by Lauren Layne
The first Sunday since she’d started at the diner that she hadn’t been there. Not that he’d been keeping track or anything.
“Anthony Franco Moretti Junior, did you—”
“For God’s sake, I didn’t show Maggie Walker my wang,” he said.
Nonna scowled, unperturbed by his outburst. It took a lot to perturb his grandmother. In fact, only his mother really had any skill at it.
“Well then why didn’t she show up today?” she demanded.
“Maybe because he didn’t show her his wang,” Luc muttered into the mouth of his beer bottle.
Anthony chucked his towel at his brother’s head. “The woman’s allowed a day off.”
“But Sundays aren’t her days off. Thursdays and Saturdays are,” Nonna said matter-of-factly.
Anth threw his arms up in the air. “How could you possibly know that?”
Luc glanced over. “I knew that.”
Anthony glared. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be? We’ve barely seen you for weeks, and you choose now to be here?”
Luc shrugged. “Ava’s out of town. Covering some political rally in D.C.”
Nonna pointed at her youngest grandson. “See, he has a nice girl. Luca, at what point did you show Ava your wang?”
“Not answering that,” Luc muttered. “Also, I’m with Anth. Can we stop using the word ‘wang’?”
“Penis?” Nonna suggested. “Appendage? Or in my day, we called it—”
“Please don’t finish that sentence,” Anth muttered, heading toward the fridge for a beer. Only there wasn’t any, because his damn brother apparently took the last one, so Anthony grabbed an ever-present bottle of red wine off the counter and poured a hefty glass.
He turned around in time to see Nonna and Luc exchange a knowing glance. “No,” he said, shaking his head and taking a healthy swallow of the Chianti. “Whatever you’re thinking, just stop it now.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Nonna said, laying a hand across her chest and looking scandalized.
“Good. Keep it that way.”
“It’s just…”
Anth closed his eyes as his grandma got that speculative look in her eyes.
“It’s weird, isn’t it, Luca?” she mused. “That Maggie wasn’t there today?”
“It is,” Luc said agreeably, attention still on the game, although the smirk on his face showed that not only was he fully engaged in his grandmother’s pestering of Anthony, but also highly entertained by it.
“Hey,” Anth called across the room to his brother. “Remember just a few months ago when our darling grandmother was meddling in your love life?”
Nonna pounced. “You said love life. Which means that—”
“That you should mind your own business,” Anth said.
Luc caught his eye and lifted an eyebrow, and Anth knew his baby brother had caught the fact that he hadn’t exactly denied that Maggie Walker had anything to do with his love life.
He should have denied it, because there was absolutely nothing between them. Not since the other night when he’d had one too many glasses of whiskey while home alone and crossed a line he absolutely should not have crossed via text of all things.
His grandmother let out a long-suffering sigh and lowered herself to the kitchen chair with a fragility that he knew was entirely faked. His grandmother was eighty-something, but she did yoga and walked daily, and, according to her, engaged in “enthusiastic sex.”
So any time she pulled the “little old woman” routine, it was definitely an angle.
Anthony braced for it.
“Hey, bambino,” she said, looking over her shoulder at Luc. “You have Maggie’s number, right? Won’t you give her a call, make sure she’s okay? That business with her ex-husband is just awful, and—”
Anthony had to take another sip of wine to keep from telling Luca in disturbing detail exactly what would happen to him if he dared to call Maggie.
And yet if anyone should be checking in on her, it should be Luc. It was Luc who she’d given her phone number to in the first place. Luc who’d had to give Anthony her number…
Too late, Anthony saw his brother’s face. Luc’s grin was positively shit-eating.
“Why don’t you have Anth text her?” Luc asked innocently.
“Oh?” Nonna said, her face the picture of sham confusion. “Anthony, you have her phone number?”
“He asked me for it the other day,” Luc provided before Anth could intervene.
“Damn whiskey,” he muttered.
