by Jo Leigh
Of course cops watched out for each other, but when you’re in deep cover, it was different. Any association with other law-enforcement personnel was dangerous for everyone involved. Jake hadn’t realized just how empty his life had been for far too long. Filling it again was a privilege. He’d done pretty well with home and family. But that still left a lot of room.
Although it would play hell on his leg, he limped down the hall and grabbed his jacket. He wouldn’t be gone long. He didn’t like leaving his father alone, but Mike rarely woke up once he conked out. There was no reason for his father to go downstairs even if he did.
Soon, if Jake could ever get his life back on track, Mike wouldn’t have to worry about stairs. Yet another reason this thing with Rebecca wasn’t the best of ideas. Jake had his responsibilities at home and until he could figure out another way, that meant sticking close to Brooklyn.
He walked toward Fifth, taking his time, trying not to focus on his thigh but on his destination. There was a bar where a man could buy a beer. One beer, then he’d come back, get himself ready for bed.
When his cell rang in the middle of Howard and 4th, he jumped and grabbed for it so fast he almost dropped the damn thing. “Hello?”
“Did I wake you?”
Jake relaxed. Rebecca sounded good. Tired, but good. “I’m up. You okay?”
“He has some scars.”
“What?”
“Scar tissue. One could have been from a face-lift, but there were several more, hard to see, and I might be wrong. I tried to dismiss it. I know a lot of people who’ve had work done, but I’ll admit it’s bothered me because it was a lot of scar tissue. It was behind his ear, but it wasn’t like a face-lift scar. You said his jaw had been altered.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. The jaw, the nose, the hairline and his eyes.”
“They weren’t easy to spot. He had an amazingly good surgeon. And God knows a cosmetic scar isn’t proof, or half my relatives would be arrested.”
“No, they’re not proof. But I may be able to get something more tomorrow. I’m taking Pete’s car up to Sing Sing.”
“Where’s that?”
“Ossining. About an hour and a half drive. I’m going to visit one of the men who was working with Keegan. See what he can tell me.”
“You’re not a cop anymore,” she said, and he could hear the soft movements of cloth against cloth. “Can you just show up like that?”
“I know a guy who knows a guy. Professional courtesy and all that. It shouldn’t take too long. He’ll either talk or not, but I figure he might be pretty unhappy to be sitting in jail while Keegan’s out and about making so much money he can afford to give it away.”
“If it’s Keegan.” She sounded tense.
“Right. If.” He didn’t feel much like getting that beer now so he turned around. “And if he’s William West, how did your meeting go?”
“Look, Jake, you can’t mention West’s name tomorrow. Ask all you want about Keegan, but promise me you won’t try linking him to West.”
“I won’t. I never planned to. You have my word.”
She sighed with relief. “Jesus, you’ve got me all crazy and paranoid now.”
He winced. Her words took a chunk out of him but he sucked it up. He couldn’t blame her for not blindly jumping on the bandwagon. “Okay, for now we’re assuming everything’s copacetic with West. Tell me about dinner.”
“It went well. There’s the chance we’ll be getting five million a year for ten years.”
Jake whistled. “That’s not chump change.”
“I’m not holding my breath about it. There’s a lot that could still fall apart on this deal. The foundation will go on, one way or another.”
“I’m just glad you’re okay.”
“I am,” she said. “Oh, and Jake?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re considerate. Charming. Sexy. Funny. Decent. Dedicated. Heroic. Did I mention sexy?”
He laughed. “What’s that about?”
“Last night you asked me what I liked about you. Aside from you being so very, very good-looking.”
“I see,” he said, flushing under the cold light from the streetlamp, glad she hadn’t thrown in that he was nuts. “That was quite a list.”
“All true.”
“Sure you haven’t mistaken me for an Eagle Scout?”
“Positive.”
“Damn, woman. I wish you were a whole lot closer.”
“Be glad I’m not. I’m so tired I can barely see. Do me a favor, check in with me tomorrow. I don’t want to worry that you’ve been trapped in some prison riot or something.”
