“Starbucks on Biltmore.”
“Already on my way. About two minutes out.”
Her gazed bolted toward where Amanda still stood. A guilty look crossed her face. “Amanda told you.”
“This isn’t a conspiracy, McKenna. I’ll see you in a second.” Then he hung up.
“Be mad all you want.” The woman next to her said. The fists she held at her side clenched and then unclenched. “I’m not apologizing.”
“I’ll get over it.” McKenna knew from experience that staying mad at Amanda wasn’t possible. Plus, how could she shut out the woman who’d kept her biggest secret for ten years? A vice squeezed her heart. McKenna wasn’t the only person trying to cope with the circumstances. While she’d been coming to terms with an imminent death, they’d been avoiding picturing the same scene. That type of anxiety and grief didn’t go away overnight, but she couldn’t sit around and wait for things to get better.
“McKenna?” A male voice called from behind her.
Amanda’s gaze flicked over McKenna’s shoulder and she let out a soft curse.
McKenna whirled around, caught in the surprised gaze of both Birmingham and Rupert. Birmingham had his hands tucked in the pockets of the light jacket he wore, the other man mimicking a similar stance.
“I heard about your ordeal.” The older man said. “Glad to see you’re okay. Guess I should thank you for your life-saving measures a few weeks ago.” He reached toward her, his arms outstretched in anticipation of an embrace.
Something heavy hit the pit of her stomach and stole her breath, its reasoning unidentifiable, but real. She took a step back.
His arms dropped, a look of confusion rolling across his face. Rupert didn’t say anything.
“We’ve got to get a move on it, McKenna.” Amanda touched her arm, her free hand resting near her service weapon. Her gaze never left either man.
“Right.” McKenna took a breath.
“Us, too.” Rupert tugged his biological father toward the entrance of the coffee house.
True to his word, Jordan’s white truck pulled up to the curb at that moment. He was at her side in an instant, a ball cap pulled low on his head. The shirt and jeans he had on looked clean, but had wrinkles, as if he’d thrown on whatever he’d found first. He didn’t acknowledge either man, but nodded at Amanda.
“Ready?” His warm hand found her elbow.
She nodded, hating the thought that he’d had to rescue her again. From nothing.
Birmingham tugged his arm out Rupert’s grasp. “Hello, Jordan.”
She could feel the tension emanating from the man beside her. Jordan guided her toward the truck. “Birmingham.”
“Is this how it’s going to be?” The other man shot back, following them a few steps.
“Yes.”
“It’s not healthy. You have to move on.” The other man tried to rest a hand on Jordan’s shoulder, a normal sign of affection, but Jordan sidestepped him.
“I meant what I said the other day.” His voice held a gridiron steel, but remained calm. “Stay away from me. Stay away from McKenna.”
Then he opened the door for her and she hopped inside. Jordan strode to his side and did the same.
Birmingham shook his head and threw one arm in the air, like good parents do with their unruly teenagers. Then turned back to his other son and walked inside Starbucks, as if he couldn’t be bothered with Jordan. In the side mirror, McKenna watched Amanda make her way to her car.
Jordan didn’t say anything as they pulled away from the corner. The silence continued as they headed in the same direction the emergency crew had gone.
“I know you’re mad.”
“Nope.” He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he turned left on Sycamore. Away from his house.
“I don’t believe you.”
“I understand your need for answers, but Birmingham isn’t going to give you the ones you want.” He turned into Mercy Hospital’s parking ramp, found a spot and cut the engine.
“What’s going on?”
He adjusted the hat. “Ciamitaro’s dead, McKenna. They found his body this morning and are transferring it here.”
“Dead?” The word echoed through her brain.
He nodded. “CMPD found him in a hunting shack about a mile from where we found you. The owners of the place showed up and he was face down on the living room floor, beaten to death.”
“When?”
“They’ll know exact time of death once the autopsy’s done, but with the lack of rigor mortis and the amount of decay, they suspect it happened several days ago.”
“You don’t think, I mean, Matthew wouldn’t have done that.”
