“Oops.” Blushing, she glances down at her pajamas and runs upstairs.
A few minutes later, she leans over the banister. “Do you think she’s alright?”
I picture someone like the asshole who beat up Sam going after the elderly woman and shudder. “We should hurry. I’ll get the car.”
Before going, I review the online weather and moan. There’s rain now but it’s supposed to turn to snow by tonight. I grab my Patten Securities parka from the closet in the foyer and slip on a heavy pair of non-skid boots.
Fifteen minutes later, we stand in front of a small house, similar to the one her cousins live in, and ring the bell. Footsteps sound, the door cracks open, and Martha’s daughter pokes out her nose.
Her eyes narrow to slits as Sam pushes on the door. “We want to talk to your mother.”
“I told you, she’s not here.” Elena swings the door shut but I’m done fooling around.
I stick in my steel-toed boot, put a shoulder to the heavy oak, and shove. “You want we should go to the police and tell them you murdered your own mother?”
“What?” Her eyes go wide and her mouth drops open. “You wouldn’t dare. I didn’t do anything.”
“We don’t know that. When did you see her last?” Sam steps closer, the woman pales.
“Sh-She went to get groceries.”
“What time?”
“Yesterday, a-around noon. She usually goes to Right Food, the big one near Saint Paul’s.”
“Didn’t you think it was strange your ninety-year-old mother didn’t come home?”
“Not really. She does stuff like that all the time.” The way she crosses her arms and glares, I’m betting she’s telling the truth.
While Sam pauses, I point to a small black sedan in the driveway. “Is that her car?”
“Yes. She walks almost everywhere nowadays.” Elena juts out her chin while I shake my head.
“You better hope we find her. C’mon Sam.”
Not finished, the woman runs after us in her bathrobe. “Hey! I’m not the monster, here. She was never around growing up and now she expects me to be her nanny.”
I feel sorry for her but that don’t make it right.
Chapter 16
Sam
At the local grocery store, we ask a kid stocking the shelves to find us the manager. Moments later, a man removes his blood-stained white apron and motions us to a small closet-like room in the back. After downloading the security footage, he plays it on an old tube monitor.
“There. Bring it back.” Acid burns my stomach as the video plays out again.
Mrs. Rossini was forced into a black Buick in broad daylight.
Suds calls nine-one-one while I Skype Jason.
After the first ringtone, the handsome avatar pops onto my screen. “Hello Samantha. What can I do for you today?”
“Martha Rossini has been kidnapped and I need your help to find her. I’m sending you a video feed now.” I press the speaker icon and hold out my phone.
Jason disappears, on hold music plays, then Google Maps displays an address in the Hamptons. “I have tracked the suspected kidnapper to the tip of Long Island. I deduce, with eighty percent probability, you will find her here.”
“Forward everything to the police.” Maybe, with a little luck, we’ll get to her in time.
Jason blinks and frowns. “I cannot send everything. I can only send the video. The rest of the information I have obtained illegally. However, I will aid the FBI in their investigation once they have the proper warrants.”
“Shit.” My partner grabs my hand and speaks into my cell phone.
“Jason, update Doctor Jones of the situation. Tell her we’ll call when we get there.” Grabbing my hand, we race to his SUV, jump in, and buckle up.
“Do you think she’s still alive?” I brace my feet on the mat as he peels out.
Stopping at the first red light, his jaw muscles unclench. “It depends. If he wants information and she told him, it’s unlikely.”
On the Belt Parkway, he ups his speed to ninety and for almost an hour, I let him focus and drive. Finally, with the ocean lapping at both sides of the road, the Google lady announces, “You have arrived.”
“There.” I point out the Cadillac, push redial, and talk fast. “Jason. Call the FBI. The Cadillac that kidnapped Mrs. Rossini is here.
“Please rephrase. A car cannot kidnap anyone.”
“Shit. I know. I’m trying to say we found the car Mrs. Rossini was forced into. It’s at my GPS coordinates.”
“I understand. Processing.”
