God, how she wanted to be out on the prowl with her sister searching for Grayson Walker. But she wasn’t. Besides, maybe Monroe was right. Maybe Brian would lead her to the city’s new boogeyman that would give her a connection between Grayson and Detroit.
A girl could always hope.
Vega turned back toward Guy. His slippery gaze never rose higher than her chest. She gave him a menacing smile.
Shaking this slime ball until all his dirty little secrets came falling out may not prove as satisfying as slapping a pair of handcuffs around Grayson’s wrists, but it might come pretty darn close.
* * * *
Just as Vega suspected, though Guy was ignorant about any new evil that had woven its way into the fabric of the city, he did know all about the missing money. His hand had been as deep in the client’s accounts as his partner’s had—maybe deeper.
Vega sloshed through the snow, up a walk piled with snow, to an address Guy had happily provided, after a little friendly arm-twisting.
Brian’s mistress’s house.
This was exactly where she’d expected to end up.
The one-story bungalow was in a quiet neighborhood a few miles from the bustle of downtown. Children played chase under a streetlamp just three houses down, laughing that high-pitched sound that only children giddy from a warm sense of safety and comfort ever made.
This creep had a loving wife and family nearby who were honestly worried about his sorry hide. The fact that he kept a woman on the side in this cute little home curdled Vega’s blood. He didn’t deserve the help she was about to give him.
The bungalow, unlike many on the street, was dark, all the curtains drawn. Vega circled around to the back, hoping she hadn’t arrived too late.
She would have to write off the chase as a loss if he’d gotten spooked and had driven over the bridge into Canada. She had no interest in finding herself in jail under a kidnapping charge over a meaningless criminal like Brian. Bounty hunters weren’t legally allowed to cross national borders to capture their prey. Though some did. She didn’t.
A brittle stick crunched under the snow. Vega spun around. She’d been stepping far too delicately to create so much careless sound.
Someone had to be in the yard with her.
Her eyes strained in the darkness as she tried to see who was hiding in the shadows of the bushes.
“I’ve got a gun,” she lied. She didn’t. She hadn’t bothered to sign a gun out of Jack’s supply closet. Not for this guy.
A whimpering sound shook the bush. Great, that was just what she needed. Vega prayed she hadn’t just scared the crap out of some young kid who’d wandered too far from the game of chase just down the street.
“Come on out,” she said, gentler now. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
A young woman dressed in nothing warmer than a pair of tight jeans and a tank top that didn’t cover her midriff crawled out from under the brush. She shivered uncontrollably in the frigid night air.
Her long, silky black hair veiled half her face, but Vega could see the bruises despite the woman’s efforts to hide them.
“Did Brian do this to you?” Vega demanded.
“No,” the woman whispered. “Not Brian. The men who were looking for him did this. Said they’d be back.”
“Who?”
“Kayne,” she whispered the name. “He wants his money. Said he’d kill me if Brian didn’t have it when he came back.”
“And where’s Brian?” If the bastard ran and left this kid to face this kind of trouble alone, Vega might just have to reconsider her decision not to chase a fugitive outside the US border.
Much to Vega’s relief, the girl cocked her head toward the back door. “He doesn’t have the money,” she whispered. “Everything’s wrong.”
Bracing herself for anything, Vega made her way into the dark house. In the middle of the living room, she found a man huddled over a small oil lamp and scribbling madly into a notebook. Vega took a cautious step toward him and cleared her throat. “Brian Wright? Are you okay?”
He whirled around. The lines on his face were deeply shadowed in the dim light.
“Who are you?”
“Vega,” she said and took a half step closer. “Vega Brookes.”
He held out his hands as if he was trying to hold her back. “Who are you?” he asked again.
“I’m a bounty hunter, Brian.” She gained nothing by lying about it. “When you didn’t show up for court a few days ago, people began to worry about you.”
“She’s trying to help you,” his girlfriend said from the back door.
“I doubt that. All everyone’s worried about is the money.”
Vega shook her head. “Not me.”
“Especially you.” His eyes started twitching. “You need me to show up in court. You need me to subject myself to their scorn. You wouldn’t make a living otherwise.”
Oh dear. This guy needed some serious help. She’d seen it before; he’d tumbled headfirst off into the deep end. Vega rushed forward a couple of steps, trying to close the distance. She stopped just out of arm’s reach when Brian held up his hands like a traffic cop again.
“Don’t come any closer.” He used a tone—a tremor that sounded like desperation—Vega knew from experience to respect.
Brian heaved a deep breath and carefully unbuttoned a heavy flannel coat. His gaze locked on Vega. He grabbed the lapels of his coat and pulled them wide.
Explosives, coated with a disarray of wires, crisscrossed his chest.
Vega sucked in a breath. “Oh...damn.”
Chapter Eight
“It’s not my job to judge you, Brian,” Vega said real slow and easy, while motioning his young mistress to back out of the house. “Many of the men I bring in are later found innocent. I understand you’re scared. But things aren’t as bad as they seem right now. Talk to me, Brian.”
Keep him talking; she just needed to keep him talking.
His eyes darted here and there, never settling on any one spot for long. “I don’t know what the hell happened to the money. I just don’t know.”
