Striding swiftly into the famous funeral home, he found the large room filled to capacity, immediately spying more than a few celebrities, as well as those who were obviously members of Rogan's staff. It was an interesting combination of the common and the wealthy. Standing in the shadows, he scanned the crowd, and though he didn't see Salerno and Cavelli, it didn't mean they weren't there. He'd only seen their mug shots, and in the crowd, it would be easy to miss the crooked duo.
The Funeral Chapel was on 81st and Madison. The unique mortuary had been used to bid a fond farewell to many famous names. The man who was speaking was praising Al Rogan for being such a considerate employer, and as he wrapped up his touching speech and stepped away, a tall, distinguished, grey-haired man took his place.
"Is there anyone else who would like to say a few words?"
Patrick let out a breath of relief. He'd made it just in time, but he hesitated. There might be someone in the audience who knew him. With so many in attendance, it was a possibility. In a short time, he'd be at the wake. Perhaps that would be a better place to introduce himself, but there would only be a few people there. Deciding to roll the dice, he walked slowly forward, doing his best to study the mourners as he passed. Stepping behind the podium, he took a moment to do another sweep of the many faces staring up at him, and not spotting anyone familiar, he began to speak.
"You don't know me, but my name is Robert Rogan. I'm Al's younger brother."
Hushed whispers echoed through the room, and he nodded his head, as if understanding their surprise.
"Al and I recently reconnected, after many years, and it saddens me that he left before I was able to get here. It's a cruel twist of fate. He reached out to me, asked if we could get reacquainted. We talked a great deal over the last few weeks. I arrived yesterday, and here I am, saying goodbye. Ruby, his lovely widow, has invited me to stay, so at least I'll be able to spend some time in his home. It is with great sadness that I say these words. Carpe diem. I wish I hadn't waited so long. Perhaps he'd still be with us, if I'd made it here sooner. God speed, Al."
Stepping down, he walked solemnly from the small riser, and with nowhere to sit near Ruby, he started to move through the silent crowd to the back of the room. He could feel their eyes follow him, but the man presiding over the occasion returned to the podium and began to speak. It was done. Now, all Patrick could do was wait.
Al's bookkeeper, Maury Goldenberg, had been honored to handle the many details for the funeral and the intimate get-together at the house. Ruby had provided him with a list of people she wanted to invite, and the number was in stark contrast to the service. Al's family had disowned him, so they weren't there. Al's many friends weren't her friends, but she'd invited those with whom she'd developed more than a passing acquaintance, and then there were the restaurant managers. It was a quiet affair, and though Patrick had to field a few questions, there were none that were problematic. As Ruby said goodbye to the last guest, she leaned against the door and let out a very long sigh.
"You look exhausted," Patrick remarked, seeing the faint outline of dark circles under her eyes. "You should head over to Rhoda's."
"I can't bear the thought. I'm completely wiped out. She'll start jabbering away at me. No, I'm sorry, I can't, not tonight. If I can't be here, I'd rather go back to the Mansfield."
Closing the small space between them, he brought her into his arms, and as he felt her dissolve against his chest, he had a change of heart.
"I don't think anyone will be banging down the door to talk to me tonight. Not Salerno and Cavelli, not anyone. I think we'll be okay."
"That's about the best news I've ever had. I just want to have a hot bath, crawl into bed, and curl up next to you. I'll call Rhoda and let her know."
"I'm glad she hated Al," he muttered. "I'm not sure I could have dealt with her being here. She yaps so much; she could have said the wrong thing and turned me into toast."
"She probably would have. That woman can do the craziest things. She once showed up with a thermos of coffee and a freshly baked apple pie."
"Why is that crazy?"
"I do know how to make coffee, but that wasn't the crazy part. It was a bribe. She wanted to borrow some—and I'm quoting now— 'sex kitten lingerie.'"
"Rhoda asked you for sex kitten lingerie?"
"She did, I swear. It was when she and Harry were going through their difficult patch."