Jordan shook his head. “Don’t think like that.”
Relief mixed with an unidentifiable, darker sensation in the pit of her stomach. Finding liberation in the news of his capture was one thing. Celebrating his death…
Instantly, she hated herself for the thought.
Unlike the machete incident six months ago, she didn’t think she could visit him in the hospital and pretend her gut didn’t churn while he swore up and down that someday she’d pay.
For as long as she could remember, it had been about being the best, doing the best. Being one step ahead of everybody. Confidence. The ability to march into a problem and solve it. Knowing that other people saw her that way too, because she’d proven its truth. Failure wasn't an option.
Jordan reached up and brushed something wet from her cheek. “It’s going to be okay, Slick.”
The drop of liquid stayed on his thumb. Her tears. “Oh, geez.” Just like that, a few more drops fell and her nose closed up as if she had the worst cold. She ran a hand over her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“This doesn’t make you weak, McKenna,” he said. “It makes you human.”
She sniffed and forced the stinging in her eyes, away. “And annoying.”
He tugged a strand of her hair. “I mean it. I love you the way you are. I always have, as crazy as you make me sometimes with your planning and schemes. And the way you take charge of every situation, whether you’re scared, prepared or winging it. It’s that attitude, it’s you, that makes me believe we can face anything together. Good or bad.”
All that truth hit her heart. This man knew every secret she had, every stupid mistake she’d made and he knew there would be more. She’d drive him crazy, but he didn’t care.
“You love me too.” Intense blue eyes caught and held hers.
She didn’t try to deny it. “Just because we’ve rushed into this relationship and now I’m pregnant—”
He put his hand over her mouth. “Don’t insult me, Slick. This has nothing to do with you being pregnant.”
“But.” The word came out garbled around his hand.
“Your kidnapping only makes this easier to admit. You know it and it scares you.”
He was right. Her pride tried to jump up and take a stand, but in the face of his honesty, it didn’t make it far. Fighting the truth was like fighting herself in the dark.
“Admit it.” He removed his hand.
“I’m coming to terms with it.”
“With us.” The sweet confidence covering his face was endearing.
“With us,” she echoed. “You’re really not upset?”
He reached over the center console, pulled her close and positioned his lips a breath away from hers. “You’re ruining the moment with that thinking again.” With his free hand, he tapped the side of her head, the irises of his eyes shifting to a deeper blue and locked on hers. “No more secrets. I need you. Tell me you feel the same.”
Like in Las Vegas, she knew she desired what he offered. Now, she didn’t have to question the urge. “I love you.” Then she closed the gap between them, her lips meeting his as if they had to make up for lost time. The contact sent a wave of warmth through her body.
She pulled back. “But don’t expect—”
“I know.” He
stole another nibble of her mouth. “How about we both man the kitchen?”
“I was going to say, don’t expect mushy love notes.”
He laughed. “I can live with that.”
“But since you brought it up, I’ll make coffee every morning, if you grocery shop.” She stuck out her hand, not at all shaken by the fact that they sounded like a real married couple.
Jordan fiddled with the necklace beneath his shirt and slipped something from the chain. Then he lifted her left hand and glided a ring—his mother’s ring, around her third finger. “Deal, Slick. As long as you promise to wear my ring for the rest of your life.”
The look in his eyes had the power to make her do anything. In it, sat more than words could ever convey. Love, respect, honesty and desire crashed together in an, I’m-not-perfect-I-will-mess-this-up-but-I’ll-die-proving-my-love way.
An unstoppable smile overtook her mouth. She had to look like an idiot. Oh, well. “So, if one were to write a mushy love note, how would it start?”
Instead of answering, he dove his fingers into her hair and covered her lips with his. Yes, this was a perfect beginning.
###
“It’s colder than normal down here.”
McKenna rubbed her hands over her arms and glanced around the sterile area. A sheet covered Ciamitaro’s body. The medical examiner, some young kid Jordan had never worked with, finished taking radiographs and prepared to make the first incision.
