In the far corner sat a minivan, the lone vehicle in the lot. Not unusual if someone had been dispatched to sell counterfeit goods.
Sherry pointed to the far end of the building. “I guess we go around the other side.”
Jo’s phone beeped an incoming text. No doubt who that was. She refused to look. At least she could tell him she hadn’t seen his text until they were done buying the knock-off watch. She shoved the phone into her purse, yanked on the handle and kicked the door open. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Yep,” Sherry said, sounding much too eager.
Typically, Jo would have been right there with her on the eager front. Now though, it felt wrong. All because she’d given her word that she’d stay in her office rather than chase down leads. Guilt, that horrible emotion, landed on her like a crashing plane.
Still, she followed Sherry around the side of the building, her skinny heels wobbling in the gravel. She glanced at the open door ahead. Someone had propped it with a doorstop. Jo kept her eyes on the door and sighed. “He’ll kill me.”
—:—
Gabe stared down at the address on his phone. What the hell? Tom sat beside him in one of ESU’s unmarked cars, navigating the streets of Manhattan while they patrolled and supervised various operations.
Why would Jo be sending him an address? Impatient for her response, he called her office and tracked down Liza.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant. She’s in a meeting. Try her cell.”
“A meeting.” Standard stall tactic.
“In the building or out?”
“Um, out?”
Hesitation. Something was up. “Liza, are you asking me or telling me?”
Another pause. “Telling you. She’s out at a meeting. Shall I have her call you?”
The fact that she was lying to him was obvious, but beating up on Liza wouldn’t do him any good. He’d skin this cat—or Jo—another way. “Yes. Ask her to call me ASAP.”
He clicked off and waggled his phone.
Tom slid him a glance. “What’s up?”
This was some bullshit luck. His boss, who Gabe had asked to speak to the mayor about sidelining Jo, was sitting next to him while he tried to figure out what kind of trouble she might be getting herself into.
“Jo sent me an address. Not sure why. She’s in a meeting.”
“Run it.”
Gabe checked Jo’s text again and punched the address she’d sent into the car’s computer.
“Anything?” Tom asked.
“Nope.”
“Where is it?”
“Brooklyn.”
Tom hung a left. “Let’s check it. See what’s what.”
She’d better not be hunting counterfeit merchandise. And if she was, Tom would see firsthand how she disregarded all their recommendations to stay. The hell. In her office. Dammit. “It’s probably nothing, but couldn’t hurt to look.”
Without a doubt, he’d kill her with his bare hands if she’d broken her promise. His voicemail chirped. Might be her. He checked the message and Jo’s voice came through the phone.
Yep. She’d broken her promise.
—:—
Jo followed Sherry up the building’s cement stairs and took note of the chipping white paint in the stairwell. Asbestos anyone? Even the railing was a disaster. That thing hung so loose that if they were to fall and grab it, it would fly off the wall and impale them.
Don’t think about it.
“Hello?” Sherry called.
“Hello,” a man yelled back in a thick Asian accent. “Fourth floor. Come.”
“Creepyville,” Sherry whispered.
“No kidding.”
Jo’s phone buzzed again. Had to be Gabe. She could sense the steam coming through the phone. It was a wonder the thing hadn’t melted.
Don’t think about it.
When they made the turn at the fourth-floor landing, they spotted the man in one of the doorways. His body was mostly compact and proportioned to his height. He had a shock of white hair—he’d either gone prematurely gray or had great genes, because he didn’t look a day over fifty.
He waved them up. “In here.”
A nerve in Jo’s jaw pulsed and, hidden behind Sherry, she opened and closed her mouth in an attempt to stop the weird sensation. No luck. If ever there was a sign to run, that might be it. Or, maybe, the guilt was working her over.
Still, she followed Sherry up the last few steps. As soon as Jo stepped into the room, her spastic nerves turned into the sweetness of a blood rush. Before her was a roughly twelve by twelve room stuffed from floor to ceiling with designer—counterfeit of course—apparel and accessories.
