“The suit he’s wearing looks just like what one of the two men were wearing,” I answered. “It could be, but as I didn’t get a good look at their faces, I’m not positive.”
“In any case, this man is Tony Argenziano. He’s the port authority’s head supervisor. He’s clean by all accounts, but has been under suspicion for years. Every time he’s been charged, he’d get off because of lack of evidence, high-paid lawyers, or legal technicalities. This time may be different, though. We believe Argenziano was paid to transport a major load of drugs and illegal weapons across to New Jersey. The shipment was carrying drug that be worth tens of millions of dollars on the street. But that’s not what we’re most concerned about.”
“We believe the shipment has up to 250 weapons, plus ammunition. I’m not talking about standard, run-of-the-mill guns and rifles. I mean high-caliber, body armor piercing assault weapons. Not the kind of weapons we want ending up on the street. They can wreak havoc on any city, and in the hands of organized crime…well let’s just say it could shift the balance of power when it comes to law enforcement.”
“Argenziano hired Holstein as the driver, as Holstein had been asking for extra shifts to pay off his wife’s gambling debts. Mr. Holstein is no criminal, so we believe he would have never agreed to participate in anything illegal. Argenziano must have decided to hide the drugs and weapons within a shipment of legal cargo, and left out the slight detail on what the cargo really contained, when he assigned the job to Holstein.”
“Once Holstein crossed into New Jersey, he may have inadvertently discovered the drugs and weapons. His mistake was, he alerted Argenziano by phone. Argenziano wanted him to look the other way. When Holstein threatened to report it to us, the head supervisor threatened him and his family. Holstein was clean, but he was no pushover. He hid the truck with the guns somewhere, and had intended to go to the police after he got his family to safety. Problem is, Argenziano and a partner got to his family first.”
Matt spoke up. “Wait a minute. How do you know all of this?”
“We’ve had surveillance on Argenziano for months. He’s very careful. They speak in code on their phone calls, which we’ve also been monitoring for months. It’s Holstein’s call that made all the difference. Argenziano got careless. He implicated himself on that call. But we need more than that to take him down. We need the truck and its cargo.”
Matt stood up. “So why didn’t you tell us when we met you at the station this afternoon? Maybe she wouldn’t have made that call if we knew more.”
“Calm down, Lewis,” the detective stood up and held his arms out, motioning for Matt to sit. “It’s an active case we’re been working on for over six months. We didn’t connect all these cases together until we traced the phone number that Kate left at the station, alright? Now are you going to sit down and let me finish?”
Matt gave him the evil eye and slowly sat down. “Go ahead.”
Detective Bateman sat after Matt did, and continued. “Mr. Holstein was tortured for the location of the truck, and the two men trashed the place looking for any dirt he may have hidden. The fire was part of the cleanup. Mrs. Holstein was simply collateral damage. But believe it or not, organized crime has limits. Killing kids is off limits for this crime ring.”
“So, to get back to my purpose for being here, we don’t believe Mr. Holstein revealed the location of the truck to Argenziano. That’s where you come in, Miss Samuel.”
“Me?” I asked, shocked that they would think I was involved in any way. “How would I know the location? I barely knew the Holsteins.”
“Ma’am, we have two theories on this. The first is that they believe you saw something. By your own accounts, you did, as you noticed the two men leaving the scene of the crime. This is probably why you were attacked at the hotel. The hotel attack was probably a warning gone wrong. The second theory is that when you rescued their son, he slipped his dad’s smartphone SIM card to you. You see, Mr. Holstein had his phone with him when he stashed the truck. With the GPS and the call records on the SIM card, Argenziano could figure out all of Holstein’s movements that day; movements which include the location of the truck.”
“But I don’t have anything that belongs to the Holsteins,” I answered.
“Ma’am, you wouldn’t notice if the child slipped a SIM card in your pocket. Do you still have the clothes you wore the night you rescued the boy?” he asked.