Suds nudges me and points to where a curtain moves in an upstairs window. “Someone may have seen us. We need to take cover.”
We’re ducking behind our vehicle when a huge man exits the beach house with a rolled up carpet on his shoulder.
“Dammit. We’re too late.” I picture the dear old woman as we last saw her and pray her death was swift.
Mouth tight, Suds grips his revolver and stands. “We need to follow. The currents will pull her out to sea. They’ll never find her body.”
Following the man over the dunes, we struggle down to the ocean’s edge. The sand bites our skin and the wind fights our every step. Ahead, facing the ocean, the kidnapper stops and drops the rug into the ocean.
My mouth drops open as Suds leaps, shoulder forward, and tackles the man into the ocean. While they struggle and splash, I rush into the foamy sea. Seconds later, I can’t feel my fingers or my toes and the rug is still a foot away.
Behind me, Suds shouts. “Watch out!”
Oh shit. Water whooshes back and a wave grows to ginormous proportions. Paddling with my arms, I half-run, half-swim toward the carpet, clamp on, and just in time, suck in my breath.
Slammed to the ocean’s bottom, I hang on until the water recedes. Then, on my hands and knees, I drag the sodden wool up onto the shore and roll it out onto the sand.
Inside, Martha Rossini flops out, arms spread wide.
Dammit. She’s not breathing.
But wait. An eye flutters.
Leaping up, heart full of hope, I pound on her back, and she vomits. While I hold her head, I search for Suds and gasp.
“Watch out!” I point at the huge, ominous wave, looming behind him but he doesn’t see me or it.
Knee deep in water, he fights the thrashing killer, dragging him to shore by the collar.
I stand transfixed and time stands still as they both disappear under a ton of water.
Screaming, I dash in, and scour the foamy brine for any sign of life. When the water rushes back, I catch his rolling body by the belt, heave hard, and collapse on my ass.
Hacking, he grabs me by the waist and we both stumble forward, barely out of reach of the crashing surf. On dry sand and unable to speak, I point to the elderly woman with a thumbs up.
His mouth at my ear, he shouts over the din. “We need to get her inside. Quickly.”
Heads down against the wind, we fight to stand, and trudge through the sinking sand to the motionless Rossini. He gently lifts her and with my arms around his waist, we make our way up to the beach house.
Once inside, he places our victim on a couch in front of a still warm fireplace. With frozen, hands, I throw twigs and logs onto the embers, blowing until flames burst forth.
Beside me, Suds shivers as he unsuccessfully tries to unzip his jacket. My fingers now working, I help him remove his frigid clothing. After I untie his boots, I motion for him to stand near the heat. Then, I run down the hall, retrieve comforters from the beds, and rush back to where Suds now squats near the unconscious Mrs. Rossini.
“How is sh-she?” If I don’t get out of my wet clothes soon, I may die of pneumonia.
Suds turns to me, no doubt notices how blue I am, and begins to pull off my clothes. “Her pulse is strong. Other than that, I’m not sure. She may have been drugged.”
“W-W-We need to call J-Jason.”
Sebastian squats, pulls his phone out of his back
pocket and I heave a sigh of relief when it comes to life.
Chapter 17
Suds
With the authorities on their way, I throw more logs onto the fire. While it crackles and pops, I pull Sam inside my warm blanket. If she hadn’t snatched my belt, I’d be greeting Davy Jones alongside the kidnapper.
I don’t notice she’s crying until she turns her face in my chest with a little sob. “I thought I lost you.”
“I’m a SEAL. We don’t sink, we float.” My arms wrap around her wet body, trying to warm and comfort her.
Chin quivering, she lifts her head and ventures a smile. “You’re just saying that so you won’t owe me one.”
“Busted.”
“Oww…” Mrs. Rossini moans so we race to her side.
Next to the couch on my knees, I gently pat her cheeks. When she opens her eyes, I heave a sigh of relief.
Sam grabs her hands. “Don’t move. An ambulance is on the way.”
