by J. E. Taylor
Steve glared over his shoulder at her.
“And now you have a chip on your shoulder as big as mine.”
Steve couldn’t help the smile that surfaced. “What’d you lose?”
“My sister,” she answered.
Steve shrugged. He had been there before too. “It isn’t the same.” He turned away and began walking.
“How do you know?” She shot back.
Steve stopped. “Because I’ve been there as well.” He turned back. “My little sister died when I was eleven.” He shrugged and took a few backward steps.
“Was she murdered?” Sarah asked.
Steve shook his head. “But my daughter, my parents and both my partners were.” Her jaw went slack. “And my wife is clinically brain dead because of the same bastard.” He turned and continued walking.
“Wait.”
“Look, I don’t want your pity,” he snapped, turning on her. “All I want is to find the son of a bitch and kill him myself. And I don’t need any distractions along the way.”
She took an involuntary step backward.
Steve advanced on her, taking advantage of the fact he scared her.
“You’re not FBI are you?” She took another step back. Bondino, oh shit, he’s one of them.
Steve tilted his head. “Bondino? Tony Bondino?”
Sarah’s jaw fell and she started to scramble away.
Steve grabbed her arm and pulled her toward him. “What do you know about Tony Bondino?” He slammed her against the wall, his weight holding her in place.
Oh fuck, my gun’s in the car, how stupid can I be. “Nothing. I don’t know who that is,” she shot back, the fear clear in her features. Oh shit. I’m going to die.
“I’m not going to kill you,” Steve said. “And I am with the FBI.” He let her go and stepped back.
“You don’t act like it.” She straightened her shirt and glared at him.
“I’m not your typical agent. I was undercover for years before I got married.”
“What, in grade school?”
“Right out of high school until a couple of years ago. Having your face splashed all across the television kind of kills an undercover career.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh, my God!” She remembered his face and the news story that accompanied it.
“Now, talk to me about the Bondino’s.” Steve stood with his arms crossed.
Sarah looked around and back at him. “Not here,” she said and started back toward her car.
Steve followed and slid in the passenger seat, letting her take him wherever she wanted.
She pulled up in front of a little brownstone in Brooklyn twenty minutes later. “My place,” she said, blushing.
Steve got out of the car and followed her inside, watching as the brazen obnoxious cop turned into a shy, tempered woman.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked as she stripped her jacket off.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a Corona?” he asked, thinking it was a one in a million shot.
She smiled. “With lemon?”
Steve raised his eyebrows, hiding the surprise convincingly. “Is there any other way?”
He walked around the small living room picking up the trinkets on the side tables, inspecting and replacing as he took in his surroundings. He turned back toward her when she came into the room. She had taken off her boots and was now looking up at him from a height of roughly five two at the most. In an unsettling way, she reminded him of a combination of Tracy and Desiree, except her eyes were the shade of milk chocolate. “Thanks,” he replied when she handed him the beer. “Have you had this place swept?”
“Pardon?”
“If you’re going after the mafia, you better damn well sweep your place from time to time to make sure they haven’t bugged it or put in cameras.”
Her face went pale and she glanced around the small abode.
“I’m talking from experience.” He took a sip of the beer. “Don’t make the same mistake I did of thinking your home can’t be compromised.”
Sarah nodded.
“Show me what you’ve got.” Steve sat on the couch and looked at her expectantly.
She looked over her shoulder at the dining room and back. “Um, my files are over there.” She pointed to the dining room.
He drank her in from the top of her blonde head to her crimson painted toenails. He allowed a slow smile to form and tipped the beer to his lips, draining half of the bottle, his gaze locked with hers. He put the bottle on the table in front of him and stood heading toward the dining room.
She cut him off, putting her hand on his chest.
He stared down into her chocolate eyes, hearing the carnal thoughts running through her mind and he smiled his famous smile, the one that Tracy once said caused women to swoon, the one that brought bright color to Sarah’s cheeks, the one that could charm the pants off Mother Teresa.
When her hand drifted lower, his smile faded and he slightly shook his head, raising his left hand and wiggling his fingers. “I’m still married.”
Sarah lowered her eyes to his hand and then returned her gaze to his face, stepping closer. “But you do want me.”
Steve felt the dimples form and his cheeks heat up and he nodded. “I do, but that doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. The hurt in her eyes caused him to reach for her, pulling her to him and planting a kiss.
While her kiss was pleasant, it didn’t stop time like Jennifer’s kiss could and he pulled away. “I can’t do this, Sarah,” he said stopping what he never should have started in the first place. His eyes fell to the ring on his hand and he inhaled a deep breath before returning his gaze to her.
She backed away shaken by the rejection.
Steve crossed to the dining room, turning the light on. He flipped open the folder and fanned through the contents stopping at a crime scene picture. He sat down hard in the chair, and the blood drained from his face, leaving it cold in the warm air of her apartment. He pulled the photograph out of the shuffled papers.
“That’s my sister,” Sarah said.
