by J. E. Taylor
“The front door is unlocked again.” Jennifer glanced over her shoulder at Steve and pushed open the door.
“Wait!” His senses snapped into high alert and he glanced around the yard and back at her. It was dark and his adrenalin kicked in, turning his blood into octane fuel, throbbing in his veins, pumping hard and fast. He pulled Jennifer back a step and slipped to the car. Reaching under the front seat, he grabbed his revolver.
He passed by her, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment. “Stay here,” he ordered and slid into the house, gun drawn, slowly moving along the wall. His eyes darted through the dark looking for any sign of an intruder. It took him several minutes to cover the entire house. When he was through, he stood in their bedroom and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before setting the safety on his gun. He flipped the living room lights and walked to the front door, nodding for Jennifer to come in. “It’s clear.”
“I’m ready for bed,” she announced. The stress created dark circles under her eyes. She half smiled and headed toward the bedroom.
Steve stood in the living room. The feeling of being watched hung on and he slowly surveyed the room. It took a second to recognize the camera mounted at the top of the bookshelf.
“Shit!” He crossed the room and pulled the gadget down, flipping it over in his hands before spiking it onto the floor. How long has that been here? He turned in a circle, studying anywhere else in the living room that could house a camera before looking at the broken electronics on the floor.
He flipped open the phone. “Jack. I need a crew out here to scan the cottage. I found a camera in our living room.”
“I’ll have one up there tomorrow.”
“I think Bondino is watching.” Steve turned the broken equipment over in his hand. It was a pretty advanced camera, the kind of thing only someone with money could afford. He slowly stood and crossed to the garbage, dumping it.
Someone has been in this house.
He glanced at the door and around the room again and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “In the meantime, I’d like Kyle Wisnowski’s grave exhumed.”
“I’ll see what I can do. It may take some time, Steve. I don’t know if we can do this without something concrete to give the judge, but I’ll give it a go.”
Chapter 62
The monitor went fuzzy as Steve spiked the camera on the floor. Kyle glared at the cottage and down at the limited number of weapons arranged on the living room floor. Inhaling deeply, Kyle stood and stretched. “It isn’t time, yet,” he reminded himself. This would freak Steve out for a little while and that pleased him.
The cell phone in his pocket began to vibrate. Kyle dug it out. “Hello?”
“It’s Tony,” his boss announced. “Where the hell are you?”
“I’m taking care of some personal business on the east coast,” Kyle replied, turning the volume down on all the monitors.
“I got a job for you.”
Kyle looked out at the lake house and didn’t say a word.
“Kyle?”
“Where and when?”
“Milan, next week.”
Kyle sighed. “How long?”
“If all goes well, you will be back in a couple of weeks.”
“When do you expect me to head out?”
“Monday.”
Kyle looked out at the cottage. “What hotel in Milan?”
“Hotel Principe di Savoia. I think you’ll enjoy this one immensely. I’ll send your documents to the usual address.”
“I’ll be there Sunday night.”
“Good,” Tony answered. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”
“Thanks, Tony. See ya.” He flipped the phone closed. “Shit,” he said, looking across the lake. He flipped through the remaining working cameras in the cottage. They hadn’t brought the baby home yet, so his plans were on hold anyway.
Chapter 63
They stepped into the cottage after another exhausting day at the hospital. Jennifer dropped asleep on the bed almost immediately. The staples had been taken out of her abdomen and the drugs they gave her for the discomfort affected her all day. She’d dozed several times in the chair, holding Samantha’s hand while Steve read Dr. Seuss books to his daughter.
Steve planted a kiss on her forehead and slipped into the office, taking a seat behind the desk. He closed his eyes for a second before getting down to another night of research.
He stood in the clearing of Paradise Cove as fog drifted up from the ground. Steve heard a noise behind him and twirled around. As he turned, he watched the lush green beauty of Paradise Cove deteriorate, turning brown. The moss under his feet turned black and he knew what was behind him even as his eyes landed on the beast. It was laughing and its huge clawed hand rose in the air and came down fast.
The chair banged into the wall from the force of the push he gave with his legs. His eyes flew open and he was still in the office. Disoriented, heart pounding, and breath rasping, he glanced around the room and back at the computer.
Just a nightmare.
“Damn,” he whispered and shook the cobwebs from his mind.
He opened the folder containing the financial research he’d put together from Charlie’s ledgers, specifically honing in on the months before and after Kyle had supposedly died.
“Bingo!”
He found the entry he remembered. A seven-figure sum was put into a trust account for K. Winslow along with a smaller figure going to the shell corporation Steve was familiar with. The cocaine business filtered a percentage off the top to the same corporation.
“Tony Bondino.” He found the connection.
“Okay, Charlie got Kyle out of an abusive foster home, faked his death and sent him to work for Tony.” His eyebrows creased.
He pulled up the report of Kyle’s foster parents, opting for the full document this time. He read through and looked at the crime scene photos. The killer had taken his time with them, torturing them to a degree Steve had never seen before. The last thing he read struck a chord. Both parents were missing their index fingers. Steve sat back in the chair. His mind whizzed through his own data files. It took a moment, but when the answer he was searching for reared its head, he nearly shot to his feet.