“No,” I answered, thinking back to the night of the fire. “It’s at George’s house.”
“We searched their place this morning,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s not there. We also checked the hospital. Nothing was there either. Are you sure you left everything at the Wilkinson’s?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” I said, then remembered. “Wait! Maybe not. Richard gave me a change of clothes to wear to work two days after the fire, but I still wore my same winter jacket. I had borrowed a coworker’s suit that day, for the Mayor’s address. But after I had fainted, no one sent my jacket over to the hospital. I think it’s still in the ladies’ locker room at the radio station. Has anyone looked there?”
Detective Bateman immediately radioed back to the precinct, instructing some officers to search the radio station. After he ended the call, he stood up and looked back at me. “This could be the break we need. Thanks for your help. Rogers, you can finish that work at the precinct. Let’s go.”
“Hold on,” I said as he walked toward the elevator. “What about George and Richard? And the text I sent to that number on the phone Matt just gave me? And what about that picture of the amputated finger? Aren’t you going to do anything about that? And could the kids be in danger?”
The detective stopped and tuned to look over at me. “It’s all connected, Ma’am. We’re working both sets of leads and we’ll keep you updated. We’ve already alerted the local police, and put the Holstein kids and their guardians in protective custody. We have to find Argenziano and his men before they find the missing truck. After that, they won’t need George or Richard. Look, we’ll take care of the rest. And please, Ma’am, don’t try to call that number again. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered, embarrassed.
“Actually, Lewis, get me all the records of that phone number that you or Miss Samuel have with you.”
Matt stood up and reached into his pants pocket, looking sharply at me the entire time. “Done. She put it on this slip of paper.” He handed the paper to the detective. “Kate, do you have it anywhere else?”
“No,” I answered timidly. “I only wrote it down once.”
“Good,” Matt replied and we both followed the detective and his analyst to the elevator. “Bateman, are you assigning some officers here at the condo until these men are caught?”
“Yes,” he answered as he stepped on the elevator. “This is a massive case, so fortunately the Chief has approved more resources. There are five officers downstairs with your men. They’ll be rotated twice a day until the threat is eliminated.”
“Excellent. Thanks again for coming by,” Matt said.
“Thank you,” he answered. He looked at me, nodded, and said, “Good night, Ma’am.”
As the elevators closed, Matt turned and walked toward the stairs. “Dinner’s in the kitchen if you’re hungry,” he said, and started up the stairs.
“Don’t you want to talk about everything?” I asked, following him.
“There’s nothing more to talk about, Kate,” he answered, dismissively. “I have a long day tomorrow, so I’m going to bed. Have a good night.”
Chapter 8
“It’s ok, baby,” he said softly, stroking my back and kissing my hair. “George and Richard are safe. The men after you are behind bars. You’re safe now.”
I felt his body heat through my clothes, and it was enough to send my heart racing. I lifted my head, turned toward him and smiled. It was such a relief, and his touch awakened my arousal. He slid his hands up, cupped my face and kissed my lips with a fierce inte
nsity, like the news of the men’s capture released his own pent up desire. His kiss sent a wild need all the way to my fingers and toes. Every nerve in my body responded as I stripped off his robe without moving out of his kiss.
He was so strong. He slid his hands to my waist, and lifted me up off the lounge chair in the balcony so I could straddle him. He pulled me even closer as his tongue honed in on one breast, licking and sucking lightly while one hand squeezed, fondled and tantalized the other.
I fisted his hair wildly, feeling my arousal build to heights that I couldn’t bear. “I want you inside, me Matt,” I said. “Please fuck me now so I can come and explode my juices on your cock.”
I undulated my hips in a smooth rhythm so my swollen clit could rub against his massive, erect manhood. He groaned aloud and shifted over to suck on the other nipple. I let out a low moan, unable to bear the mounting desperation to feel him inside me. I reached my feet to the floor and lifted myself up enough so I could position myself. In a single motion, I sat on his rock-hard erection and jerked my hips wildly to accept him deep inside me.
