Hunted by the Mob

by Elisabeth Rees

  At that point, she welcomed any company, even Zeke’s.

  He slipped into the room and closed the door behind him. He was carrying a mug of coffee, black and hot and just what she needed at that moment. Handing it to her, he smiled, and she turned away, not wanting to see the tiny little chip on his front tooth. She’d been with him when it had happened, fooling around by the lake, using a homemade rope swing to splash into the water. Zeke had miscalculated his trajectory and hit a shallower part than he’d intended, cutting his lip on the stony bottom. The chip in the enamel of his front tooth was minuscule, barely noticeable to anyone but her, but she found herself looking for it whenever he smiled, reminding her of the carefree kids they used to be.

  “You all right?” he asked. “Must be tough being shut away up here for so long, huh?”

  She sat on the chair in the corner of the large room, which was tastefully furnished with French-style wardrobes and dressers, all powder blue with gold handles.

  “I guess I’ll have to get used to it,” she said. “Who knew that being in hiding would actually involve some real hiding?”

  He smiled again, sat on her bed and leaned forward to rest his forearms on his knees. He was barefoot, wearing jeans and a checkered shirt, its pinky hue suiting his olive tones. She marveled at how much he had filled out over the years, no longer skinny and adolescent but strong and muscled. He was more handsome than ever, and she wondered why he hadn’t been snapped up for marriage by now.

  “The trade workers are almost done downstairs,” he said. “The new window has been fitted and a brand-new sofa just arrived in a truck, so you’ll be able to stop hiding out up here pretty soon.”

  “I guess Karl wants to have a meeting for the incident report,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Mrs. Volto will need stronger security measures in place when she travels to the courthouse. The ferocity of this attack changes everything, and it’s made worse by the fact the shooter managed to escape.”

  Zeke narrowed his blue eyes, wrinkling his brow. “Do you think last night’s shooter was targeting Mrs. Volto?”

  “Of course. Don’t you?”

  “No, I don’t. I think he was a bounty hunter and he was targeting you.”

  She tucked her feet beneath her on the plush chenille chair. “That’s highly unlikely, Zeke. We knew that Mrs. Volto’s life would be in danger when she turned on her husband, and that theory was proven correct by the attack she faced from her sister-in-law yesterday. The shooter was probably Marsha’s accomplice, trying to finish the job that she failed to do.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think the two attacks are linked. Marsha came here for Mrs. Volto, but the shooter came here for you.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because the laser sight of the gun was seeking you out.” He stood, padded across the carpet and placed the tip of his index finger gently on her forehead. “The red dot was right here.”

  Goldie didn’t remember seeing the laser sight of a rifle, nor even realize that danger was stalking them. Zeke’s prompt action had saved her life, and she would be forever grateful to him. That was at least one positive emotion she could associate with him.

  “Karl told me that the investigators found a lot of shell casings on the roof terrace of the house across the street, so we know the shooter was there,” Goldie said. “There isn’t a great line of sight from that angle, and these old windows have the original glass that can distort the view a little. The shooter saw a woman, assumed it was Mrs. Volto and took his shots.”

  “I’m not buying it, Goldie. You’re tall and slim, with this huge mane of red hair, and Mrs. Volto is much shorter with dark hair, not to mention the fact that she’s seven months pregnant.”

  Goldie conceded that Zeke might have a point. “What does Karl say?”

  “Karl thinks the same as you. He says the shooter was Marsha’s accomplice, trying to take out Mrs. Volto before she testifies at trial. He says it’s the most likely explanation, given the circumstances.”

  “The circumstances?”

  “Agent Cooper reported that his underworld contacts have all taken the bait put out by the FBI. A false story was leaked by the Bureau, which puts you in New Mexico, so that’s where the hunters are focused.”

  “Okay.” She shrugged. “Well, that settles it.” She stood and walked to the window, pulling the blind just an inch aside and peering out. “Why do I have to stay in this jail cell if all the bad guys think I’m in New Mexico?”