"I can see why she'd think you'd have something wicked in your lingerie collection," he murmured, clutching her hair and gently tugging back her head to stare into her eyes. "You're the sexiest kitten I've ever met."
"Come to think of it, she never did return what I lent her. I totally forgot about it."
"Maybe it worked."
"Maybe," Ruby said, managing a smile. "I think I need that bath now."
"You head upstairs. I'll start cleaning up."
"You don't need to. I can do it in the morning."
"I feel like puttering. I won't be long. Give Rhoda my best and do me a favor. Tell her I'll be gone all day, so if anyone shows up, you'll be nipping over to her place."
"Sure, but why?"
"Can't you guess? If she thinks I'm around, she'll be banging on the door wanting to talk my head off."
"True, and I know she'll be wanting to gossip with me," Ruby sighed. "I guess I can natter for a bit and get it over with. I'd rather do that during the day, rather than tomorrow night when I go over there."
Circling her arms around his neck, she softly kissed him then slipped from his hold. Watching her amble into the hallway, he ran his fingers through his hair. Had he made the right decision, letting her stay? Grimacing, he walked into the living room, flopped down on the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. He needed some rest, too. When Salerno and Cavelli did come calling, he had to be sharp.
Chapter 11
It was the following morning, and wearily, Patrick blinked open his eyes. He'd not slept well. As a former cop and a private investigator, though his heart was telling him Ruby had nothing to do with Al's death, he couldn't ignore the facts presented to him by his former boss. Was it possible Ruby was guilty? Had he been duped by a gorgeous gal? Her warm body moved against him, and rolling on to her side, she curled into his chest.
"I'm so glad I'm waking up with you," she murmured. "It's heaven."
Her felt her breasts press against his chest, and as her hand reached down to his crotch and her fingers wrapped around his early morning erection, he closed his eyes, unable to resist her touch.
"Sorry I was sleeping when you came to bed," she continued. "I didn't even feel you slip in next to me."
"You were wiped out."
"I'll make up for it now," she whispered, stroking his member. "I want to sit on you."
As she pushed back the covers and straddled him, the cold air brought goosebumps to their skin, and he watched her nipples pucker as she lowered herself down. Holding her by the waist, he supported her as she started to move, and the disturbing thoughts that had plagued his uneasy sleep began to fade.
Almost as if she felt the shift in his focus, she began riding him with abandon. Her lips parted, her head tilted back, and her magnificent breasts seemed to be begging for his mouth. Sitting up, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her still as he devoured each of them in turn, then lowering her on her back, he gently rested his weight on her body. Staring into her sparkling blue eyes, he could feel his heart swell, and dropping his lips on hers, he consumed her mouth in a ravenous kiss. Her hands clutched his back, his thrusting accelerated, her soft utterances of pleasure urged him on, and abruptly his climax was looming.
"Patrick, please don't stop, I'm so close."
Her desperate plea drove him forward, and as she let out a cry and arched her back, he clenched his teeth, determined to keep control until her orgasm had waned. It seemed to take minutes, not seconds, but as her body fell limp, he abruptly grabbed himself and pulled out. Gratefully surrendering to the sparkling spasms, he s
pewed his cream on her stomach then, with a long groan, he collapsed next to her.
"That is the only way to wake up," she said breathlessly, reaching across to her nightstand and pulling a Kleenex from its box.
"No arguments from me," he panted, thinking his heart was about to pound itself right out of his chest.
"Listen to that rain," she said, pulling the covers up and snuggling against him. "It's so nice being warm and safe next to you."
"Sorry about the mess," he murmured. "I meant to pick up some more rubbers on my way to the funeral yesterday. I was worried about the time."
But the truth was he'd forgotten to stop by a drug store because he'd been distracted by the conversation he'd had with Earl, and reminded of it, he shifted on to his side and propped himself up on an elbow.
"Ruby, I need to talk to you."
"Whenever anyone starts a sentence like that, it's usually bad news."