She didn’t care if he’d frittered away his clients’ money or not. All she wanted to know was where he kept the triggering mechanism for those explosives. His hands appeared empty.
“I spoke with your partner, Guy Pollock, this evening. He’s pretty worried about you.” A little lie couldn’t hurt.
“Guy?”
He swung his arms, punching the air above him, which made Vega nervous.
Where was that triggering mechanism? She didn’t dare go near him without knowing.
“He was the one who insisted we take the account. I was against it from the beginning. If Guy is worried about anything, it’s his own ass.”
“Account?” She almost kicked herself for asking. Wasn’t there a saying about curiosity and dead cats? “What account?”
“Dirty money. It was nothing but dirty money.”
Which explained Guy’s nervous reaction to her questions, Vega thought.
“I didn’t touch a penny of it. I swear. But no one believes me, not even the police.”
Understanding his situation and defusing the explosives were two very different problems. Sure, Vega understood how he felt. He was frustrated. Hell, possibly more frustrated than she was.
“You build a reputation,” he said. “You spend every waking hour to gain the respect of your peers, of your clients, and then one stupid mistake—one stupid thing happens and your life is ripped out from under you.”
Yep, Vega knew the screaming anger swirling around in Brian’s head. He’d summed up exactly how she felt about Grayson and how he’d made her look like a complete idiot.
“Life’s bitchy, I know,” she said. “But you don’t see me crying about it.”
“You don’t understand.”
“There’s more to life than material things, Brian. Certainly, you can see that. You’ve got a wife and family who would miss you. You’ve got your young g
irlfriend who depends on you, too.” He didn’t deserve to die and leave his family in tatters.
“I’m already a dead man.” He waved his arms, punching the air. “I don’t have the money and Finn Kayne doesn’t care if I do or not. He wants blood. I’m dead.”
“No, Brian, you’re wrong. The police can protect you. Don’t end things like this.”
“Why not? I’m already ruined. How can I live?”
“There is much more to life than success or caring what others think of you, Brian. No one needs a stamp of approval to live a good life. I don’t need anyone praising me to let me know I’m good at my job, and you don’t need it either.”
“But don’t you see?” Brian said, reaching for something in his coat. His hands shook. “Getting to where I am now is everything I am.”
The trigger.
Vega knew she had to act quickly.
She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the girlfriend had gotten herself out of the house. “Everything, Brian? Tell me about your family. Do you love them?”
His knuckles whitened as he gripped the black plastic tube. His thumb hovered over the plunger. Vega knew just enough about explosives to know she shouldn’t wrestle him for it. She’d have to talk that damn thing out of his hand.
“How about your youngest son? Your wife told me today he just got accepted to MIT. Will he feel a void without you to cheer his success?” Vega asked, this time with twice the fire in her voice. “I want an answer, damn it.”
Brian’s gaze lost its focus. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I can’t prove my innocence. I can’t figure out where the money went. Guy probably took it—that rat bastard. He was the one who insisted on investing that drug money for Finn Kayne. But it doesn’t matter, nothing does. I can’t prove anything. And even if I could, Kayne would still kill me.”
By the time he finished, his finger sat squarely on the triggering plunger. Vega’s time was up.
“I plan to take Kayne to hell with me.”
“Damn it, you selfish bastard,” she said, ripping her cell-phone out of her pocket. “I’m going to call your wife and let her know how you plan to ruin her life, too.” Since she’d called the Wright household earlier in the day, the number was still stored in the phone’s memory.
“No!” He lunged at her, which wasn’t the smartest thing to do when strapped with so much explosive material. Any odd movement could blast them all into the next block.
Vega kept her head, backing smoothly away. She held the tiny silver phone just out of reach.
“Don’t call anyone! No one can know about this, especially my wife. She can’t know about Kelly or this house.” His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Please.”
“Don’t you think she’ll guess that you’ve been playing her for a fool after the police scrape your remains from all over another woman’s living room? Drop the trigger and maybe I’ll consider changing my mind about calling her.” Finally, she’d hit a hot button. “Drop that damn trigger now!”
Brian’s fixated gaze had transferred from that black triggering mechanism to Vega’s phone. She held it high, taunting him.
His arms erupted from his side, reaching for her. “Give it to me,” he spat. “Give it!” He stretched for the phone and let the trigger slip free to swing by his side.
Better, but still far from safe. She took a couple of steps back. He followed like a dog hungry for a bone.
“I’ll put this phone in your hands if you let me have control of the trigger, and don’t move for at least one minute.”
He stopped dead in his tracks when Vega began dialing again. He placed the trigger into her outstretched hand.
“Vega Brookes, here. I need a bomb squad out in the Lake St. Claire neighborhood, like five minutes ago,” she said to the watch commander who’d answered the local police precinct phone and gave him the address.
Brian paled. His eyes widened. He must have realized that calling in the cops was just about the same as calling his wife. He lunged for the trigger.
Shit.
She didn’t have time to waste. One wrong move and she would be blasted to bits along with Brian. She dropped the phone and swung a quick blow, aiming for the spot where the jaw met the skull. Not too hard, she just put enough power into the move to knock Brian senseless.