Gray brows wrinkle as her eyes circle the room. “Where’s the kidnapper?”
“Dead. We think.”
“Good.” The old woman lifts her head so Sam can stuff a throw pillow under her salty, wet head.
Then, her lids close and her face relaxes as she lets out a deep sigh. “I got the kidnapper to tell me how Mrs. Gallo got rid of the body.”
“In the ocean?” It makes sense to me but the former Times reporter rotates her head back and forth.
“No. He said it was too far. Gallo called him. He was the one who put the body in the dumpster.” Her voice grows weak.
“Did he say anything else?”
“He wanted me to tell him about some damn accountant and when I told him I didn’t know any, he stuck a needle in my arm.”
She pulls up her quilt and points down the hall “You’ll find some of my husband’s old clothes in the master bedroom. You should go before the cops get here. I’ll cover for you.”
While I wonder about leaving the scene of the crime, Sam races down the hall. She comes back with a pile of clothes and shoves them at me.
“She’s right. There’s no time to waste. I don’t want to spend all night in a police station while you ramble on and on for hours.”
“Fuck.” Reaching for the clothes, I change in the master bedroom. A hoodie, two sizes too small, strains to cover my chest and the sweatpants stop halfway up my calves but at least they’re dry.
When I come out, Sam, similarly attired, picks up our wet clothes, and kisses Martha on the cheeks. “You sure about this?”
“You go find that bitch and send her to the chair… A little gallows humor, get it? Gallo? Gallows?”
Suds whistles through his teeth. “You are one, very tough lady.”
“Back in the day, in my business, you had to be. You’re wasting daylight. Go.”
I throw another log on the fire and catch Sam’s eye. “Ready?”
“Y-Yeah.” Hair knotted, lips blue, and dressed in old man’s beach clothes, she’s perfect.
Grabbing her hand, we run to my SUV parked around the corner. Driving through town, we pass a parade of cops heading in the opposite direction along with a few ambulances.
My partner ducks under the dash as I pull over like a good citizen to let them pass, hoping they won’t check my plates.
“Call Slate.” I speak into the car phone and when my friend answers, I download. “One more thing, before he died, the kidnapper admitted to Martha, he disposed of a body in a dumpster.”
Sam looks up from her cell phone. “Luigi probably ended up in a Pennsylvania landfill. I’ll see what I can find out. In the meantime, how will you explain leaving the scene of a crime?”
“Jason sent them everything we have. We’re okay for now but they want us in their offices when we get to Manhattan.”
Chapter 18
Sam
Even with the SUV blasting heat on high, I can’t stop shivering. Worse, I keep reliving those awful seconds when Sebastian went under and I couldn’t find him. What if I missed as I reached for his belt? What if I hadn’t seen his body rolling around in the waves? What if, what if…
The windshield wipers slap-slap, and as the snow falls harder, Suds grips the wheel. His jaw tics, the front of the car swerves and he slows to a stop at a long line of taillights.
“Talk to me.” Rubbing his hand over his grim face, he looks down as I turn my laptop screen toward him.
“Brooklyn garbage actually does end up in Pennsylvania but the FBI won’t issue a search warrant. They think Elena orchestrated the kidnapping and Martha imagined the rest; the poison, the murder, and the confession.”
“What the hell is up with this traffic?” Suds inches the SUV forward and stops.
“Google Maps says we’ve got a twenty minute delay.” I show him the app screen and he takes a deep breath.
“Okay. What else did you find out?”
“Gallo’s emails are heavily encrypted and she has bank accounts hidden in the Cayman Islands. Even if we find Luigi’s body, we may never be able to tie her to his murder. We need a strong motive and I’m thinking the answer lies in her laptop. We need to steal it.”
Suds eyes go wide as his brows raise. “Who are you and what did you do with Agent Russo?”
“I’ll figure out how to do it legally. Otherwise, the Feds will never be able to tie Luigi’s death to Gallo. Shit. That reminds me, we still need the body.”
The SUV speakers ring and Suds answers. “Slate?”