“Yup,” Luc confirmed, pushing up off the couch to put his beer bottle in the recycling bin and helping himself to a glass of the open wine. “Anth here spent a good half an hour texting back and forth with Mags, a fool smile on his face.”
“You weren’t even here,” Anth snapped.
Luc looked at his glass. “But am I wrong?”
Anthony took another sip of wine. “She’s an informant.”
“So you texted her about work stuff?” Nonna asked.
“I—”
“Because if that were the case, you probably should have just gotten her number from the case file, right?” Luc asked. “I mean why go through me? Unless it was personal…”
Anthony put his glass on the counter with more force than necessary, grateful that their wineglasses were of the cheap, heavy variety and didn’t easily shatter.
“And you wonder why I don’t share my personal life with you,” he snapped.
Luc looked at him blankly. “Actually, no. I never wonder that.”
Nonna’s hand shot up in the air. “I do! I always wonder. And your mother too. And your father, although he’d never admit it, and Elena sometimes asks Vin about the logistics of phone taps so she can verify you’re not dating any skanks.”
Anthony stared at his grandmother.
Nonna pursed her lips. “Okay fine, I may have added the skank part. But you could substitute whatever word you wanted. Say, like—”
Luc held up a hand to stop Nonna’s endless supply of synonyms for hookers. “Dude, Anth. We’re just giving you a hard time. I’m sure Maggie was just taking a sick day or a personal day. Nobody’s blaming you for it.”
Anth inhaled before running a hand tiredly over his hair.
They might not be blaming him. But he was certainly blaming himself.
He’d crossed a serious line with the texts. Came on too strong.
He’d meant to just apologize and leave it at that. Had wanted to undo any hurt he’d caused, because he knew firsthand how a couple offhand comments could have far more impact than one realized.
Maggie wasn’t Vannah.
Objectively, he knew that, and Anthony thrived on objectivity.
Maggie and Vannah weren’t even similar.
Vannah had been a compelling combination of waifish and glamorous, confident and fragile, all pale hair and exotic cat eyes. And cool…there had been an untouchable element to Vannah, when she wasn’t being clingy.
Maggie was…warm. Beautiful but wholesome, damaged but sassy.
Luc was studying Anthony. “Dude. What’s going on with you?”
He shot his brother a glare. Don’t.
But Luca’s gaze merely sharpened. “You know, if you really wanted us to fuck off, you can just go into your room.”
“No, he can’t!” Nonna chirped. “Don’t put ideas in his head, Luca. He’ll stay right here and tell us why—”
“I don’t know why Maggie didn’t come to work!” His voice echoed off the kitchen walls. “Okay? I have no fucking idea.”
Nonna didn’t even flinch at his language. She never did. Being married to a New York cop, raising one who went on to be police commissioner, and being grandmother to four cops did that to a woman.
“Well, why don’t you ask her?”
“She won’t respond to me,” he muttered.
Luc looked confused. “Really? She didn’t respond to your texts?”
“She did, at first,” Anth
replied grudgingly.
“Well, what did you do to make her stop?” Nonna barked.
“Nonna,” Luc chided in a mild tone.
Anth was grateful for the moment of brotherly solidarity.
He and Luc didn’t have the type of brotherly conversations that involved cozy fireside chats and discussions of feelings, but they were close. Being roommates did that. So did their shared status as cops.
They got each other. He understood that it had taken Luc months to admit his feelings for Ava because of what happened with his partner two years earlier.
And judging from the quiet understanding in Luc’s blue gaze at the moment, his brother understood that Anthony couldn’t be the type of man that a woman like Maggie Walker needed.
The type of man that any woman needed.
But just now, he wasn’t thinking about any woman. He was thinking of wide hazel eyes and a mouth that could deliver the sweetest smiles and the sharpest setdowns.
And yet, it didn’t matter that he couldn’t give himself to a woman like her. Because she didn’t even want him. She’d made that abundantly clear after her silence to his last text.