“We could wait upstairs,” Jordan said.
“I’m cleared for this.” A hand went to her abdomen and rested, for a second, over their microscopic child. “I’m here in an unofficial capacity and I’m staying.”
He’d figured as much and couldn’t say he’d do any different.
The door behind them opened and Agent Raymond Stark shuffled inside. His dark head was bent over a small notebook and he flipped through the pages as if reading a good book. His dark suit looked like he’d slept in it. A stain on the white shirt beneath, peaked out from under his tie.
The clunk of the closing door brought the agent’s attention to his surroundings. He looked up, noting both Jordan and McKenna. “Bening. Moore.” His bloodshot eyes bounced between them. “Robinson didn’t mention that either of you would be present, but I’m glad you’re here. I could use another set of eyes.”
“In an unofficial capacity,” Jordan said.
Stark slapped his notebook shut and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Hollins has been out with the flu for three days.”
“What have you got?” McKenna held out her hand.
“Sure you’re up for this?” The other man voiced Jordan’s concerns.
“Give it. I’m tough as nails.” To the outsider, she must appear exactly that. Her bruises had faded and makeup hid what remained. The only evidence of her kidnapping was the cast on her arm and the reddened area above her eyebrow.
Stark shrugged and handed over his notes. Jordan read over her shoulder as she flipped through them.
“Sounds like they connected the shoe casings found at both the Gaidies and Dillon home to Ciamitaro.”
“Still no clear motive?” Jordan asked.
Stark ran a hand through his hair. “Other than the possibility that Mrs. Gaidies and Ciamitaro were still involved and maybe she wanted to tell her husband and Kara. That would have been bad personally and professionally for Ciamitaro. Mr. Gaidies is his boss. So, loss of job and girlfriend—girlfriends with one fell swoop.”
“Not good enough.” McKenna flipped another page. “It’s not that simple.”
Stark threw a look in Jordan’s direction that said, she-for-real?
“Kara said something about Ciamitaro doing a one-eighty personality-wise. It happened sometime around Mrs. Gaidies death.” McKenna stared at the empty page in front of her, a hand on the healing scar on her forehead. He might have missed the almost imperceptible shake of her fingers, had he not been paying attention.
Short of dragging her out of here, all he could do was keep an eye on her and do his job.
“My theory could fit.” Stark crossed his arms over his chest. “Mrs. Gaidies finds out he’s two-timing her, threatens to tell her husband and Kara. Ciamitaro can’t have that, so he kills Mrs. Gaidies. Mr. Kimmel gave me some items after the funeral. Kara was digging into Mrs. Gaidies death.”
“Anything noteworthy?” Jordan asked.
The doctor shuffled past them, gloved up and began, dictating as he went.
Stark lowered his voice. “She notes many of Mrs. Gaidies former affairs including Balm Corp’s CEO, Clarence Roden, but in the last two months, there’d been nobody that she could find. Both Kara and Mr. Gaidies were trying to uncover the truth of Mrs. Gaidies death. For separate reasons, I imagine. They both traced the days before her death to Flowers De Char Lynn. Her final purchase. Her final phone call came from the prepaid number. The same one that gave us Moore’s whereabouts.” Stark’s eyes flicked to McKenna.
She snapped his notebook closed and handed it back to him.
It all boiled down to that event. Jordan ground his teeth together and tried to let out a discreet breath of air.
“The evidence suggests that Mr. Gaidies death was not a suicide. His fingers didn’t have the usual amount of residue from firing the gun. And the angle of trajectory suggests that the gun was held at an unnatural angle, not typical of suicide.”
“Somebody held it to his head and forced him to pull the trigger.” McKenna’s eyes met Jordan’s. “His last call went to Rupert. Five minutes before the time of death.”
Which explained how Rupert beat them to Balm Corp that night. But what had Mr. Gaidies said in the final call?
“The only people with access to the building would have been Clarence Roden, who has an alibi, the other security guard and Ciamitaro. Any other employees would have had to call the front desk guard from the outer doors, which lock after seven.” Jordan said.
