Girls With Guns

by Ali Vali

  “But…but,” Sadie said, her face red and splotchy.

  “Listen, okay,” Finley said as she wiped Sadie’s face with her free hand and glanced up at her as if she understood the hot rage that boiled inside her. “I haven’t known you guys long, but your mom does nothing but talk about you and your siblings. She loves you, and she takes you to see your grandparents because they love you too, but until you’re old like me, you’ve got to live with your mama. That’s the rule.”

  “The rule?” Sadie said, hiccupping.

  “Let me show you,” Finley said, holding her hand out to the child, and Abigail saw the gesture as Finley pulling her kid from her sea of turmoil. They headed upstairs to the office at the back of the house. The large bookcase was full of computer and software-type manuals, so Abigail had barely looked at it before, so she’d missed the pictures. “This is me at your age.” Finley handed a frame over and Sadie studied it intently.

  “You’ve got a black eye,” Sadie said, glancing from the picture to Finley.

  “Little misunderstanding between me and a boy who insisted on kissing me,” Finley said, getting both Sadie and her to laugh. “He had two black eyes, and I got two weeks of detention, so after that I hung up my boxing gloves.”

  “Is that your mom and dad?” Sadie asked.

  “And my brother Neil. We were all together until I went away to college, and I’m positive that’s how long you and your posse will live with your mama. But even after you leave for school, you still have to call home. Don’t forget that part.”

  “Thanks for telling me. I didn’t want to go, and it was making me sad that I had to.”

  “Did your grandmother tell you why you’d have to come live with her?”

  Abigail was amazed at how easily Finley broke through all of Sadie’s walls. Her daughter hadn’t processed Nicola’s death well, but the therapist she’d taken Sadie to had said the grieving process was normal, and given time and love, Sadie would be fine. “It’s okay to say, baby.”

  “She said it was a secret like our calls were a secret. I’m sorry, Mama. I should’ve told you. It didn’t make me feel good not to, but Grandmother said Nan would’ve wanted me to talk to her so I’d know about our family. The truth about them, I mean.”

  Finley hugged Sadie to her, and Sadie cried a little more as Finley looked at Abigail.

  If Valerie Eaton were in the room, Abigail would’ve fileted her with no remorse for tying her daughter in knots. Once it was safe, she’d be going to court to change their arrangement. From now on, until her children could decide for themselves, she wanted supervised visits. She wasn’t providing any more chances for the Eatons to take cheap shots.

  “Want to get your sister so we can eat whatever smells so good downstairs?” Finley asked Sadie, and the little girl nodded before plastering herself to Abigail. “We need to talk, but it can wait until after dinner,” Finley said after Sadie ran off.

  “Any hints? I’m so mad I’m about to explode.”

  “I think there might be something to our theory. Did your partner ever work from home?”

  “We have a study she used sometimes. I haven’t really touched it much since my life’s been hectic, but I thought on my next couple of free days I’d clean it out to make a space for the kids.” She stood up and waved Finley downstairs so she could check on her meal.

  “Do I have your permission to search your house later?”

  “I thought my place wasn’t safe.”

  “There are ways to go about it that won’t announce my arrival, and if it’s late enough I might be able to spot anyone too interested.”

  “I want to come.” She put her hand up when Finley started to probably protest. “I know I can’t, since I’d have to leave my kids alone, and I’d never do that.”

  “You can trust that I’m not going to leave you in the dark.”

  She nodded slightly and smiled, thinking perhaps Sadie wasn’t the only one Finley had reached with her easy charm. “Good, because there are plenty of pictures up there with stories attached to them, and I’d like to hear them. You’ve got a lovely home, but I’m a little surprised it’s here.”

  “You can hear my story anytime, if you want, but right now you’ve got the more interesting one.”

  Chapter Nine

  Finley parked three blocks from Abigail’s place, in the drive of a house that was for sale, at two in the morning. After a long search she’d found a place that was not only on the market but staged to give buyers an idea of how the place could look. No one was inside, so after she took the Realtor’s sign down, her car appeared like it belonged.

  It took almost an hour to reach the house since she made her way through every yard along the way. From two houses down, she saw the car parked across the street. The guy inside was smoking a cigarette, and from the glow of the streetlight she could see where his eyes were glued. Someone was waiting for Abigail to come home.

  With the security codes memorized, she made it to the box outside the house and got in through the brain center the company put on every house. In the movies the bad guy always cut the wires and shut the system down, but that was the quickest way to set it off. She was lucky it wasn’t in the guy’s sights, so she shut it off completely so she wouldn’t make any noise going in on the chance someone was waiting inside.

  She used the key Abigail had lent her and took a moment to let her eyes adjust. Now the night-vision glasses were easier to use, and a quick scan of the space showed no sign of life. The office was in the back part of the house, but she didn’t chance turning on any lights. She didn’t bother with the desk either, because if Nicola had any secrets, she wouldn’t have been so obvious about it. The computer was her first stop, and she set the code breaker, which would take a bit, depending on the complexity of the password.