Yay, us.
The man studied them for a moment and his gaze lingered on Jo, but he showed no sign of recognition. The wig must have done its job.
On the far right wall, three shelves of Barelli handbags greeted her. She glanced around, caught more Barelli products, some Gucci, Louis Vuitton and an assortment of other knock-offs.
“You have the new Konklin watch?” Sherry asked.”
The man nodded. “Yes. Over here.” He slipped behind a glass case and motioned them over. “Gold?”
“Titanium,” Sherry said while Jo wandered to the Barelli section.
“You want?” the man asked. “Barelli? I give you good deal.”
“Maybe,” Jo said.
Forgetting her cast, she reached up, but quickly switched hands. She glanced back at the man, who busied himself searching for the fake titanium watch.
He caught her eye then spotted the cast. Jo’s stomach pinched.
“You injured?”
“I fell,” she said. “Klutz.”
The man slid the drawer closed. “Titanium downstairs. I get it.”
He walked from the room, closing the door behind him. Jo watched as it clicked into place with a loud snick.
Double key lock.
She lunged for the door. Another snick. The little turd had locked them in. “Hey,” she yelled, yanking on the knob with her good hand. She charged to the window. A minute later, the man ran from the building and hopped into the parked minivan. “He’s leaving. The bastard locked us in here and now he’s leaving.” From somewhere below a piercing, high-pitched alarm wailed. Jo cocked her head. Oh, no. “Tell me that’s not a smoke alarm.”
Sherry cocked her head and listened. “That’s not a smoke alarm. Except I think it is.”
Jokes? Now? Must be inappropriate investigator humor. “Do you smell anything?”
“No.”
“Well, I’m not waiting.”
Jo unlocked the window and, using her good hand, tried to lift it. Stuck. A slow moving thought took root. If the building were on fire, she wouldn’t have to worry about Gabe’s wrath.
She’d be dead anyway.
Sherry shoved her aside. “I got it.” She gripped the ancient metal handles with both hands and heaved. Nothing.
Jo rushed to the items stacked on the shelves. She needed something to break the window. The purses wouldn’t do. One of the shoes? As a last resort, maybe she could use the heels to break out the window. She continued to scan the shelves. Umbrella.
She slid one of her gloves on and grabbed the umbrella. “Okay. Back away.” Jo rammed the umbrella through the window. Glass shattered and sprinkled to the ground below. She tapped out the remnants of glass still in the pane until the frame was empty.
Sticking her head out, she checked the bottom floors of the building. Nothing. She looked right and there, from under the crack in the main entrance, thick black smoke billowed.
Like lightning, hot, slick panic engulfed her. Gotta get out. She backed away from the window and spun to Sherry. “We’re on fire. And not in a good way. We have to get out of here.”
Chapter Ten
Gabe tapped his foot as they approached the address Jo had texted him. Directly in front of them, a white minivan barreled toward them.
“Ho! What’s his hurry?” Tom yelled and Gabe
swung his head to see if he could get the tag number.
“Did you get it?”
“Only the first three letters. A-D-L.”
Tom turned into the back side of the lot and pulled around the front of the building. “Fire!”
“Oh, shit.” Gabe grabbed his radio and called it in, barking out the address while he scanned the first floor. Tom killed the engine, got out and hauled ass around the rear of the building.
A car sat in the corner of the lot, but Gabe didn’t recognize it. He jumped from the cruiser and a flash of white in the fourth-floor window caught his attention. A coat hanging over a broken window frame.
One long leg—he knew that leg—came through the window and his heart damn near stopped. “Jo! Back!”
With her legs straddling the frame, she held on and maneuvered her head out the window. “We’re locked in. There’s no way out.”
Tom flew around the far corner again. “Fire escape,” he yelled to Jo. “South end of the building.”
