Hard to Stop

by Wendy Byrne

  Max felt more comfortable than he'd imagined at her home. A little bit of that PIA attitude she had had softened. The same could probably be said for him as well. Maybe he should start thinking about her as Gianna and throw out all the police references floating around his head. She nuked a couple of plates in the microwave and motioned for him to sit at the table.

  He didn't need to be asked twice and dug in as soon as he sat down. "This is great."

  "Thanks." She poured them both wine, and they ate in relative silence before she stopped and glanced at her watch. "I'm going to call Gabriella's house and try to talk to her. I need to find out what she knows."

  "Put it on speaker."

  She looked like she was going to protest. Instead, she picked up her phone and punched in the number. "This is Gianna Collini, and I'd like to speak with Gabriella, please."

  Whoever answered the phone handed it off to somebody else. "This is Frank, Gabriella's father. Thanks to your brother, Gabriella was sent to live with her aunt in California this afternoon."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Your brother caused all sorts of trouble for her, and I want to make sure she's safe." Max could almost picture the man as he spoke. Old-time Italian guy with a thick Brooklyn accent. More than likely he'd lived in the area his whole life.

  "But I need to know if she knows where my brother is."

  "And I'm telling you, my Gabby knows nothing." Without another word, he hung up.

  She glanced at Max and winced. "That went well."

  "Any other ideas for getting a lead?"

  "Not that I can think of."

  * * *

  After leaving Gianna's last evening, Max had spent a restless night of sleep and had to drag himself to the office the following morning. Distraction didn't mix well with work productivity. Still, he'd resigned himself to stick it out and at least go through the motions, if for no other reason than to make the time pass more quickly.

  Besides, Max felt confident after he'd managed to affix a tracker into Gianna's phone while she was busy preparing the food yesterday. The only viable lead he had was Mick, and sooner or later she'd get a bead on him as well.

  It was clear Gianna didn't know exactly where her brother was, but she had an idea of whom she might contact to find out. Of course, that information didn't spill from her lips and probably wouldn't, so he didn't feel the least bit guilty about the tracker thing.

  Contrary to his normal routine, he'd driven to work that morning. If he wanted to monitor her movements, he needed to have the flexibility of having his own wheels. Gianna's phone hadn't moved all day, and by five in the afternoon he'd started to get a little anxious.

  An entire day of inactivity didn't jibe with what he'd learned about her. Even though the tracker Jennings had given him remained invisible to the naked eye once properly placed, he shouldn't assume she hadn't spotted it.

  He had to consider the possibility and anticipate she'd found it. He headed to her place and spotted her car in front, like she hadn't left the house all day.

  The entire day had been overcast, so even before dusk, darkness had already seeped in. He parked his car down the block and wandered close to her home.

  It could have been him dead instead of Damon. In many ways, he'd have preferred that. Regardless of why they were after him, he should have been able to fight his own battles. Just like when he'd almost died while on that last mission. He knew he shouldn't have gone, let alone have brought Jake and Sabrina with him. But Petrovich had promised him their freedom if he'd do that one last job. And Max naïvely believed. He should have known the man had an agenda all along. He never did anything out of the goodness of his heart. Taking them in when their parents died was only the beginning of what he had planned.

  Many times Petrovich had said the three of them were the best operatives he had. Just by that alone, Max should have known Petrovich would never let them out from under his thumb. He'd rather kill them than let them work for someone else. That was because Goren knew all too well the target could be on his back. Now it seemed somebody was picking up where Petrovich left off, out for revenge.

  Sabrina had been a target, then Jake, now him. He needed to put this whole thing to rest so they could all be safe and not have to look over their shoulders. The part that didn't make sense was that there were plenty of hired assassins who would get the job done quickly and efficiently without leaving a trail. He should know, since he'd been one.

  So why hire incompetents to do the job? Were they sent to toy with him and make him suffer, not knowing when the end would come? But the forewarning also kept him on guard, making the kill more difficult to execute. Any run-of-the-mill guy might have hired bodyguards at this point. But not him. He had always been more of a take care of his own business type of guy.

  Enough dwelling in the past. Gianna Collini and her brother were the key to figuring out what was going on, and he intended to put on the hard press until he got the answers he sought. He did the only thing he could, given the circumstances: called her cell phone.

  Fancy pants. Besides the fact it wasn't a very manly name, why did it bother him so much? And why the hell was she taking so long to answer her phone?

  "Good evening, Detective. You've been quiet today. Have any new leads you want to share?"

  "Nope."

  "Are you sure? You didn't give yourself any time to think it through. Frankly, you sound a little frustrated."

  "Frustration hasn't been an issue until I met you."

  "Surely you give me too much credit."

  She waited a beat before she continued. "Is there a reason you've called? Are you bored? Done with your mani-pedi? Or is it my lucky day?"

  "Just doing a little reconnaissance. Are you holding out on me?"

  "Where are you?"

  He spotted her peeking out the window, but he knew from this distance she wouldn't see him.

  "Really, Mr. Shaw, do I have to get a restraining order to get you to behave yourself?