Steve’s jaw hung open when he looked at Sarah and the irony of the situation hit him full force. He started to laugh, still pale as a ghost, his haunted eyes moving between the photograph and the woman in the room.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sarah asked snatching the picture out of his hand and dropping it on the table.
Steve shook his head trying to find the syllables to form words. “Kyle.” The word finally escaped and he stared at the photograph. “We’re after the same person,” he said when he regained his composure. He ran his hands through his hair.
Of all the people in New York City...
Steve stopped and turned his head toward her, his eyes narrowing. It was all too convenient for chance, and yet, he knew that’s exactly what it was. His skin broke out in goose bumps.
“How do you know?”
“Because I have a picture of your sister that was taken by the killer.” Steve picked up the file and scanned her notes. “It came from his apartment. His name originally was Kyle Wisnowski. Then it was Kyle Winslow and I don’t know what it is right now.” He turned and leaned on the table.
She wore a curious expression.
“I know, of all the people in New York City, how the hell did we end up here together?” He offered her a crooked smile and a shrug.
“That’s not what I was thinking,” she said.
“I know.” Steve replied. “You were thinking the same thing I was earlier. That it is too much of a coincidence.” His smile faded. “I’m not connected to the Bondino family. The name came up in my research. Every murder like this also coincided with a suspected mafia hit.” He let the picture fall to the table again. “I uncovered that last spring and then Kyle Winslow ended up dead.” He let a bitter smile find his lips. “Or so I thought.”
Her eyes widened.
“He showed up at my house the day I went back to work.” He turned his back. “Blew up
my little girl. My wife got caught in the explosion and hasn’t regained consciousness since.” He looked at the array of paper she had on her dining room table. “I almost lost my eye in the explosion.”
“You don’t have any scars,” she whispered.
Steve let a puff of airflow out of his nose. “Plastic surgery.” He offered without turning. “My doctor was a miracle worker.” He glanced back at Sarah, smiling at the partial truth in that statement.
“Where does the guy you were with at the bar fit in to all this?”
“He’s the father of my last partner,” Steve said turning to face her. “Kyle killed him with a high powered rifle and Chris is helping me find the bastard.”
“The FBI let’s you work with freelancers?”
Steve shook his head. “No. I gotta go.” He started for the door reaching for his jacket. He fished in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “What’s the address here?”
“1521 Brooklyn Avenue.”
Steve punched in Chris’s phone number. “Can you send a car?”
“Where?” Chris asked.
“1521 Brooklyn Avenue.”
“It will be there in a half-hour.”
Steve flipped the phone closed and picked up his half-empty beer, draining it. “I’ve got a half-hour to kill.”
“What is he, your sugar daddy?”
“Does the name Chris Ryan ring a bell?” he asked, passing her and picking up her notes again.
“Oh, my God! I was a rookie right out of the police academy and that was my first homicide. I’d never seen so much blood.” She paused and drew a breath. “I was told it was a miracle he was alive, never mind that he had the strength to walk out of that warehouse.” Her head lilted to the side. “I thought he was blind.”
“He was for a while,” Steve said. Shock made him freeze in place. “I guess it was psychological and not a physical thing,” he bluffed. Another coincidence? He shivered and turned toward her. “If I didn’t know better...” He trailed off, shaking the thoughts out of his head.
“Finish the thought,” Sarah said and her arms broke out in a rash of goose bumps.
He shook his head. His eyes reflecting the haunting thought.
“That this all was meant to be?” She finished it for him and shivered.
Steve laughed. “The intersection of our lives?” He shook his head. “That all those people were meant to die? Bullshit.” The anger flared again. “We control our fate,” he added, and passed by her, grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. “We make the choices that end in disaster. It isn’t a divine plan.” He snapped, pulling the words from her thoughts. “Meant to be? My ass!” He stormed out the door and walked to the curb, pacing. “What kind of monster are you?” He looked up at the sky, addressing God.
She opened the door and walked to the sidewalk. “Whether it was fate or chance, I’m glad we got past...” She waved her hand and trailed off.
“Your abrasive nature?” Steve filled in the blank.
Her hands went to her hips. “Your insults.”
“You leave that house and the bitch is back.”
She turned on her heels and stormed back inside, slamming the door.
Steve stopped pacing, turning his back on the house and feeling a twinge of guilt. That was downright mean and he knew it. He hung his head and took a deep breath. “Ah, shit!” He walked back to the house, ringing the doorbell.
Sarah opened the door enough to look out between the chain lock.
“I’m sorry.” He shuffled and looked at his feet. “That was uncalled for.”
“Damn right,” she answered and slammed the door.
“You deserved that,” he whispered admonishing himself and headed to the curb relieved to see the approaching town car. He slid inside and gave a quick glance at the house. Sarah was standing in the dark living room, watching him, torn between hating him and wanting him. “Better you hate me,” he mumbled as the car pulled away.
Chapter 34
Steve walked into the penthouse and flopped on the couch.
Chris sat at the computer and barely acknowledged his entrance.