“No good,” Gabe said. “They’re locked in. Jo! Stay put.” He sprinted back to the car. “Tom, pop the trunk.”
The trunk lid opened, Gabe snagged the shotgun and loaded the door breaching rounds. He took off to the rear of the building, his boots slipping on the gravel, but he focused on remaining upright. No time for wipeouts. He swung around the corner and spotted the rickety fire escape. Damn. That thing looked more deadly than the fire.
He tried the rear door. Locked.
An explosion from inside the building rocked the ground and the crash of shattering glass came from the front. He’d love to know what the hell was stored inside this building. By the sound of that explosion, it was something that would blow the place to hell.
Tom tore around the opposite side and halted in front of him. “All exterior doors locked.”
No way in. Another explosion, not as loud as the first, came from inside the building and an acrid smell, like burning rubber, reached Gabe.
He raised the shotgun, aimed it between the lock and the handle at forty-five degrees and—bang—the boom of the shot pierced the air. The round drilled through and sent the lock flying. Tom pulled open the door.
An enclosed stairwell was behind the door. Gabe stepped in. The burning rubber smell was even more pungent. No smoke. Must still be confined to the front of the building. He hustled up the stairwell, shotgun at the ready.
“Stay outside,” he yelled to Tom. “Help them out.”
The fire department should be on scene any second, but Gabe wasn’t about to stand around and let this building burn with people in it. With Jo in it.
He wanted the opportunity to kill her himself.
A third explosion, loud and ominous and penetrating, literally shook the building. Part of the structure had to have come apart with that one. The penetrating odor stole the oxygen from his lungs and he shoved his face into his sleeve as he hit the fourth floor.
“Jo!” He ran the length of the long corridor, checking doors along the way until he reached the north side of the building. “Jo!”
She banged on the door from the inside. “Here!”
Her voice carried from three doors down. Had to be that first doorway. He got there, checked the handle for heat then jiggled it. Nothing. He knocked on the door. Laminate. The inside frame would probably be soft wood.
“Back away.” Gabe shifted sideways, hoisted his booted foot up, leaned his weight into the kick and slammed it next to the doorknob. The door flew off the hinges.
Jo and Sherry stood on the far side of the room, gawking at the now defunct door. The place was packed with what he assumed were counterfeit handbags.
He snapped his fingers toward the hallway. “You waiting for the building to blow? Let’s go!” Finally, they got their asses moving and Gabe pointed to the rear of the building. “That way.”
Through the broken window, he heard sirens. Fire department.
Jo scooted past him. “Holy cow. You were like the Incredible Hulk coming through that door. I about peed myself.”
Scared. People chattered when they were scared. No time for chatter.
“Move!” The women ran down the hallway to the stairs, their heels stomping and clicking against the cheap floor. “Hold on when you’re going down.”
Last thing he needed was one of them flying over a step. A minute later, Jo burst through the door at the bottom of the stairs.
“Away from the building,” Gabe yelled, and she took off toward the far end of the property. From there, they could make their way to the road and walk to the front.
He tromped to the parking lot, where firefighters went to work knocking down the fire.
Tom glanced at Jo, then Sherry. “Everyone okay?”
“Fine,” Jo said.
“Good,” Sherry said.
Gabe, though, was pissed. For safety, he handed Tom the shotgun. No sense giving in to temptation and using it on Jo. Considering she’d promised him she’d stay in her office. He’d deal with that later. “How did you get this address?”
“It was me,” Sherry explained. “One of the vendors gave it to me. Told me to pick up a Konklin watch here.”
An NYPD squad drove into the lot and Tom wandered over to talk to the officers.
Gabe shifted to Sherry. “Which vendor?”
She rattled off the name of the store and he waggled his fingers at her. “Give me your keys.”
“What?”
“Your keys. I’m borrowing your car. Tom will give you a lift back.”
“Whoa,” Jo said. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing to be concerned about.” But Sherry wasn’t moving. He gave her his best intimidating stare. The one that warned he didn’t want to be screwed with. “Keys. Now.”