  She walked through the rooms that surrounded the study, wanting to check their shape compared to that of the study. Then she started with the bookcase to the right of the desk, and as she took family pictures off the shelf she wondered what kind of idiot neglected such special people. Nicola had found a smart, attractive woman and ignored her so completely that Abigail had been saved from having to leave because of an unfortunate accident.

  After a few minutes she was able to remove the backing and found a set of ledgers filled with strange writing, so she packed them. They might be nothing, but then why hide them? The next two false backs contained stacks of cash that pinged the part of her brain that screamed something was wrong, but she packed some of it in case Abigail and the kids needed it in the coming months. Cash was truly the only way to leave no trace of yourself. The rest she moved to the kitchen in various places, starting with the frozen-vegetable bags.

  The code breaker was still working, so she turned the screen off and left it running, not wanting to wait. She could check it remotely. On the way back to her vehicle she stopped to see if the watcher was in place, and the guy was, still smoking, his attention on the front of the house. She couldn’t risk getting the plate number so she studied the make and model and assumed it was no more than a year old, which gave her an idea.

  She had one more thing to set, so she broke into the house for sale and arranged one of her laptops so that it seemed like it belonged. If it was found, the loss wouldn’t be devastating, just inconvenient. She used the front door in case the watcher had company or his relief was on their way. It was early, but late enough that she’d look like any other homeowner heading to work.

  Abigail was up and waiting for her in the office when she got back, wearing the new nightgown and robe they’d bought in Tennessee on their way home. She smiled, wondering when if ever Abigail and her children had shopped at Kmart for clothes.

  “What?” Abigail asked as she sat at one end of the leather couch that’d belonged to Finley’s parents.

  “Your penguins are cute.” She pointed to the pattern on the robe, which matched the gown underneath.

  “It was better than the kittens Victoria f
ell in love with,” Abigail said as she pointed to the opposite end of the couch. “I know you probably have some more questions, but can we talk first?”

  “Sure, about what?”

  “Can you tell me about yourself? Like what’s a NYPD detective doing with a house in New Orleans?”

  She took her shoes off and grabbed a photo album before joining Abigail. The first picture she flipped to was the family shot most people took at their graduation. “This is my dad Shaun, my mom Siobhan, and my brother Neil. The cute kid in the gown is me when I graduated from Dominican. I went to LSU right after, and while I was there I got recruited, but not by NYPD,” she flipped the page to another graduation, “but by the FBI. I work in cybercrimes, but when we met I was undercover.”

  “Usually in crime stories, undercover people infiltrate the bad guy’s organizations, not the police.” Abigail flipped through the rest of the book and the vacations she’d been on with various family members. “Can you tell me what you were working on?”

  “Our policy is to not discuss ongoing investigations, but I need your help. Your late partner had some strange business habits, and even if you know the whole score, you’re on the outs now. Someone wants you dead, and whoever that is most probably killed the Eaton siblings. The guy outside your house makes me think that’s true.”

  “Do you believe I know everything Nicola was doing, legal or no?”

  “No, I don’t, and that’s why I’m pissed. Unless I’m reading all this wrong, there’s no reason to go after you or your children. Either you saw something or know something you don’t realize is important, and you’ve got to be eliminated before you figure out the truth.” She yawned but was too frustrated to sleep. It was totally making her crazy that she had so many loose ends but couldn’t tie them to anything.

  “Get some sleep, and tomorrow maybe we can put all this together,” Abigail said as she chewed on one of her nails.

  “No matter what, you realize someone will have to kill me before I let something happen to you or the kids.”

  “I believe you, but promise not to break your word to me with that excuse. There’s plenty more stories you’ve got to tell.”

  *

  Yury Antakov slapped the girl he was with hard on the ass when she took too long to get on all fours. He was trying to alleviate his growing frustration with Boris and everyone else on his payroll who couldn’t do shit right. Their prey had effectively vanished, and the cops had been lucky lately when it came to finding their lower-end establishments.

  A twenty-dollar whore sounded cheap, but with their volume she was profitable. The beauties like the one he was with were more expensive, but their clientele was limited. These bitches knew how to handle a dick and were truly talented at fucking, but usually limited to one man a night.

  “Ooh,” the woman said when he slid into her from behind and held her tight to him, not moving. If he didn’t know better he’d believe her bullshit about size and how he was the best she’d ever had.

  “Squeeze it,” he ordered, and the command made her tighten the walls of her sex. The pressure was good, and he started pumping in and out hard enough that their skin made a slapping noise when they came together. If she was expecting fast she’d be disappointed. One of the perks of owning bitches like this was he loved fucking.

  He held out as long as he could, but eventually he couldn’t control his urge and came with a long grunt. She immediately moved to suck him when he pulled out and lay down. Whoever was calling was saved a beating because they’d waited until he finished.

  “Tell me you found something.”

  “Still nothing, boss, but we’re working another angle,” Boris said quickly.

  “Don’t start getting creative now. Since you don’t have the ability to do what I need, I’m going to put Linda on it. Do whatever she asks, and if she tells me you gave her any shit, I’ll gift her with your balls.” He almost laughed when the woman sucked his into her mouth.