“Okay. I will. And Rebecca? You’re pretty goddamn fantastic yourself.”
For a minute, he listened to her breath. “Good night, Jake. Drive safely. Be careful. Come back in one piece.”
“I promise.”
14
THE BARRACUDA WAS A BEAST in terms of power, but one hell of a beauty to drive. Now that Jake was almost at the prison, he turned down the factory-installed AM radio and went over his plan of action.
Crystal had come through, thankfully. She’d called him this morning with T-Mac’s prison records and more importantly an overview of his phone records. Some of his calls had been from and to lawyers, but he had family. A mother and sister in Georgia. They didn’t come by, only called. No calls to or from Nevada. As for T-Mac’s life inside, he’d gone with the Bloods, which wasn’t a surprise considering, and he wasn’t classified as a high-risk inmate. He’d been there eleven years, time enough to get established, but not quite time enough for a chance at parole. They’d never been able to pin a murder on T-Mac.
His real name was Lantrel Wilson, and Jake had no idea where T-Mac had come from or what it meant. He’d been associated with Packard as a kid. Been arrested for selling drugs to other kids and sent to a juvenile facility three times before he was seventeen. He’d been thirty-four when he was busted in that raid, and according to testimony, which was highly suspect as it was given by other members of Packard’s operation, T-Mac was not just an office guy, he was one of only three or four people who had access to the panic room safe.
The signs warning against picking up hitchhikers popped up frequently as he continued on toward Hunter St., the icy-blue Hudson to his left.
Then there was the rigmarole about getting inside. Crystal had come through on that, too, and he owed her now. Flowers. Expensive flowers. He kept his eyes and ears open as he went through check after check until he was finally admitted into one of the cubicles they used for attorney visits. It took fifteen minutes for the door to open, and T-Mac was led inside.
First eye contact was definitely a challenge, but this wasn’t Jake’s first rodeo so he ignored it, using the silence to note the changes eleven years had wrought. The man had some serious muscle now. Enough tattoos to decorate the cubicle walls a couple times over. And that was only what Jake could see. T-Mac wore his long hair in cornrows that looked greasy, had a Van Dyke beard and squinty little eyes.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, finally.
“You can’t guess?”
“Cop?”
Jake smiled. “Ex-cop.”
“So? What you want?”
“What can you tell me about Lip?”
T-Mac didn’t blink. He looked uncomfortable, but that might have been because his chair was too small for his bulk. He could barely cross his arms. “Who?”
“Hey, you’re the one that ended up taking the fall for Packard, for Lip, for everything. I would imagine Lip getting away scot-free would be something to think about over the years.”
“You don’t know what I think about.”
“I do not. You’re correct. But I would like to find out what you know about Vance Keegan.”
“For all I know, he’s dead and gone. I got no word about him from nobody. Not for all the time I been here.”
“Nothing? Not a sighting? Say, from someone in Nevada?”
That got Jak
e a wince and a look. “You think I got pen pals or somethin’? How’d you even get in here, ex-cop? What are you looking for?”
“I’m writing a book.”
“Yeah, and I’m singing in a choir. That all?”
“I don’t know. I have to wonder, though, if it turned out that Lip wasn’t dead. That he was, say, living it up on the money that was supposed to be in the panic room. Making more money off that. Spending money. A lot of it. Would that clear up your memory some?”
“What the hell you talking about? Lip was nothing. Nobody. He got coffee and set up hookers.”
“Yeah. That sounds about right. Packard. He was a real sonofabitch, wasn’t he? Charging his own people twenty-percent interest? That had to sting.”
That got a reaction. It had been a rumor, a note on a piece of paper that Crystal had found.
“It’s time you left, ex-cop. I got nothing to say to you.”
“Nothing to pass on if I should miraculously discover Lip is alive and well?”
T-Mac gave him a contemptuous look, then stood up. Jake found it was a lot faster to get out of the prison than in. Just as well…the trip had been nothing but a big waste of time.