  Zeke rushed to her side and pushed the blind back into place. “Stop it, Goldie. That shooter will come back for you, and if you don’t take extreme precautions, he’ll succeed next time. Why do I get the feeling you’re not taking this threat seriously?”

  She rounded on him, coffee sloshing onto her fingers. “What do you want me to do, Zeke?” She could feel herself slipping into her old, reckless army ways, not caring about her safety at all. “You want me to live in a container with some air holes cut out? Or maybe I could take up residence in the panic room. I hear it’s pretty nice for a metal box.”

  He sighed. “I just want you to be safe. I lost you once, and I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You didn’t lose me, Zeke,” she said hotly. “You let me go. There’s a difference.”

  “Not this again.” His temper was clearly fraying. “I didn’t know where to start in trying to find you. Nobody knew anything, and I asked literally everyone in town.” He ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly. “My failure to trace you had a huge effect on me, and I joined the FBI in the first place just to learn how to track people down.”

  “So why didn’t you try to find me later on?” she asked. “If the Bureau taught you how to trace people why didn’t you trace me?”

  “I don’t know. I thought you didn’t want me to find you. I figured you’d have come back to Glenside if you’d wanted to be with me.”

  “I did come back to Glenside.” She was fighting the tears. “And you’d moved away without even leaving a forwarding address.”

  “You didn’t come back for eighteen months, Goldie,” he said with exasperation. “Why did you wait so long?”

  “Do you have any idea how much a bus ticket from Cleveland to Philadelphia costs? It took me forever to save up that money.” She wiped away a tear. “I was devastated to find out you’d gone. It was like a stab to the heart.”

  He turned in circles, apparently groping for the right words to say. “Well, you could’ve tried a little harder yourself,” he said defensively. “You could’ve spoken to my neighbors or the folks at church. Somebody would’ve had a forwarding address for me.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to see me.” She dropped her gaze to the floor. “After you didn’t answer any of my letters, why would I run around trying to find your new address? I assumed you’d moved away because you’d rejected me.”

  “And I assumed you rejected me.”

  “Well, it’s not my fault.”

  He crossed his arms. “And it’s not mine either.”

  “Thanks for the coffee,” she said irritably. “That’s all I need from you right now.”

  He stood in silence for a few seconds, shaking his head. “Will we ever find a way past this?”

  She tilted her head to the side. “Perhaps you could find your way to the door first.”

  He gave a tense smile, turned and started walking. “This is stupid, you know that, right?”

  Of course she knew it was stupid, but she was mad. Mad at Zeke, mad at herself, mad at God and mad at the world.

  And somebody had to take the blame for her unhappiness.

  * * *

  The conservatory was dark, with heavy blinds covering each window. Christina had ordered a complete blackout, demanding that every blind be lowered and every drape closed, both day and night. It had given the house a morbid a
tmosphere, and Zeke was reminded of horror movies, where knife wielding bad guys jumped out of dark corners without warning.

  Christina had called each occupant of the house into the conservatory for what she called a “crisis meeting,” and she now walked around the air-conditioned room, switching on lamps and inviting people to sit on the wicker chairs.

  “I’m sorry that we’ve had to cover the windows on such a beautifully sunny evening,” she said, taking a seat next to Karl. “But we suffered two attacks yesterday, so we’re not taking any chances.”

  “My client’s living room was utterly destroyed by the gunman,” Willy said, seated next to Mrs. Volto on a small sofa, their knees touching. “Will she be compensated for all the damaged artwork?”

  Zeke and Goldie exchanged a glance of exasperation. This was one thing they could agree on—Willy really was a shyster. And Zeke certainly knew that he and Goldie needed to find some common ground, because they’d been skittering around each other like cats on a roof since their earlier argument. Yet Zeke’s commitment to the truth didn’t waver. He would not apologize.

  “I would imagine that Mrs. Volto is insured?” Christina smiled tensely, pen hovering above a clipboard. “She could file a claim.”