His tongue released from my sore, hardened nipple and his head titled back. He let out an indistinguishable sound, one so primitive it was hard-wired into my own psyche. MORE. I could feel his engorged shaft so deep inside me. It was burning hot as it moved in and out of my channel, which I could feel rippling as though my climax was no longer far away.
I kissed him and pulled his hips tightly, wanting to feel him welded to me; needing the physical connection to free my carnal orgasm from its elusive bonds. I picked up the pace of my hips, lifting off him and down sharply to meet his harder thrusts, searching for closer contact. As his grinding continued to plunder my channel, I felt the impending climax. His hands grabbed both my ass cheeks and pulled me so hard on his cock, I felt my orgasm escape. It spread out in all directions and sent violent tremors through me.
I screamed so loudly there was no sound at all. Only Matt could hear it as my opening tightened over his beast. It was an invitation to his own release, one where the only RSVP answer was FUCK YEAH.
“Fuck! I’m coming baby,” he said wildly, submerging his flesh into me in one final, feral attack that drowned my womb with his sizzling release. I collapsed on Matt, panting, and unable to speak or move.
When I opened my eyes, no one was there. Fuck. I was alone in my room. It was another dream. It had been six days since Matt had said a word to me. From the day after Detective Bateman had visited the condo with his analyst, Matt would leave home before I woke up and not come back home until very late at night. Every attempt I had made to speak with him had been met with his back to me as he walked away, or a slammed door. I had even tried to go to his bedroom late one night and the door was locked.
Hero snub.
It had also been the same number of nights since I had gotten a full night’s sleep. I would toss and turn in my bed, worrying about Matt, or dreaming about him. I would wake up, feeling spent and aroused at the same time. My body ached in withdrawal, craving some sensual touch after having been with Matt more than a few times a day while we stayed in the Hamptons. I did everything to make the urges and dreams go away, including warm showers, cold showers and long baths. I was only grateful that my bathroom shower had multiple pulsating settings, because other than a couple of shower head interludes, nothing worked.
At other times, George and Richard would enter my nightmares. They included not just amputated digits, but images of body parts delivered to me, one by one, until there was no doubt they were both dead. After every nightmare, I would get up, dry myself off from night sweats, go back to bed, stare at the ceiling, shove a pillow over my head to try and go back to sleep, pace in my room, go downstairs to make tea, or stand on the balcony, staring blankly out at the cityscape.
By day, I lived in what I could only call a cold, cruel and unusual waking nightmare of hell on earth. I had barely eaten, couldn’t leave the condo, and had almost no contact with the outside world. Matt’s men couldn’t stop me from leaving if I wanted to, but Detective Bateman’s officers could; and they did. Protective custody was like jail without bars.
I also couldn’t make any phone calls, as the land line in my room was being monitored by the police. They couldn’t take any chances. Not that I could call anyone, anyway. Other than a few attempts to reach my parents, there was no one to call. I believe I actually celebrated during the one phone call from Yolanda. She had phoned to speak to Matt. He wasn’t answering his cell phone, so she had called the land line and I had answered. I think I kept her on the line for half hour, just to be in contact with another human being. I was pathetic.
The police also dashed any hopes I had of continuing to work for the radio station during the ordeal. They advised the station owner that with George’s abduction, my presence on air would put all the other staff at risk. He had believed them, of course. And in reality, everything they told him was true. I had already put them all at risk before, and had no doubt the people after me would do it again. In addition, Matt had kept the door to his computer room locked, on the glowing advice of New York’s finest. In all honesty, I couldn’t blame them for creating a bubble around me, for my own good. It was just hard to take. Fuck! I couldn’t live this way anymore.