Like a switch flipping off the lights, the madness fled Brian’s gaze. His mouth dropped open at about the same time his knees buckled. Vega slipped her arm around his waist and used her weight to guide him, slumping against her chest, to the floor.
They were both still alive. Thank God. A few moments ago, she’d been feeling sorry for him. What a stupid mistake. Sometimes she wondered if her father hadn’t been right about her being too damn soft.
She plucked the phone from the floor. “Still there?” she asked, her gaze glued on Brian. Her fist poised to put him back out if he stirred.
“What the hell’s going on?” the watch commander shouted over the line. “Is this a joke?”
“No joke. Got a man strapped with some kind of explosives in someone’s living room.” She gave the address.
“A real live wire, huh?” He said and chuckled.
Vega didn’t appreciate his humor. “Just get someone out here. I don’t have enough experience with this stuff to be messing with it.”
* * * *
“That freak’s a raving lunatic,” Vega’s old friend, Officer Ford said shaking his head as he watched a team of officers lead the now deactivated Brian from the cute little bungalow. It had taken more than an hour to unhook all the explosives from his body. “A freaking lunatic.”
Vega shrugged. Safe now, she couldn’t help but feel fresh compassion for the lunatic. “He’s just been shoved over the edge, could happen to anyone.”
“Nope.” Ford sucked on the end of his pen, an irritating habit he’d started when he gave up smoking three years ago. “Seen bunches of men arrested for embezzling. This is the first one to pull a psycho stunt like this one.”
Ford and Vega had suffered through police academy together and had formed a strong bond of friendship along the way. She trusted Ford probably as much as she trusted Jack. If he said this looked different, she believed him.
“He says he’s innocent,” she said as they stepped back into the warmth of the house’s foyer.
“They all do.”
“Not my place to judge, but it sure looks like his partner, Guy Pollock, got their brokerage mixed up with some illegal money from a Finn Kayne. You know anything about him?”
Ford’s pen popped right out of his mouth. “No wonder that poor bastard lost his mind. You should’ve let him blow himself up. You said he wanted to take Kayne along with him? You would’ve done everyone a favor if he had.”
“This Kayne some new heavy hitter in town?”
“Best we can tell, which ain’t much. He’s not in charge by any means. A regional distributor, perhaps? All we know is that eighty percent of the drugs on our streets are now flowing from him.”
Vega remembered that piece of paper that had fallen out of Lionel Wahl’s pocket. It had a phone number and the name “Finn” scribbled on it. And Monroe, her street contact, was complaining about some new guy’s high prices and had warned her to keep away from Brian Wright. Finn Kayne and whoever he represented apparently had tentacles reaching everywhere in the city—even into the glossy Grosse Pointe.
“I’ll pass your information on to the feds. They’re panting down our necks, nervous about Kayne. No one has a clue who’s his boss, but the feds say a man like him has cropped up in just about every major city within the past several months. Every major city. Makes my skin crawl just thinking about it.”
“Glad it’s none of my business then.”
None of her business or not, on the way home Vega called Snitch and asked her to dredge up whatever she could on Kayne from her electronic snoops. Perhaps she was just feeling overly sentimental, but she just couldn’t leave Brian Wright out to hang like that. He might no
t have been perfect or the poster boy for innocence. But who was? Her gut nagged her. Brian was a tiny piece of a much bigger puzzle—a hapless victim in desperate need of help. And if that was true, who else was being destroyed by this new wave of organized crime?
Chapter Nine
“If I can take out a security guard, I can use his keycard to get into the building,” Grayson said. He was sitting at a small blue linoleum-topped kitchen table with Matt Lockler, the fourth man in the ISA team Grayson had led in Colombia, and feeling pretty damn antsy.
Matt stubbed out a cigarette and lit another. He looked decades older than the rest of them. His face was a maze of wrinkles and his thinning hair the color of dried hay. “Let me come along. Been a while since I’ve killed a guard.”
Grayson winced. Matt lived in Atlanta on the edge of society. He too was on the run from the law, which made this hovel of an apartment a logical place to hole up for a few days. The years Grayson and Greg spent putting themselves through graduate school Matt had spent institutionalized. The stress of the ISA had snapped his mind, or perhaps it only nudged him to where he’d eventually end up anyhow. Either way, Grayson found it ironic how such dissimilar circumstances, colleges and mental hospitals, had led to the same awful apartment.
Matt wouldn’t say why the police were after him, but to hear him talk, Grayson could only assume he’d done something horrible.
“No--no thanks.” Grayson pushed back from the table. Matt worried the hell out of him. “I’ve got it covered.”
A cop car drove past on its regular patrol. When it slowed to make the turn around the corner, Matt dove under the table. Convinced the police were circling the neighborhood searching for him, Matt always dove under the table at the sight of their patrol. Grayson bent down and stared at him huddled under there, puffing nervously on his cigarette. “I’ll bring dinner back with me,” he said, unable to think of anything else to say. He wanted to help his friend, but damn, this guy needed a professional.,
“Kill the guard real dead for me,” Matt said when Grayson made a move toward the door, “and pick up Chinese food.”
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