“She was one of the cops who had to secure the warehouse while the forensic team did their thing,” Steve said, reaching for the remote on the coffee table in front of him.
Chris grunted; he was busy mapping the money trail and only half listening to Steve.
“Kyle killed her sister,” Steve added.
This statement caught Chris’s attention and he raised his eyes to Steve. “Did you sleep with her?”
“No,” Steve said and turned on the television flipping through the channels, and closed his mind to Chris. “She’s got some interesting research, though.” He glanced over his shoulder. “She came to the same conclusion I had about a mafia connection.”
Chris paused. “Sounds like she’s smart.”
“Smart ass is more like it,” Steve muttered. He stopped at the opening credits of a movie he had seen a few years back, uttering a laugh; he tossed the remote onto the coffee table.
Chris glanced up, catching the title onscreen. “Tom won an Oscar for that,” he said and went back to his research as the movie title Survival Games flashed off the screen. “Unfortunately, he didn’t live to see that, but at least he had the chance to meet his son before he died.”
Steve turned. “You liked him?”
Chris smiled. “I respected him.” He glanced at the screen. “He always had the most honorable intentions and he loved Jessie as much as I do.” He pushed away from the computer and stretched. “He should have made me out to be a monster but he didn’t.” The laugh that escaped Chris made Steve shiver. “He actually said I was a hero at some level. Me. Can you believe that?” He stood and disappeared into the kitchen, coming out a few minutes later with two Coronas, crossing the room and handing one to Steve. He retreated to the computer.
Steve watched the movie with a whole different perspective than the first time, impressed by the acting job Tom Whitman did, especially with the arsenal of information Eric had downloaded into his mind. He couldn’t fathom how Tom could make Chris anything but a cold-blooded killer with what he knew.
Chris didn’t comment on Steve’s train of thought and, as the closing credits were rolling, he hit a button and the printer whirled into action. He got up and wandered out to the balcony, leaning on the railing and looking over the city.
Steve stepped out and joined him. “At least you feel remorse,” he said after a few minutes of silence.
Chris nodded. “For most, but not all.” Frank and Sharon passed through his mind. “If I had killed her when I wanted to, Emily would still be alive.” He tipped the beer to his lips. “You would have liked Emily. She was as beautiful as Jess and feisty as hell. She had the same sense of justice you have. It was hard for her to accept that I was free, even though she liked who I became.”
“If I had killed that son of a bitch the second I walked into the cottage, Jenny wouldn’t be in a coma right now.”
Chris nodded. “Maybe, maybe not. And you gotta stop blaming yourself for what happened.” He straightened and turned toward Steve. “The alternative could have been far worse. Think of what would have happened if you put your gun down instead.” He turned and disappeared inside the apartment.
Steve thought of all the nasty things Jennifer saw in her visions and shivered. He followed Chris inside.
“Still.”
“If you had shot him when you walked in, you wouldn’t be with her right now,” Chris said.
Steve raised his eyebrows.
“She would never have forgiven you.”
Steve started to say something and closed his mouth. He knew Chris was right. “How did Jessica ever forgive you?”
“The alternative,” Chris said and sent the vision of all of them brutally tortured before they were killed. “That’s what would have happened if I hadn’t made the deal.”
“She never knew you had the choice of offering her up instead,
did she?”
Chris shot a warning glance in his direction.
Steve put his hands up in the air. “I get it.” He backed off.
Chris hung his head. “No, you don’t get it.” He said with his eyes closed. “Eric used to say we balance each other, we were meant to be together because it was written in the stars.” He let out a laugh. “I can’t survive without her.” He glanced at Steve. “She is literally my heart and soul, my conscience.” He looked out the window over the city. “I had none before she came into my life.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”
“I had no heart, soul or conscience before I kidnapped Jessica,” he admitted. “I lost that the day I killed my stepfather.”
“Careful, you just admitted to a crime in the presence of a federal officer,” Steve warned. He cracked a smile.
Chris shook his head and let a smile grace his lips. “You impressed the hell out of Eric.” He glanced at Steve.
Steve was taken aback by the comment. “Why?”
“Your integrity impressed him and frankly, it impresses me too.”
“If I had an ounce of integrity, I’d lock you up.”
“The fact you stuck by your promise to my stepson exhibits a pretty strong sense of honor,” Chris said and pulled the prints off, handing them to Steve.
He shuffled through the papers and glanced up at Chris.
“It isn’t admissible in a court of law.”
“You found the money.”
Chris indeed found the holding corporation with all the funds from Kyle Winslow’s disparate accounts. It had close to ten million dollars in it and some of the transfers originated from a trust account held by none other than Tony Bondino.
“The question is what do you want me to do with it?”
“What do you mean?”
“We can’t, in good conscience, leave the money in that account, can we?”
Steve pondered the possibilities. “Can you make it look like the Bondino’s took the money?”
Chris’s grin got wider. “You are truly evil. Yes, I can do that. But where do you want the money to end up?”
Steve shrugged.
Chris shook his head, chuckling. Honest to the end. “Do you want the money?”