"I just need to ask you a couple of questions."
"Sure, go ahead."
"Did you meet with Salerno and Cavelli at a diner, a couple of nights before the murder?"
"I did, like always."
"Like always?"
"Al insisted I hand deliver his checks, and with Frank Salerno and Joseph Cavelli, it never changed. They'd wait in a diner, Al would pull into the parking lot, and I'd have to go in, sit down and talk to them for a minute, then give them the envelope. It was humiliating at first, but after I while, I stopped caring."
"You know, Ruby, that's exactly what I thought you'd say."
"You did?"
"Yeah, it fit what you'd told me about earlier about how Al liked to show you off. Did he ever hurt you?"
"Physically? No. I think he knew if he did, I'd pack my bags. That was a line that couldn't be crossed."
Patrick paused. He felt uncomfortable interrogating her.
"I know you'll feel better if you ask me what you need to," she said, staring at him with earnest eyes. "Honestly, it's okay."
"Ruby…"
His voice trailed off. She was so gorgeous, so real, so guileless, as much as he needed to continue, he couldn't bring himself to do it. She was completely innocent; he was sure of it.
"I'll make this easy," she said sweetly, seeing the angst in his eyes. "You probably want to know where I was before I got home. I was at Crystal Cleaners, dropping off Al's suits, then I went to the grocery store. After that, I stopped by Bailey's Bakery to pick up some of Al's favorite lemon meringue pie, but they were sold out. I got home sometime after five o'clock. I came in, found him, called Rhoda, then raced over to your office."
"Did you pass any cars you didn't recognize as you drove down your street?"
"Never thought to look."
"Have you ever been to my office? Checked it out? Checked me out?"
She took a breath, her face turned pink, and she slowly nodded her head.
"Guilty," she murmured. "Patrick, have you ever had one of those feelings that something bad was going to happen?"
"You bet," he replied, thinking about the many times his instinct had stepped in and pointed him away from danger.
"I'm glad you said that, because that was happening to me, and I wanted somewhere to run, if something terrible did materialize, though I never imagined it would be Al's murder."
"If you knew where my office was, why did you call Rhoda and ask for my number?"
"In case you weren't there. Patrick, you must understand, I had a thousand things racing through my head. For the first minute or so, I was worried the killer was still in the house, and don't forget, I pulled my stiletto from Al's eye and discovered the other one was gone. I was in a complete panic. It wasn't until I was running out that I realized I wanted your number with me so I could call, if I needed to."
"For the record," he murmured, lying back down and pulling her next to him. "I'm sure you had nothing to do with Al's death."
"I loathed the man, but I'm not capable of killing anyone."
"I believe that completely, and I'm very worried about who the killer is. Remember, if there's a knock at the door—"
"I know, I run next door and let you answer it."
"Rhoda's always home, right? You won't find yourself unable to get in her house, will you? I should have thought about that."
"I have a key. We exchanged keys, ages ago, in case of any problems."
They were quiet for a while, and with his mind eased, Patrick began to fall back asleep. It was a deep, restful nap, but when he woke up, he found himself alone. Abruptly slipping out of bed, he pulled on his trousers, zipping them up and calling Ruby's name as he walked into the hallway.
"I'm in the kitchen," she called back. "I'll make you some fresh coffee and something to eat. Come down, when you're ready."
It was only then that he realized his heart was hot in his chest. Ruby meant the world to him.
Chapter 12
While Ruby was sorting through the bric-a-brac on the bookshelves in Al's office, Patrick was at his desk, calling the mangers of the three restaurants and setting up appointments with each of them for the following afternoon. Though he was sure Frank Salerno and Joseph Cavelli would contact him, Patrick wanted to push things along.
"Okay, Ruby, everything's set. They'll be here tomorrow. Did you find anything interesting?"
"I have, behind these plaques. Several accounting books for each restaurant. Why do you think he hid them?"
"He probably kept books for tax reporting and others with the real figures, and he might have been paying people off for various things. I'll take a look and see if I can make sense of them."