“Holy Shit!”
Kyle was an assassin.
The mark, the index finger, they had seen that in several cases they suspected to be Bondino hits—the last being a judge in New York City in October. Every single wound inflicted on Kyle’s foster parents was a form of torture they’d seen in mafia hits over the last six or seven years all bundled into one brutal and sadistic session. An application of everything he’d learned wherever the Bondino’s had sent him.
It was too late to call Jack, so Steve shot an email his way and shut down the computer for the night. Opening his top desk drawer, he stared at the vial of cocaine, picking it up and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, debating. He could almost taste the rush and he shook his head and sighed, dropping it back into the drawer and twisting the lock.
He cracked open a bottle of wine instead.
“What are you doing?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice, turning toward his rumpled wife. “Having a drink. You want one?”
Jennifer glanced at the clock. “It’s after eleven.”
“I know. Do you want a glass?” He held up the bottle of zinfandel.
She nodded, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and he poured her a glass.
Steve drained his glass and poured a second.
She raised her eyebrows and took a small sip without taking her eyes off him.
“What?” he asked.
“You’re hitting that pretty hard.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have to work tomorrow and it’s been a long day.” He was not about to divulge the facts he’d uncovered. The idea of going up against a mafia assassin didn’t sit well with him right at the moment.
“So you’re going to get drunk?”
&nbs
p; “Precisely! And then I’m going to let you take advantage of me.”
She almost spit her wine out with the laughter that exploded. “You think so?”
He nodded and drained the second glass. Drinking was a more palatable choice than snorting the cocaine, and he needed to get sauced. He poured the rest of the bottle in his glass.
Her smile disappeared. “You were serious about getting drunk.”
“Yes.”
Jennifer set her glass down. “What’s wrong?”
Steve took a deep breath and finished the glass.
* * * *
The color drained from her face as the dark kitchen dissolved to their bright sun-streaked living room.
She kneeled on the floor in front of the chair Steve was tied to.
“Anchor him to the floor,” her assailant said and handed her two six-inch galvanized screws.
“I can’t.”
“Say goodbye to your little angel,” he said from behind her.
“Don’t kill my little girl,” she cried and looked up at Steve, tears blurring her vision. “How?” she finally asked.
“Through his feet,” the voice instructed and he dropped the power drill on the floor next to her.
Jennifer sobbed as she took the drill.
“Jenny!” Steve yelled and shook her.
Jennifer blinked and looked around. Her hand flew to her mouth at the realization of the vision’s insinuation. Tears welled in her eyes and the shakes began. “I can’t,” she whispered and looked into Steve’s wide blue eyes.
“You can’t what?” Steve asked, visibly rattled this time.
“I can’t anchor you to the floor.” Her eyes rolled up in their sockets and she slumped forward.
* * * *
He caught her and propped her back in the seat, splashing a little water in her face.
Her eyelids raised and she glanced around the kitchen, her breath catching in her throat. She threw her arms around Steve, burying her wet face on his shoulder. She clung to him until the shakes subsided.
When she pulled away, he asked, “Are you all right now?”
Jennifer shrugged in response.
Already tipsy from the first bottle of wine, he grabbed another chilled bottle of zinfandel and filled his glass. He really didn’t want to know what Jennifer had seen. What she had said while under the spell of the vision was disturbing enough. He just wanted to drink the rest of the bottle in front of him.
“Don’t you want to know what I saw?”
“No,” he said without looking at her. “I really don’t want to know.” His words slurred as the wine and stress took their toll.
“Steve?”
He glanced over at her. “What, babe?”
“I’m sorry,” she said and burst into tears.
He picked up his wine and drained the goblet again before he spoke. “Don’t apologize,” he said, refilling his empty wineglass. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” His eyes filled with tears and he slammed the drink back like a shot of tequila. “I’m the one who’s responsible for this mess.” He poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass and looked down at the table.
“Steve, how can it be your fault?”
“I killed Charlie,” he began and sat back in his seat. “It doesn’t matter that he was shooting at me and had already killed a bunch of people. All that matters is that I killed him and I believe his brother was watching.” He took another sip of wine before continuing. “And here’s the kicker: Charlie’s brother is a mafia assassin.” He smiled and finished his glass. Instead of pouring another glass, Steve took a swig directly from the bottle.
“Kyle, Charlie’s little brother, supposedly died close to ten years ago.” He took a deep breath. “Kyle didn’t die. Charlie got him out of an abusive home and sent him somewhere. He had enough contacts at that time to pull it off.” Steve finished the second bottle. “And Kyle’s been trained by some very nasty people. When he came back to New York, he killed his foster parents.” Standing, he crossed to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of cabernet. “Jack’s going to get the body exhumed and run dental records. I’m betting my career that the body in the grave isn’t Kyle Wisnowski’s”
“Holy shit,” Jennifer said.
* * * *
“Holy Shit, indeed!”