  He tsked. "After all we've been through, I think you should start calling me Max. I did let you bleed all over my silk handkerchief. Besides, let's face it. You need me, and I need you. It makes sense that we work together. We both need to buck up and fly right so we can get the job done."

  "You need me much more than I need you."

  "You keep believing—"

  Before he could finish, something wrapped around his neck and pulled tight—a garrote, made of piano wire or something similar. The thin wire pierced the skin of his neck, slicing it like tiny razor blades. In seconds he'd be dead. Based on experience, he knew they were deadly, quick, and silent.

  "Max? Max? Max?" She kept repeating his name over and over, but he couldn't respond.

  Out of practice, he'd let down his guard and missed the opportunity to tuck in his chin and get his hand up to keep the wire from hitting his windpipe. Now it was too late to employ that strategy.

  Only one risky move left to take.

  The attacker turned so they were back to back. With that position he'd gain more leverage to finish Max off. Blood dripped down his neck, hands, and arms as he fought against the strain of the wire. With his breathing labored and his head feeling dizzier by the second, he had one option. If he could flip himself over the guy's back, the pressure on his neck would be eliminated. If he couldn't, he'd be dead before his body hit the ground.

  With every ounce of strength he had left, he sprang off the balls of his feet and used leverage to springboard over the assailant's back. The wire had cut him to hell, but the pressure on his neck had stopped. Now the fight would be fair.

  Maybe not quite equal, considering he felt dizzy, weak, and clumsier than he'd thought possible. His vision blurred. Were there two assailants? He blinked to clear his eyesight.

  Two.

  Then one.

  Then two again.

  Shit.

  Knife.

  Double shit.

  "Max. Answer me, damn it." The faint sound of he
r voice filtered through the night air.

  Gianna. If he could only trust his own voice to respond. His mouth moved. Finally, he spat out one word: "Alley." He felt like he'd just completed a marathon.

  The guy lunged. By some miracle, Max moved in the right direction to avoid the slash.

  "Max. Where are you?" Her voice sounded closer than it had earlier.

  The guy came at him again, and Max brought up his arm at the last second. The knife slashed through his skin in unison with the sound of her footsteps. Unable to keep himself upright, he slumped against the building and landed on the concrete.

  "Max."

  It felt like it took him an hour to get a word to come out. "Here," he somehow managed to croak.

  "Oh my god, Max. Are you all right?"

  He leaned against the building. His head pounded, and he wondered for a few seconds if he might do something girly and pass out.

  Gianna's fingers touched his face and lifted his chin. "You look pale. Holy shit. You're going to faint, aren't you?"

  "Never." He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

  * * *

  Gia paced outside the emergency room, unable to get the picture of Max covered in blood from her head. What the hell was going on with him? How could she help him if he wouldn't even accept that people were after him?

  That was it. She was done messing around. She'd make sure he went into protective custody whether he liked it or not. No excuses and no complaints. Somebody tried to kill him with a garrote. Holy hell, that was some serious stuff. She'd seen or heard about a lot of murders and attempted murders, but a garrote was a weapon she hadn't encountered before.

  Despite his numerous protests, the man needed to go into protective custody. What secrets from his past were coming back to bite him now?

  Before she could conjure up a possible solution to her dilemma, the doctor emerged from behind the doors. "Anybody here for Max Shaw?"

  "I brought him in." She avoided any other identifying information relative to Max. She knew how persnickety the medical profession was about divulging information about patients, even if the guy in question was a victim of a crime.

  "Some of the cuts on his neck required a few stitches, and they're bandaged. The slice on his arm required thirty stitches, and we had to give him some blood as well. He seems to have recovered and has already started flirting with the nursing staff." He stared at her. "What did you say happened to him?"

  She pulled out her badge because she knew it would circumvent a lot more questions. "He was attacked in an alley a couple of blocks from here. I brought him to the hospital myself since it was so close. If he's better, I'll file a report and look for suspects." She stood.

  "He said he didn't see his assailants. How about you, officer? Don't want that kind of crime going on in the area if we can nail the guilty parties."

  "I'm all for keeping the neighborhood safe, but when I stumbled upon him, the assailant had already fled."

  "He was out of it for a while. We had to strap him down because he kept fighting us off. He kept mumbling something that sounded like 'Goren.' Do you think that could be one of the guys that attacked him?"

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A safe house? Max figured she had to be joking. People who went into safe houses were either chicken or dead.

  "Absolutely not. We're working this case together whether you like it or not." They were getting better at their attack strategies, or they'd hired better people to come after him, which essentially meant the same thing. Now Max had to figure out a way to stay safe, and catch Mick at the same time, and keep her in the dark about his past. Divulging anything about his history would only muddy the waters.

  "And I'm telling you that you need to go into police protection until we can guarantee your safety."

  "Believe me, the people after me aren't going to be stopped by NYPD." These people wouldn't stop until they met their objective. He only had two options—to kill or be killed.

  "Who are these people? Are they connected to the mob? What do you know about who they are?" She reached across the seat and grabbed his hand. That simple gesture must have made her feel uncomfortable, because she pulled it back just as quickly.