I didn’t want you to date Vin, because the very idea of another man’s hands on you, even my brother’s, made me jealous as hell.
Oh Good Lord he was an idiot.
“You wanna talk about it?” Luc asked casually, taking a sip.
Anth’s response was a glare. He started to storm toward his bedroom before stopping, doing a one-eighty, and planting a dutiful kiss on his grandmother’s cheek. “Love you,” he muttered.
She cupped his cheek. “You’re a good boy, Anth. The very best.”
He pulled away without responding.
He wasn’t good. And he sure as hell wasn’t the best.
Chapter Eleven
There were thousands of damn good cops in the NYPD. Men and women who were proud to serve one of the best law enforcement agencies in the country.
But only a handful of them ever went on to be a captain, or even take the captain’s test.
Anthony had never understood that. He’d never been able to figure out why so many exceptionally skilled officers didn’t have the interest in even trying for the higher rank.
But now, over three months into his time as Captain Moretti, he was starting to get it.
For starters, there was the lack of overtime. He got a salary, and the salary stayed the same no matter how many hours he worked. And it was good money…plenty of money for Anth’s lifestyle.
But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss the surge of gratification after working long hours and knowing it would result in a higher paycheck.
Now, he worked the long hours…but the paycheck stayed the same.
Still, even that didn’t bother him. Much. He wasn’t in it for the money.
And then there was the tricky leadership aspect. It was hard enough to work in law enforcement in New York City and take care of yourself, much less feel responsible for an entire team of people.
But this aspect of the job, he was learning. Enjoying, even. Must be the big brother in him, because Anthony sort of loved bossing people around.
But there was one aspect of Captain that was really starting to piss him off: bureaucracy. The politics were killing him.
He’d known it was coming, of course. His father had warned him that the higher you went, the more ass-kissing, the more red tape, and the more seemingly pointless meetings and paperwork awaited.
But what his father hadn’t warned him was just how thick the bullshit level was. There were times when meeting with the higher-ups felt a lot less protect and serve and a lot more whose dick is bigger.
Today’s meeting was made worse by its spontaneity. Anthony’s direct supervisor, while overall a stand-up guy, had a penchant for making “unannounced drop-bys.”
Initially Anth had figured this was a leadership approach…always keep the subordinates on their toes.
But the more he got to know Ray Mandela, the more Anthony realized that these little impromptu meetings were more about Ray’s penchant for hearing himself talk than anything else.
Not that the man was all bluster; he had a good head on his shoulders, was fair and surprisingly patient. But if there was a point that could be expressed in eight words, the deputy chief would find a way to explain it in fifty.
“So anyway, I guess you could say that we’ll be sitting in the back of the church until Ana grows up!” Ray finished with a chuckle.
Anthony forced a laugh in return, although truthfully, he had no idea what the hell his boss was talking about.
He’d tuned out somewhere between the story about Ray Junior’s soccer practice and how expensive Tessa’s ballet costume was. Which one was Ana? His youngest? Or his oldest? He could never keep all of Ray’s kids straight.
“Things are good with you?” Ray asked, leaning forward and resting his arms on his legs as he studied Anthony.
Anth knew that he shouldn’t feel ill at ease.
Ray was in Anth’s office, sitting in Anth’s guest chair.
It was Anthony’s domain, and normally the people who came into this office knew it. But with Ray looking at him with that shrewd gaze of his, Anthony resisted the urge to squirm.
Ray couldn’t have been more than five years older than Anthony—maybe early forties at the most—but he had a quiet command about him.
“Things are good,” Anth said cautiously.
I mean, minus the fact that I haven’t caught Smiley, the one woman I’ve been even remotely interested in in months may or may not be avoiding me, and I haven’t eaten my leftover lasagna for lunch yet because you’ve been running your mouth for forty-five minutes.