IT FELT AS IF REBECCA hadn’t been to the St. Marks church kitchen in months. Although they would meet next Monday to exchange lunches, today was a special gathering, a birthday party. Two women, an account rep for MetLife and a personal assistant of a famous author, were turning thirty. Rebecca couldn’t always make it to the group get-togethers, but she’d been delighted to come to this one. Not only did she like Ally and Tricia, but left to her own devices while Jake was at the prison, she would have been a wreck.
It was too soon to expect a call, but she’d been on tenterhooks the whole morning. Her day, in fact, had been terrifically normal. Flowers delivered from Bill West, thanking her for the dinner. No meaning to it, just something men tended to do when they wanted to get into someone’s pants. Or just to be polite, but that’s not what West’s gesture had been about. He wanted more. The way he’d looked at her at the end of the evening? It was as if he was doing everything in his power to figure her out, right down to how she liked her coffee in the morning. It had been an uncomfortable ride home, but maybe that was just her. What she knew about him, suspected about him, colored her perspective once the business of the evening had ended.
There was no proof. It was highly unlikely that he was a wanted man, a killer. If she eliminated that possibility entirely, what she was left with was a guy from Henderson, Nevada, who’d made a bundle and felt he wasn’t getting enough attention. Or not enough attention from the right people. Why else come to New York to contribute his millions? He could have easily found worthy causes in Vegas or California.
No, he was looking for validation. He’d taken her to Per Se to impress her. That’s why he’d brought a date to the banquet. He was preening, and that should have been her only consideration until there was more to go on than a couple of scars and an odd laugh.
“Well?”
Katy Groft stood in front of Rebecca. She’d changed her hair color to a softer brown with caramel highlights. It really suited her.
“You mean Jake.”
“Yes, I mean Jake. How was it?”
“Great,” she said, catching herself in the nick of time. Katy had gone out with Jake, too, and what was the proper etiquette for disclosure in the trading card world? She didn’t know Katy that well. It might hurt her feelings that Jake and Rebecca had hit it off. Or she might be delighted. “He’s a really nice guy.”
“Nice guy, hell. He’s gorgeous and funny and smart. He’s the best date I’ve had this year. Wish it could’ve lasted longer with him, but c’est la vie.”
Rebecca gave it up as a lost cause and told the truth. “You know what? Me, too. Best date in years. He’s pretty amazing.”
Katy stepped back two paces. “Oh,” she said. “Why do I get the feeling it wasn’t only one night with you two?”
Rebecca felt the warmth of her blush and was thrilled when she saw Bree approach. The lunch brigade were filing in now, and things would get moving soon. The cake was here, along with all the accoutrements. Instead of gifts, everyone was donating to the St. Marks kitchen, which, in addition to letting them cook, also served weekend meals to people in need. “It’s been several more,” she admitted. “And we’re getting together tomorrow night.”
“No,” Katy said, her voice dropping low and loud. “You are kidding me.”
“What?” Bree asked, not the least abashed by nosing in on the conversation. “Are we talking about Jake?”
“You know about Jake?” Katy asked.
“Met him. He’s a dream. I swear, if I wasn’t with Charlie—”
“You’re still with Charlie Winslow?”
All three women turned at that voice. It was Shannon, of Hot Guys New York trading card fame, making her entrance with her usual flair, red hair flying, high heels clicking across the floor. “I should have charged money for these cards. The hits keep on coming.”
“It was a stroke of genius,” Bree said. “You should call the Times. Have them do an article.”
Shannon gasped, her eyes wide and shocked. “No one is calling anyone, especially not the media. God, can you imagine? Men would be climbing all over themselves to get on the cards. And they’d all want to show off their assets, if you know what I mean.” She held up her hand, index finger and thumb about two inches apart.
“Either that or they’d be lining up to sue you,” Lacy said with a laugh.
Shannon shook her head. “For a dating circle? No one has that much free time.”