  “I only need a few more days, boss,” Boris said, and for a big man he was a good whiner.

  “That’s what you said a few days ago. Call Linda and remember how disappointed I am before you decide to start thinking for yourself.” He hung up and had closed his eyes to enjoy the way his dick was starting to come back to life when the phone rang again.

  “You haven’t called,” Crista said, making him slap the woman across the head to get her off him.

  “There’s nothing to tell, and you’re the one always preaching about security. Don’t worry. I’ve got good people on this, since I’m as anxious as you are to finish.” He watched the woman walk to the dresser and stick a spoon in the pile of coke he’d dumped out earlier. To some the drug had become passé, but he liked the fact that only a little took the edge off. He was disciplined enough that this or anything else would never become a problem.

  “Then prove it to me,” Crista said with what sounded to him like impatience. “You know what needs to happen to move things along.”

  “We need information first. We get heavy-handed now with your idea, and we’ll lose that move when it can be used. Look, you’ve waited this long. You can give it a few more days.” He hung up, tired of people bitching at him. “Come back here and suck me. I’m not done.”

  That went for this bitch and so many other things.

  *

  “Nothing on any front?” Russell asked Peter. Another morning not hearing from Finley was starting to worry him. “She hasn’t even checked in electronically?”

  “She did say she was running with our witness, and if I know Finley, we won’t hear anything until she’s got something for us to follow up on.” Peter placed his laptop on Russell’s desk and brought up a series of screens. He’d learned well from Finley not to leave a paper trail if at all possible. “I did do some digging on Brian Baylord, since our mystery woman hasn’t popped in the system yet.”

  Russell put his glasses on and squinted at the screen. The damn fatigue weighing him down was starting to bug him, but he couldn’t sleep deeply until he heard from Finley. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at a large home close to what appeared to be the seashore.

  “Captain Baylord’s second home.” Peter flipped through more pictures of the place. “It’s set up with a corporation as the title holder with his wife on the board, but I found the paperwork he tried to bury with his attorney. I figured this time you’d forgive me for snooping where I shouldn’t have. That and a place in Montana are set up the same way, but his prenup negates anything his wife owns in name only now.”

  “This asshole has three houses?” He thought about how much his wife would enjoy the big kitchen that overlooked the water with its large bank of windows. “I can barely afford our place.”

  “He’s supplementing his salary somewhere, and I’m willing to bet the woman who was there when you talked to him is the key.”

  “Keep at it, and try finding Finley however you two communicate when you’re not supposed to communicate.”

  “I’ve tried, boss, but that Plaza thing must’ve scared her.” Peter folded the laptop and picked it up.

  “Finley Abbott doesn’t scare easy.”

  “Her witness has three children, though, and she’s working without backup.”

  “Tell her she can trust us, damn it.”

  “I’ll keep trying, and I’ll try to get her to call you if I get through.” Peter saluted casually as he started to walk out, and that was when Russell noticed Senator Feingold and two cronies.

  “Peter,” he said, getting him to stop at the door. “Don’t leave anything on the hard drive and leave enough of a trail for Finley to find all that stuff.”

  “Like I said, boss, I’ve got your back, and for sure I’ve got Finley’s.”

  “Until I tell you otherwise, watch yourself when you leave here and where you go. I’ve got enough to worry about.”

  Chapter Ten

  The journals took Finley a week to translate via the Internet, but even after gett
ing through the Cyrillic script, she still couldn’t make much sense out of them. They did, though, provide a starting point, since the name at the top of every other page was not written in code. The Hell Fire Club wasn’t familiar to her, but she hadn’t been home in months, and New Orleans’s bar scene was always changing and expanding.

  “So you’ve never heard of it either?” Abigail asked as she held up a few of the translated pages. “What the hell was Nicola up to?”

  “Whatever it was, it was certainly lucrative,” she said as she tried another search engine. So far she’d come up empty, and it was starting to piss her off. “After counting what I brought back, she had to have close to seven hundred and fifty thousand in cash in your house.”

  “You think it’s drugs? God, I hope not. If it is, I’m a total moron.”

  Finley glanced out toward the master bedroom, where the kids were watching a movie. All three still appeared entranced. “That’s hard to hide, so I believe you would’ve seen signs of it by now. It’s not exactly the kind of business that dies because you do. There’d be remnants, I’m guessing.”

  “Like someone trying to kill you? Would that be a remnant?”

  “Something like that, yeah,” she said, and laughed at Abigail’s funny sarcasm. “But no one’s trying to kill you right now, so let’s talk about your in-laws.”

  “What about them?” Abigail sat across from her on the desk and crossed her legs, and the sight made her think about how long it’d been since she’d been with anyone. Why the hell hadn’t she designed the house bigger so she could have a little more privacy than the couch allowed for? As it was she usually woke up with Victoria and Liam draped over her, and she still couldn’t figure out how they lay down without waking her.

  “How long have you known Nicola?”

  “We met in my senior year at Tulane, so about twelve years all together before she died. I’d seen her a few times around campus, but we never really spoke until then.”