Armstrong’s father. “Jerome, I hate to eat and run, but I need to get across town for a meeting.”
Jerome moved onto his feet as he shook the man’s hand. “It’s always good to catch up with you. We still playing racquetball later this week?”
“Wouldn’t miss it. Kiss Judith for me, and let’s all plan to have dinner together soon.”
Both men watched as Alexander took his leave and exited the space. Armstrong met his father’s gaze.
“Are you hungry, son?” He gestured for a waitress. “What would you like to eat?”
“No, thank you. I’m good,” Armstrong answered as he waved the waitress away. “I appreciate your connecting me with Mr. Balducci.”
“Did you get the answers you were looking for?”
Armstrong shrugged. “You know him better than most. Did he seem to get upset when I mentioned his grandson?”
Jerome took a deep breath. “Carlo is a sensitive subject for him.”
“I don’t understand.”
Jerome reached for his wineglass and chugged its contents. He reached for the bottle that sat on the table and poured himself another. “Carlo is not Alexander’s grandson. He’s Alexander’s son.”
“His son?” Actual surprise crossed Armstrong’s face. “I thought Leonard was his only child? Who’s Carlo’s mother?”
James shook his head. He glanced quickly around the room to ensure no one was within earshot of their conversation. “What I tell you is never to leave this table. It stays between us, is that understood?”
Armstrong nodded. “Yes, sir!”
“Camilla Balducci. Leonard’s wife was Carlo’s mother.”
Armstrong’s eyes widened as his father sipped again from his glass and resumed his story.
“Camilla was a student at the university and working part-time in one of Alexander’s clubs. He was smitten with the young woman, even though she was young enough to be his daughter. Before you knew it, they were in a relationship. Alexander being Alexander, he soon became smitten with someone younger and prettier. But by then Camilla was pregnant with Carlo. He refused to marry her, and she refused to terminate the pregnancy. She had her baby and sent him away for her parents to raise so she could finish school. Then one day, out of the blue, Leonard comes back home and announces he’s married. His new wife was Camilla, and she was pregnant with their son Paul. Alexander was furious, but there wasn’t much he could do about it, although he tried. He demanded they annul the relationship, and that didn’t happen. He tried to buy her off and couldn’t. And then she had that car accident. They were able to save the baby, but she died. Leonard believed his father had something to do with her death, but there was nothing linking him to a crime. He and Leonard were never able to come back from that. It was why he had so much guilt when Leonard was killed.”
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