“Besides,” Katy said, “men are too vain. None of them would complain about using their pics without permission, especially if it got them on a date with one of us.”
“Your lips to God’s ears,” Shannon said, with a glance toward the ceiling. “I want to keep playing with the deck. I’m certain I’m going to meet my Mr. Right through this plan. It’s fated.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “So let’s all remember to keep this our little secret.”
Rebecca grinned, but she agreed with Shannon in principle. The whole reason the trading cards worked was because it was a controlled environment. “Well, I’m thrilled that I’m part of it,” she said. If Shannon couldn’t get accolades from the press, she certainly deserved them from her. “I’m seeing someone really special.”
“I didn’t think we had any more gazillionaires in the stack,” Shannon said. “Or was he posing as a regular guy?”
That stung. A lot. “No, he is a regular guy.”
“Oh.” Shannon frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did. But it’s okay. No reason not to. I was as surprised as anyone.”
“Come on,” Bree said, bumping her shoulder. “You’re not like that. I’d know.”
“No, I’m not looking for an escape clause,” Rebecca said, touching Bree’s hand. “I’ve had to do some real soul-searching over this. I never realized how accustomed I’d become to men of a certain class. It’s been a real wake-up call. Yet another reason to be grateful for the trading cards.”
Shannon wasn’t frowning now. Her face softened, and her very pink lips curved into a smile. “That’s good,” she said. “Thank you for telling me that.”
“I can’t believe I let him get away,” Katy said. “I had him first.”
“You said it was all right.”
Katy grinned at Rebecca. “Of course it’s all right. I’m kidding. Jealous, but kidding. Now, return the favor and set me up with someone wonderful.”
“I’ll do my best,” she said. She would, too. But there wasn’t a single man in her life, now that Charlie was taken, that she’d want to share with the women here. Her friends deserved better.
HE PULLED INTO A GAS STATION in Englewood to fill up the Barracuda. It took premium gas, for God’s sake, and it drank like a lush. But, oh, how Pete loved this car.
Jake wasn’t sure why—may
be he hadn’t gotten the car gene—but he’d never been into them. Not even when he’d gotten his driver’s license. He’d bought an old Toyota when he had enough money, learned enough to change the oil, change plugs and points, the basics, and that was fine. It was lucky he’d been a decent quarterback because he’d been harassed about that old bucket of bolts from day one.
Instead he’d become obsessed with guns. Not rifles, although he could handle one. Not hunting, he had no interest. He’d learned about guns at the shooting range, on a Smith & Wesson 36 revolver. He and his father had been like most teenagers and their dads, arguing, pissing each other off about everything, his hormones in charge, his father’s patience stretched beyond the limit, but not at the range. There, Mike had been an extraordinary teacher, and Jake, an obedient and helpful son. That had lasted until Jake got two more bull’s-eyes than his old man.
After he’d spent an ungodly amount on gasoline, Jake pulled the car into an empty space at the little food market, far from where anyone else would park. He was more afraid of wrecking Pete’s car than he was of that prison riot Rebecca had warned him about.
He got himself a soda, found a seat on a bench where he could watch the Barracuda, which was worth a lot of money, not to mention Pete’s well-being, and called Rebecca.
“Hi,” she said. She sounded relieved, and that made him feel better than he’d expected, considering. “How did it go?”
“As far as concrete information? It sucked. But if you count inferences that could lead directly to the next step in the process, it also sucked.”
“Oh, no,” she said, but he could hear the relief in her tone. She probably assumed the poking around was over. That West was exactly who he said he was. She might be right.
“T-Mac wasn’t forthcoming,” he said. “The only undertone I got from him was his distinct wish that I would die. Soon.”
“But I thought he was the one who got slammed with the whole deal.” Rebecca sighed, and he could hear a murmur of voices in the background. “Wasn’t he angry?”
“I couldn’t tell. Probably. But then, the man’s in prison for a hell of a long time. I don’t think he has a lot of up days.”