“Have Sam send me the landfill’s coordinates. I got cadaver dogs waiting. You guys better be right or all our asses are on the line.”
“Mrs. Rossini may be old but her mind is solid. If she said her kidnapper admitted to putting a body in the dumpster, it’s true.
Slate grunts and hangs up.
“Was that goodbye?” I glance over at Suds, tapping his fingers on the wheel, staring at the stopped car in front of us.
“Uh-huh. It also means hello, what the fuck, and a whole lot of other things. So, what’s the plan?”
Chapter 19
Sam
Back in Brooklyn, I wait in the bushes while Suds walks up Mrs. Gallo’s front steps and raps on the door. She doesn’t answer right away, so he rings the doorbell.
“Delivery. I need your signature.” Dressed in UPS brown, he raises a package toward the moving curtains.
As planned, the door opens, he hands her a clipboard, and as she takes his pen, he pushes her inside. I jump up the steps and follow.
Everything is going so well until she snatches a gun beside the door, backs up, and points it in our direction.
Suds steps in front of me. “Give it up, your man talked before he died. We know you killed Luigi.”
Her face pales but she recovers fast. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. You’re intruders. I could shoot you both and no one would be the wiser.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, ma’am. I don’t think you’ll want the police sniffing around.”
“Good thing you’re not me.” Gallo takes aim and as her finger twitches, Suds kicks.
Astonished, I stare as the weapon fires, plaster rains down and the gun skids across the floor.
Totally ad lib, Suds grabs the woman’s arms and twists them behind her back.
“Back pocket, sugar.” He waits while I grab plastic ties and bind her.
Not wanting to hear Gallo’s creative cursing, I pick up the first fabric I can find, a lace doily, and stuff it into her foul mouth. Then I reach in my pocket, snap on forensic gloves, and walk to her open laptop on the kitchen table.
We’re back on schedule.
Much like an FBI instructor, I begin a lecture on security while saving her files onto a thumb drive. “If you need to step away from your computer, even for a second, you should lock it. Otherwise, you’re still logged in if a stranger with malintent walks by. Also, it’s not wise to store your passwords in your browser. Why, just about anyone could log into all your accounts, your applications,
your emails… Whoa. Looky here.”
For Suds’ benefit, I lift my index finger high in the air, then bring it down on the enter key. “What a lovely confession, Anne. I am so glad your conscience was bothering you. Everyone should bare their souls.”
I grin when our prisoner grunts, her eyes dark and menacing.
“You say you didn’t send it? How can that be? It came from your IP address. I also included your Cayman account numbers and forwarded a recent email from Luigi. No wonder you killed him. Blackmail? Tsk-tsk. He should’ve known better.”
I pull the gag out of the angry woman’s mouth. “You think I won’t kill you for this?”
“You could try but I’m guessing you’ll be dead long before you get a chance.” I pull the USB drive out and hold it up for her to see.
Gallo’s red face whitens. “What’s that?”
“Stuff from the desktop folder marked, important.”
“Give it here. You have no idea who you’re messing with.”
“Unfortunately, I do. And, because of my close affiliation with my dear Uncle Vinnie, I know what happens next. We leave and before you have time to call a lawyer, your second in command will show up. Maybe, if you’re lucky, the FBI will arrive before him. If not, you’ll probably end up going for a short swim in the Long Island Sound.”
Suds claps at my performance but I worry about the time and take a knife to release the surprised woman’s hands.
“FBI!” The door bangs open and about ten guys in uniform barge into the room, weapons drawn.
“Right on time.” Suds throws his hands up in the air reminding me I should, too.
“I’m Suds and this here is my partner, Sam. Over there, as you probably already know, is Mrs. Anne Gallo and she’s so damn contrite, she brought tears to our eyes.”
He winks at me while I bite down on my tongue to keep from laughing.
Unless fate deals us an incredibly bad hand, this case is solved.
Chapter 20
Suds
The Dead Gigolo Caper (Suds and Sam Book 4) Page 11