Finally, she handed them over and Gabe strode to the car with Jo on his heels. “What are you doing?”
“Jo, back off. We’ll talk when I don’t want to strangle you. And take off that stupid wig.” He unlocked the doors and jumped into the driver’s seat.
Jo slid into the passenger side and dumped the wig on the floor. “I’m going with you.”
“Get out.”
“No.”
So fucking stubborn. This woman tormented him. All he wanted was to keep her safe, and time and again she threw herself into the fray. Every. Fucking. Time.
He dug his fingers into his right eye and rubbed. Massive headache. “You wanna come? Fine. At least I’ll know where you are and that you’re not getting your other hand broken or, hey, getting caught in a warehouse fire because some asshole wants you dead.” He punched the gas and stormed out of the lot. “What don’t you understand about this not being a game?”
She gasped and he glanced her way. Her blue eyes shot lasers and her long hair had come loose of her hairclip in certain spots. She looked steaming in a twisted way that reminded him how dumb it had been to get personally involved with her.
“I know it’s not a game,” she said. “But my investigator wanted to do this alone. I couldn’t let her do it.”
He hooked a left and headed for the bridge. “You have other investigators.”
“Actually, Mr. Know-it-all, at the time we didn’t. Mark was in Jersey and couldn’t get back in time. Lecture and yell all you want. It won’t make a difference. There’s no way—no way—I was letting Sherry go alone.”
“You could have kept trying to reach me.”
“Why? So you could scream at me? Besides, for all I knew we were just picking up a watch. My hope was that we’d find another location to pass along to the NYPD. I didn’t know it was a setup.”
Exactly his point. She wasn’t trained to deal with these situations. “You shouldn’t have risked it.”
She threw her hands up. “No kidding, Gabe. Thank you so much for telling me. At least give me credit for giving you the address.”
God, she never quit. “A damned good thing too or you’d be toast right now. And you’d probably still be yapping.”
She ga
sped again and—whoosh—all the energy got sucked out of the argument. He shot her a sideways look as they made their way over the bridge, but all he saw was part of her profile as she stared out at the water.
“Now you’re just being cruel,” she said. “Fine. Be an ass.”
He grunted and jammed his palm into the horn at some schmuck who’d cut him off. What was it about Jo that pushed every one of his buttons? Even after the marathon sex last night, he wanted her in a way that made his body ache. He loved the challenge of her, but he didn’t want to break her down. All he wanted was to keep her in one piece.
Why did keeping her safe take so much energy? Because she was high-maintenance, that’s why. He breathed deep, focused on the road and rolled his shoulders. After counting to ten, some of the tension eased.
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He slid his gaze to her, but she kept her head turned.
“I accept your apology.”
Then things got quiet. Too quiet where Jo was concerned. He hated quiet Jo. With loud Jo, he always knew where they stood. Maybe they needed the silence though. To regroup.
He turned onto Tower Street where midday traffic piled everything to a crawl. Half a block down, he double-parked in front of the address Sherry had given him. He wouldn’t be here that long.
He shoved the car door open.
“Gabe?”
“I’m going inside.” He strode to the door, pushed it open and surveyed the interior. Garment racks and overstuffed shelves crammed the small space. Wherever he looked, cheap clothes and accessories greeted him. No knock-offs. Obviously, the proprietor had wised up and kept the counterfeit crap hidden. Probably in the warehouse that Jo almost became kindling in.
A woman behind the counter focused on his tactical uniform then stepped back. She’d obviously seen enough ESU guys to know he was NYPD. A few customers pawed through the garment racks, but nobody looked all that interested.
He turned back to the door and held it open. “Sorry folks, store is closed.” The patrons looked up at him and he waved them to the door. “Come back later.”
The woman behind the counter took off down a narrow hallway. Probably to summon her boss.
The Chase Page 9