  “Why should Mrs. Volto file a claim on her insurance when it was the FBI’s fault?” Willy slid his beady eyes over to Goldie. “The gunman was targeting your agent. Therefore, you are liable for any damage she is responsible for.”

  “Hang on a minute,” Zeke said, coming to her defense. “Goldie didn’t shoot up the room. It’s not fair to blame her.”

  “Isn’t it?” Willy looked at Zeke atop the glasses he sometimes wore, which Zeke suspected were fake lenses, intended to make him appear more intelligent. “Agent Simmons has a bounty on her head and the gunman was hoping to claim the prize. She’s a liability here, so I’d like my client not only to be compensated for her damaged artwork and antiques but to receive a higher daily rate for hosting Agent Simmons.”

  “No!” Karl was obviously annoyed. “Goldie’s presence here is a well-guarded secret, whereas your client doesn’t try to hide her whereabouts. The attacker obviously came here to eliminate Mrs. Volto, and he mistook our agent for your client.”

  Mrs. Volto threw back her head and laughed. “That’s nonsense. I already made it clear to the FBI that my husband would never order my death while I’m carrying his child. I’m not in any danger here.”

  Christina fixed her with a steely stare. “Then what was Marsha doing holding a vase over your head yesterday?”

  Mrs. Volto flushed. “That was different. Marsha and I argued and that’s why she attacked me. She wasn’t going to kill me.”

  “You still haven’t given us a full statement regarding the conversation that took place between you and Marsha.” Christina didn’t let her gaze waver. “What exactly did you argue about?”

  “Marsha came to check on me and the baby on behalf of my husband,” Mrs. Volto said. “She said I wasn’t providing Leonardo with enough updates on the pregnancy. She then said I would make a terrible mother and we argued.” She pursed her red lips. “That’s all there was to it.”

  Zeke and Goldie exchanged another glance, clearly sharing the same concern. Mrs. Volto was hiding something.

  “My client really wasn’t expecting Agent Simmons’s presence to cause so much carnage,” Willy said. “So I think that a daily rate of twenty-five thousand dollars is more appropriate, considering the high element of danger involved.”

  “I already explained that the Bureau doesn’t believe Goldie was the target here,” Christina said.

  “I beg to differ.” If snakes could smile, Willy nailed it. “Twenty-five thousand dollars a day seems only fair for your agent to continue residing here.”

  “This is wrong,” Zeke said, interrupting the negotiations. “It doesn’t really matter who was the intended target of the bullets. Mr. Murphy, is it really worth haggling over the safeguarding of someone’s life?”

  “My client needs the extra income,” Willy replied curtly. “Money will set her free.”

  Zeke clicked his tongue in annoyance. “I think it’s the truth that sets us free,” he said. “Money enslaves us.”

  “The truth is all well and good, Agent Miller, but it doesn’t pay the bills, does it?” Willy turned his attention back to Christina. “Shall we say one hundred thousand for the damaged artwork and twenty-five thousand a day for hosting Agent Simmons?”

  Goldie opened her mouth to protest, but Christina held up a hand to silence her. “I’ll agree to the terms, Mr. Murphy, but I once again strongly refute the suggestion that yesterday’s gun attack was directed at Goldie. Your client is in serious danger, and you both seem to be in total denial about it.”

  Until this moment, the new additions to the FBI team, Garth and Angela, had been sitting quietly, simply observing the conversation, but now Garth decided to speak up.

  “I agree with SAC Phillips, Mr. Murphy,” he said. “I have extensive contacts in the criminal underworld, and I can assure you that Goldie’s whereabouts are unknown in those kinds of circles. Your client’s pregnancy didn’t protect her from two attacks yesterday, and your complacency could get her killed.”

  “I won’t get killed.” Mrs. Volto stood up abruptly. “Do I really have to be here? I’m tired and I’d like an early night. I have to testify in court the day after tomorrow so I need to rest.”