“The other security guard, Hal Brookston, states he never left his desk. While Ciamitaro was checking the floors, Hal was dealing with a visitor, at the front desk. The only one of the entire week, according to the log.”
“Kara.” Jordan and McKenna’s voices melded at the same time.
Stark’s eyebrows bunched up on his forehead as he glanced between them. “Uh, yeah. And we were able to verify that before Ciamitaro got his hands on her. The evidence that’s out of sync is your car, Moore. Stolen the morning after Mrs. Gaidies death. Then crashed into Mr. Dillon’s house after he received his own mother’s hands in a non-descript mail box.”
“It was a warning.”
Both he and Stark glanced at McKenna.
“The car was a warning, something meant to distract, but also a carefully placed threat. Think about it. Mrs. Gaidies got a phone call and purchased a floral arrangement. Hours later, she’s dead. Mr. Gaidies calls his son. Minutes later, same story. After that, his movements aren’t as methodical. Kara’s death was unplanned.”
“And your kidnapping?” Stark rubbed his nose.
“Unplanned to a degree. Once Jordan and I started getting closer, he saw an opportunity and took it. Much like my car.”
The ME cleared his throat, catching their attention. “He’s been dead at least eight days. Defensive wounds suggest he was beaten repeatedly with a blunt object. Probably something similar to a baseball bat. Cause of death.” He held up a .45 caliber bullet in a pair of forceps, then dropped it into a sterile, steel bowl. “Severed the aortic valve.”
“Either he wasn’t working alone and something went south or somebody close to our victims decided to take things into their own hands.” Stark moved toward the body and resumed taking notes.
Jordan didn’t like the insinuation in his agent’s tone. He didn’t have to point out where he and McKenna had been. “The last call from Ciamitaro’s cell phone is to the same prepaid phone number as all the others. It occurred hours before we found you.”
“I know.” She rubbed her head again, her face a
little pale. “Did you notice where Ciamitaro spent most of his money recently?”
“Yeah. Club Italia.”
Jordan didn’t like it.
CHAPTER FORTY
The place hadn’t changed very much in the fifteen-plus-years since Matthew had been inside.
A disco ball still hung over the dance floor, the stage lights surrounding it more modern, but completing the same task of illuminating the dancers on the floor with waves of colors.
He picked a dim corner at the back of Club Italia, with a clear view of both entrances. He knew the risks of entering any public setting, but this one in particular. Earlier that morning, he’d shaved his head so that not a fleck of dark hair lingered. Then, with cosmetic glue, he’d applied a well-trimmed jet-black mustache to his upper lip. Color contacts changed his eyes to a deep brown and a body suit added a muscled thirty pounds under his button down shirt and dress pants.
A few added props changed his face from smooth chinned to cleft and elongated his nostrils. He pushed the thin-rimmed glasses, sitting on his face, up to the bridge of his nose. The heightened crowd mingled around him, dancing, drinking and laughing. The music grew more robust with each passing second.
People crowded the bar to his left, as three bartenders filled orders in a professional, but hasty fashion. A few security personnel made the rounds in the spacious club, looking for trouble and keeping too many people from entering the stairs behind them. They lead up to a second bar and alcove area. From experience, he knew that area housed the club’s offices, and at one point, Birmingham’s living quarters.
Matthew’s dress attire matched their security outfits. Black pants and a blue dress shirt with the words SECURITY across his back, came courtesy of a college kid. The poor schmuck at the back entrance had found some girl’s mouth more interesting than his job. A bonus for Matthew.
He watched Birmingham enter through the side entrance and make his way up the stairs. Several “glad you’re back” comments reached his ears.
As casually as possible, Matthew moved from his spot and headed in the same direction. He nodded at one of the staff members, who returned the motion. A safe distance behind Birmingham, he followed until he hit the top of the stairs. From there a small hallway led to Birmingham’s office, while the main traffic headed right, toward the sitting areas.
LINKED (The Bening Files Book 1) Page 33