“Good, good,” Ray said, oblivious to Anth’s inner rant. “I hate to ask, but you know I’ve got to…any update on Smiley? I know it’s a run-of-the-mill burglar, but ever since the press picked it up, the bosses have picked it up, all the way to the very top.”
Anthony was careful not to show a shred of emotion at mention of the current commissioner. He knew he was biased, but Tony Moretti’s successor was a grandstanding asshole who cared a lot more about looking good on TV than he did about the people of the city.
“We’ve got a lead,” Anthony said. “A good one.”
“Right, the wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Anthony corrected.
“Remind me how she came into the picture?”
Anthony stayed resolutely relaxed in his chair. “She’s a waitress at the Darby Diner. I was doing some off-hours work there and she saw the sketch.”
He was braced for the deputy chief to ride his ass for taking potentially sensitive documents out of the precinct, but luckily Ray was more about results than he was strict adherence to the rules.
“Lucky break,” Ray said, leaning back and tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair. “You trust her? Or think she’s looking for attention?”
“She provided a handful of pictures of Eddie Hansen. The resemblance is there. If anyone’s off base here, it’s the witness who provided the description of our guy. If that’s even our guy.”
“Hell of a thing,” Ray said. “A criminal savvy or lucky enough to evade us a half dozen times, and he doesn’t even take anything worth stealing.”
“He takes people’s sense of privacy…their right to safety,” Anthony said, barely managing to keep the lecture out of his mouth.
“Right, right,” Ray said distractedly. “Well, I guess this wife…”
“Ex-wife.”
“Ex-wife,” Ray continued, “won’t be much use if she’s not in touch with the guy. You said in your last report they hadn’t had any contact?”
Anthony shook his head. “No. Since then she thinks she might have seen him outside the diner where she works, but she won’t swear it’s him, and I can’t justify putting a watch on the place based on a hesitant maybe.”
Ray pursed his lips. “What if—”
There was a loud knock
on Anthony’s door, but it opened before he could utter his usual gruff come in.
Vincent stormed in. “Anth, for God’s sake, would you answer your motherfucking— Oh. You’ve got company.”
Anthony inhaled. Leave it to his clueless brother to refer to Anthony’s superior as company, complete with a dark scowl.
“Vin, this is Deputy Chief Mandela.”
He waited for his brother to show some sort of deference, but Vin merely jerked his chin in greeting. “Hey.”
Luckily, Ray seemed more amused than he did offended, although he did look at Anthony for an explanation as to why uninvited visitors were barging into his office.
“Sir, this is Detective Moretti.”
“Ah, the other brother,” Ray said, standing and extending a hand. “I’ve met Luca a handful of times, but I don’t think you and I have met in person. Homicide, right?”
“Yup,” Vin said before turning back to Anth. “Dude, seriously, you haven’t been answering your phone.”
“Because I turn it off when I’m in a meeting,” Anthony said. To avoid interruptions like this.
But his irritation faded quickly into a sliver of fear as he realized that his younger brother wasn’t often disposed toward phone calls, much less drop-bys.
“Is everything okay?” Anthony was already pulling his phone out of the desk drawer where he’d placed it after Ray had shown up. “Mom, Dad—”
“They’re fine. It’s Maggie.”
Anth’s head shot up, his eyes pinning his brother with a lethal stare. “What’s wrong? Is she okay? What—”
Vin held up a hand, his eyes narrowing slightly, perhaps in puzzlement over Anthony’s fiercer than usual reaction.
“She’s okay.”
Anthony blew out a breath of relief.
“Who’s Maggie?” Ray asked.
“Smiley’s ex-wife,” Anthony muttered.
Upon realizing this was police business, and not family business, Ray’s gaze sharpened on Vincent. “There’s been a development?”
Vin nodded once, then held up a plastic bag containing a single envelope.
Anth held out his hand.
There was no return address. There rarely was, not when you actually wished for one.
“Margaret Hansen,” he read aloud. His eyes lifted to Vin. “Maggie.”