"There's a safe in here somewhere, but I have no idea where it is. I've checked behind all the paintings."
"Probably a floor safe," Patrick remarked, and moving across to a coffee table that sat in front of a chesterfield couch, he pushed it off the rug. "I'll bet it's under here."
Rolling back the thin carpet, he immediately spotted the telltale square seam around the floorboards. With a gentle touch, it sprang up, exposing the metal safe below.
"Oh, my gosh," Ruby exclaimed, dropping to her knees. "How will we get it open?"
"I'll call Earl. There are guys on the force who can crack these things."
"I wonder what's in there."
"Probably cash and lots of it. I suspect you're going to be a wealthy woman."
Lifting his gaze, he studied her face, and rather than seeing glee at the thought of being rich, he saw a worried frown.
"How am I going to deal with all this? I definitely don't want to stay in this house. I want to sell it and move somewhere smaller, and I have no idea about his bank accounts or his business. Patrick, I'm suddenly feeling…"
"Overwhelmed?"
"Where do I even start? How do I even start?
She had settled on the floor, and sliding across to sit next to her, he took her in his arms.
"It's like anything, one step at a time," he said reassuringly. "I'll put you in touch with my accountant. He'll figure out what's what and deal with Uncle Sam. We'll find the right person to handle the sale of the house and help find you a new home. You can always stay with me until the right place comes along. I don't live in anything like this, but it's a decent sized apartment."
"Patrick, you're amazing. You make it sound manageable."
"I'm not saying it will be a walk in the park, but everything will work itself out."
"I almost believe you," she said, managing a smile. "In fact, I think I'll go upstairs and start gathering up his clothes for charity."
"Do you want any help?"
"There are some empty boxes in the garage. If you could bring them up, that would be great."
"I think I can handle that."
"Patrick, what would I do without you?"
She was staring at him with vulnerable eyes, and tightening his hold around her shoulders, he placed his lips softly on hers. As he languidly drifted his mouth, she shifted her body to press against him, returning his kiss with
ardent passion as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their hot sparks were igniting, but just as he began to lower her on to the floor, the sound of Rhoda's voice echoed through the house.
"Ruby? Ruby? Are you home? It's me, Rhoda. I wanted to check on you, make sure you're all right."
"I don't believe it," Patrick grunted, raising his head. "Maybe if we stay quiet, she'll leave."
"Not her. She'll start wandering around looking for me. I'm sure she's dying to hear everything," Ruby said with a heavy sigh. "If you don't want to see her, stay quiet."
"Bummer. Okay, I know when I'm beaten," Patrick said with a sigh, rising to his feet and helping her up. "I'll call Earl and tell him about this safe. I need to check in with him, anyway."
"And I'll do my best to get rid of her, but stay away; otherwise, she'll keep us both talking."
"Ruby? Ruby? You home?"
"Coming, Rhoda. I'll see you in the kitchen."
"You won't even know I'm in the house," Patrick said in a hushed whisper. Quickly kissing her, he playfully slapped her backside, adding, "That's a promise of things to come!"
"You'll have to catch me, first," she said with a wink, then hurried away.
Quietly closing the door behind her, he ambled across to the desk and sat down in the oversized leather chair. The room had been the Al's domain, and everywhere, there was evidence of who he was. On the wall were photographs in gold frames, showing him shaking hands with celebrities, some taken at his restaurants, others at various social events, and over the fireplace was his portrait. Obviously painted years before, Al Rogan appeared trim and handsome, dressed in a smart navy suit, white shirt and red tie.
"You led a full life, Al Rogan, but you weren't the nicest guy in the world. Still, you didn't deserve such a grisly death."
Reaching for the phone, he dialed the station and asked for Earl, continuing to study the photos on the wall.
"Earl Baxter."
"Earl, it's me. I found a floor safe in Rogan's office. We need to get someone over here."
Hero Undercover: 25 Breathtaking Bad Boys Page 20