  He didn't say a word for a long time. Neither did she. A waiting game between the two of them. Finally, she broke the ice.

  "Are you withholding evidence, Mr. Shaw?" She gave him the cop stare.

  "Surely after you let me bleed in your car, you could call me Max."

  "Don't avoid the question," she responded while the tips of her fingers beat against the steering wheel.

  "I'm not avoiding. I'm playing cat and mouse, much like you've been doing."

  "Who's Goren? Does he have something to do with this?"

  "Where did you hear that name?" A shiver ran the length of his spine. While he thought about Petrovich more often than he wished—despite the fact the man had been dead for a couple of years now—he never spoke the name out loud. Neither did his siblings. Speaking the name conjured up way too many memories.

  "The doctor said you mentioned it when you were delirious and fighting them off. Something you want to tell me, Mr. Shaw?" When he arched his brow, she smiled instead of going all cop on him. "So that's how it's going to be." She shrugged. "But you did bleed all over me too, by the way." She offered the right sleeve of her jacket as evidence. "I think you owe me something."

  "I'll buy you a new coat."

  She laughed. "Should have seen that one coming. Money is the answer for everything, isn't it?" She shook her head. "Don't worry. No need to replace my coat. It's a job hazard. I'm afraid you, on the other hand, will need to trash that suit of yours, which probably cost about fifty times as much as this jacket. I can see your fancy silk boxers through that hole in your thigh. There are some good tailors in this city, but nobody's that good."

  "I plan on disposing of it as soon as I get home." He did a palm plant to his forehead. "I forgot that I left my car by your house. I didn't cab it in."

  "Wow, awful pedestrian of you."

  "Slumming it with the peons today."

  She barked a laugh, and her eyes even twinkled for a second or two. "I was beginning to think you left your sense of humor in Serbia along with the rest of your past."

  "Hinting around isn't going to get the information you need. You're hiding stuff from me, so it's only fair I hide stuff from you. Now, when can we call a truce and start to work this case together?"

  "Forget your car for now. If you won't go into a safe house, I'm going to drop you off at the Four Seasons. They'll put you into one of their expensive suites, and you'll be safe, at least until I can get this done." She patted his hand. "Besides, you don't look good. You lost some blood and have a wicked cut on your arm. You need to rest and recuperate. I got this."

  "Hell you do. Besides, didn't that doctor say I needed someone to watch me for the next six to eight hours? And I already reserved a two-bedroom suite. I didn't think I'd be up for another go-round without a bit of rest."

  She chewed her lip. "It doesn't have to be me. I'm sure the Four Seasons has people for that. Or you could always call one of your girlfriends, who I'm sure you already have on speed dial on that phone of yours."

  "Not going to happen. Besides, it's late. We both need sleep. I'll have some clothes brought up to the suite. We both can get a massage, and you can make sure I don't die. It's a perfect marriage of convenience and luxury."

  "You forgot about the annoying part." She rolled her eyes and changed direction, heading toward the Four Seasons.

  "Well, there's that." He wanted nothing more than to get a good massage. The Four Seasons would have a masseuse sent to his room. And they wouldn't ask questions. They'd also send someone to pick up his car in Brooklyn and have it brought over. "I think we could both use a good massage. How about it?"

  She practically purred. "You, Mr. Shaw, drive a hard bargain. Just remember to keep your distance."

  "No problem. I booked the two-bedroom su
ite. And they'll have the masseuses brought in shortly after we arrive. They're expecting us."

  "That wasn't exactly what I was talking about, but that will work as well."

  "And if I start to go south, I'll shout, and you can come running."

  "Or something to that effect."

  * * *

  Gia glanced at the clock by her bedside. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept this late. Must have been the amazing massage she received before going to bed. Or the comfy bed. Perhaps it was all about exhaustion after checking on Max during the night to find him sound asleep and snoring both times.

  She checked her phone and spotted a text from Josh. Give me a couple of hours. I should be able to track down Troy's address. I'm pretty sure that's where Mick would have headed. Meet me at Domenic's Gym this afternoon around two. Her heartbeat sped up. This might be the break she had been searching for.

  Now to make sure Max didn't tag along. The last thing she needed was the people after him to get her brother involved in the crossfire. She had enough on her plate with securing Mick safe and sound. And the only way to circumvent Max would be to escape while he was still sleeping.

  She got dressed quickly and listened. Not a sound. Excellent. She eased open the door as quietly as she could and tiptoed across the floor, shoes in hand. As she slipped open the door and fled into the hall, she half expected him to be right behind her. She pressed the button for the elevator and held her breath until it arrived and she was safely ensconced inside.

  The worrisome part of it all was the guilt that set up inside her chest.

  * * *

  Max sat up in bed as soon as he heard the click of the door. He knew she'd cut out as soon as she got the chance. And she had. His arm throbbed, and soreness seemed to invade every inch of his body as he got dressed. Luckily, the tracking device seemed to be working just fine. He checked out, and the valet brought his car around.

  It looked like she'd gone home. But if she had nothing to hide, she wouldn't have snuck out. Something was up. He had no doubt about that.