Kyle stared at the computer screen in his apartment in New York, his jaw slack and his eyes wide, his blood turning cold at the slurred explanation Steve gave Jennifer.
“How the fuck do you know?” Kyle whispered at the screen.
Kyle sat back and covered his face with his hands, silently thanking God that he was going out of the country in the morning. The exhumation would tell the FBI that Kyle Wisnowski was not in the grave that bore his name.
“Fuck,” he said and switched the connection off in disgust.
Chapter 64
Steve woke to a ruckus in the living room, feeling like someone had planted an axe in the back of his skull. He stumbled out of bed and opened the bedroom door to his in-laws chatting away with Jennifer. Laughter broke out, causing his head to shriek in protest.
“Shit,” he whispered and closed the bedroom door again. I can’t believe I forgot they were coming. He pulled on a pair of shorts and grabbed some clean clothing, making his way to the bathroom while ignoring the sudden silence at his intrusion. Before he closed the bathroom door, Jennifer whispered to her folks that he over indulged a bit last night.
That’s a word for it. Shit-faced is another.
Steve turned on the shower and flipped the lid of the toilet up in time to catapult the contents of his stomach into the bowl. He felt the tremors rip through his body a second time and then settle down.
“How much did I drink last night?” he asked his bloodshot reflection around the toothbrush in his mouth. The bathroom lights hurt his eyes and even the sound of the shower resounded through his head like the crescendo of the brass section in a band. He stripped and stepped under the warm jets, hoping for some relief of the hellish hangover, but it wasn’t coming any time soon.
Steve avoided the shocked stares of his in-laws and weaved back to the bedroom with his dirty clothing, tossing them into the hamper before turning back toward the living room.
“Would you like me to make you some coffee?” Jennifer asked, approaching him.
Shaking his head, he ground his teeth against another stomach flip. He picked up the sunglasses on the table and slipped them on, easing the pain in his eyes a fraction. “How much did I drink?” he asked when she grazed his cheek with a kiss.
“Almost five bottles of wine,” she replied in no more than a whisper. “Go back to bed, honey.”
“Your folks are here.”
“You’re not in any shape to visit. Go back to bed,” Jennifer said a little louder and he winced at the increase in volume.
The motion of his nod caused an explosion of pain in his head and he stumbled. Jennifer grabbed his arm to steady him and led him back into the bedroom, helping him under the covers.
“Love you, Jenny.”
“I know you do.” She kissed his temple and closed the door behind her.
* * * *
The phone interrupted Steve’s drunken slumber and he reached for the receiver on the nightstand with a groan of protest. “Hello?” he croaked.
“Steve?” Jack asked.
“What’s up?” Steve rolled onto his back, pressing his forearm over his eyes to block the bright sun filtering into the room.
“You sound like shit.”
“Hangover. What’s up?”
“There’s been another murder.”
Steve moved his arm and opened his eyes. “Where?”
“New York City. Last night. I’m sending over the photos and preliminary forensics.”
“Shit.” Steve closed his eyes again. He didn’t even know if Jennifer had another vision. He was too drunk last night to remember much.
“I need you to take a look,” Jack said.
“
Okay. Give me a minute.” He slid out of bed and stumbled out of the bedroom into his office, booting up his desktop. Even the thin whirl of the computer hurt his head. “Got it,” Steve mumbled as the email archive opened. He scanned the pictures slowly, stopping to look at the very pretty, very dead blonde-haired woman. “It’s our guy. Same M.O. The marks on the neck are consistent with the others and there’s evidence of sodomy, according to the preliminary notes. The pinkie’s missing too. I’ll bet the DNA comes back as a match.” Steve rubbed his face and leaned back, noticing the quiet pervading the cabin.
“I’m heading down to the crime scene. I’ll let you know what I find out,” Jack said.
“Thanks. Talk to you later.” He hung up the phone and wandered into the living room, looking out at the gazebo, thinking Jennifer must have gone outside.
She wasn’t there.
“Jen?” When no answer came, he turned around again, now fully awake. Where the hell is she? A thin layer of alarm wrapped around his chest for a moment and he tilted his head. A small bark of a laugh escaped. Her parents were here this morning. Shit.
His head still pounded out a loud painful beat. It was a wonder he could formulate a coherent thought. He glanced around the room again and his eyes fell on the note that lay in plain sight on the coffee table. Slumping on the couch in relief, Steve leaned his head back on the puffy pillows and closed his eyes.
He was still lying on the couch in a semi-conscious state when Jennifer and her parents arrived home. “Hi.” He sat up, rubbing his eyes and offering a shrug and smile to his in-laws. “I have to apologize. I had a little too much wine last night.”
“It happens,” Joe said. “Hope our visit wasn’t the cause.”
Steve let out a soft laugh. “Not in the least. I was looking forward to seeing you and Allison.”
Joe nodded but pressed his lips together in a skeptical scowl.
“Seriously,” Steve said and glanced at Jennifer for help.
“Give him a break, Dad.” Jennifer walked over to Steve and gave him a quick kiss. “You feeling any better?”