  Christina regarded Mrs. Volto for a few moments, her eyes coming to rest on her large stomach. The FBI agent’s attitude then appeared to soften and she smiled, possibly considering why it was important to reduce Mrs. Volto’s stress levels. “Of course,” she said. “Get some sleep and try not to worry. We’ve increased the security outside your home, and even Officer Diaz has insisted on returning to guard duty. He’s determined to make up for his mistake yesterday, so you can rest easy. How is the baby doing?”

  Mrs. Volto placed a hand on her belly. “He or she is playing football in there.”

  “That’s good,” Christina said with a more sincere smile. “Our priority is always to keep you and your baby safe, Mrs. Volto.”

  “And Goldie,” Zeke interjected. “We’re safeguarding three lives here, right?”

  “Absolutely,” Christina said. “That’s why you’re here, Zeke—to be Goldie’s guardian. We all have to work together to make sure we keep our eyes and ears open at all times.”

  “Will you walk me upstairs, Willy?” Mrs. Volto asked, holding out a hand. “I have a touch of sciatica today.”

  Her lawyer jumped up. “Of course.” He linked an arm through hers. “I’ll come back downstairs to discuss paperwork with Agent Phillips once you’re tucked in bed.”

  The six FBI agents in the room all stood while Mrs. Volto made her way to the stairs, assisted by Willy. Then they sat, silent for a while, until Goldie finally said her first words since entering the conservatory.

  “I should leave.”

  Zeke had been expecting this kind of protest from her. “Don’t be hasty, Goldie,” he said. “This is the safest place for you to be right now.”

  “He’s right,” Angela agreed. “We’ve got your back, Agent Simmons.”

  “But what if Willy’s right?” she said. “What if the shooter really did come here to kill me? That means I’m placing everyone in danger.” She twined her fingers together. “I am a liability.”

  Zeke decided to say nothing more about his theory that Goldie was the true target of the sniper’s bullets. It didn’t jibe with the opinions of the rest of the team, and he’d be shot down in flames instantly. Besides, he wanted to keep Goldie where he could look after her, and avoid her being moved to another safe house, far away from his protection. No matter how much she infuriated him, he still wanted to be close to her.

  “Listen to me, Goldie,” Garth said. “Nobody outside of this house knows you’re h
ere. You have to trust me on that.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Zeke’s not so sure,” she said. “He agrees with Willy.” She turned her head toward him. “Isn’t that right?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he replied quickly. “I probably got it wrong.”

  “I thought you never got things wrong.”

  “When I’m wrong, I’ll admit it,” he said, knowing that they both understood he was no longer referring to the case. “But I won’t be pushed into admitting a mistake when I didn’t make one.”

  Predictably, a tense atmosphere settled between them, which was deftly spotted and diffused by Karl.

  “Zeke concurs that the shooter was targeting Mrs. Volto,” he said. “That puts everyone in agreement. We’ll need to be hypervigilant to any potential threats, not only to Mrs. Volto but to Goldie also. We’re on a double protection assignment here.” He looked across at Goldie. “I assume you’ll reconsider your plans to leave. You have the support of a great team here, and Zeke is a very capable protector.”

  She stared at her hands. “I don’t want to be a nuisance,” she said. “I especially don’t want anyone to take a risk for me.”

  Christina knitted her eyebrows. “You’re worth our time and effort, Agent Simmons. You’re one of us. Can I have your assurance that you won’t make plans to leave this house without my approval?”

  As Zeke waited for an answer, Goldie suddenly locked eyes with him, and he saw more than he bargained for. He saw anger, bitterness, worry and the denial of her worth. But more than that, he saw the well of pain inside, the rejection she’d been carrying for twenty-one long years. Her eyes seemed to be imploring him to turn back the clock and make things right again, to heal her wounded heart. The problem was that he couldn’t make anything right. What they’d once had was beautiful and innocent and fragile, and it had been broken beyond repair. A false apology wouldn’t change a thing. He knew that from experience.

  “I’ll stay,” she said. “But if it looks like I’m compromising the safety of Mrs. Volto and all of you guys, I’m outta here. I’m tough. I can survive on my own out there.”