My only release was my time on Matt’s treadmill. Every day, I would change into my workout clothes, mount the treadmill, and run like a speed demon. I was a beast. It was my only escape. It had gotten so bad that I had to set it to a time limit, as opposed to distance or speed. I had let my mind wander one day during a run and when I looked again, almost two hours had passed.
Worst of all, I was wasting away from the stress, not having an appetite, and the crazy calorie burn from my treadmill sessions. I couldn’t look at myself in the full length mirror anymore. My cheeks were gaunt, my stomach was sunken in, and bones jutted out just about everywhere on my frame. I looked as much like hell as the hell I was going through. It’s a wonder no one put me on suicide watch. Not that I was suicidal; I was just disappearing. Matt treated me like I was invisible too.
The living situation was untenable.
* * *
During breakfast, out of utter boredom, I figured out how to turn on Matt’s massive TV in the living room. I flipped around to a city news channel and kept it on as I brought my plate from the kitchen. I couldn’t believe it was New Year’s Eve. As unbearable as it had been living through the prior six days, I felt it was nothing like what was to come. I was about to enter a whole new year and had absolutely nothing to look forward to. I sat on the sofa and sulked. The pity party in my head had taken up residence all around me.
I noticed the channel was mostly reporting the severe cold weather that had gripped many states and major cities across America, including New York City. That news made no fucking difference to me. I was as housebound as an octogenarian with pneumonia. I changed channels, and knew with certainty that I had sunk down to an all new low of depression when I kept it on some unrecognizable daytime soap opera drama.
I watched distractedly as some wealthy, well-dressed, older woman lectured a young, scheming, pregnant lady for her maniacal decision to drug some poor old billionaire mogul to get pregnant. Evidently, that was the older woman’s husband. Together, in between contrived dramatic pauses to accommodate commercials, they devised a plan to kill the old man and split his worldly possessions, so they could each run off with much, much younger men. Too bad the program faded to the end, showing said old geezer conveniently behind a dividing wall, sitting in his wheelchair, within earshot and having heard every evil word they said.
I sighed and turned off the TV. That was not entertainment. I went back to the kitchen to put my dirty plates in the dishwasher. I was about to head upstairs when I heard the elevator chime and saw Matt walk in. I didn’t bother to try to talk to him, but instead, turned and kept walking up the steps.
“Kate!” he shouted. “Did you see the news?”
I did a double take. If he
hadn’t called my name, I would have guessed he was talking to himself. “What?”
“Come back down and see this,” he called out and turned the living room TV on again.
I turned around on the stairs but didn’t move. After six days of him giving me an Arctic blast of the cold shoulder, I’m surprised he had remembered my name. My ego went into overdrive. What could he want to say to me, or to show me after the last week of treating me like a leper? Sure, I deserved maybe the first day or two of his snub, but definitely not a week of being completely shunned. And I certainly didn’t deserve having a door slammed in my face that night I made an effort to break the ice. So now I’m supposed to act like nothing fucking happened and go back downstairs to see whatever he wanted to show me on the TV? It was not on. I stood there on the same step, looking down in defiance.
He walked back to me and stood at the bottom of the stairs. “Aren’t you coming down to see this?” he asked.
“You have got to be kidding me, Matt,” my voice trembled as I felt the rage rising up out of me.
“You want to come down here now, Kate,” he said calmly. He stretched out his hand, taking each step up to get closer to me with slow and painstaking precision, as though approaching a wild beast. I stepped back and up with each step he took, not wanting to close the distance that by then, I believed he had created between us.
“Stay away from me!” I shouted. The beast was uncaged and storming with me to my bedroom.
Matt climbed up the stairs two or three at a time, and before I made it to my room, he was right behind me. He touched my shoulder to get me to stop and look at him, and the beast pounced. I turned and pounded my hands on his chest as hard as I could, which was precious little, because even with the rush of extra adrenalin, my beast was a mouse to his tall, muscular, imposing stature.
HERO (The Complete Series) Page 26
