Their headlights lit the never-ending flat farmland surrounding the long stretch of highway. Clumps of green grass patched between brown swayed in the damp, lonely expanse. Newly-dressed trees shook with the intensity of a wet dog. Water tapped on the hood and wind howled a goodbye serenade as they drove farther and farther away from her family, her friends, her life. This wasn’t where she wanted to be. She missed her home. She missed her safety.
That didn’t mean she was changing her mind. She wasn’t putting anyone else in danger.
“I think you should drive back to Chicago, either tonight or first thing tomorrow.” Brook stared at the dog, she couldn’t even look at Joe when she said the words. She didn’t want to lose him, but she had no choice. He had to get away from here, before he got hurt. Or worse.
“What?”
“Drop me off at this cabin and then go back. I don’t want you here with me.” She looked at him and watched his face morph from confusion to anger through the intermittent flash of lighted signs along the highway.
“I know you’re pissed, but…”
“It has nothing to do with me being pissed. I’m tired of putting my friends in danger. I’m done. I’ll deal with this on my own.”
“So, what—I leave you a gun and you’ll defend yourself?” His eyebrow cocked as he turned his gaze momentarily from the road.
“Sure, why not?”
“Really? Why not? Let’s think about it.” He ran a hand down the side of his face. “The biggest reason I can think of is that I heard Lopez give his statement. In the car, I believe you jumped and the gun slipped from your fingers and landed on the floor.”
“I wasn’t expecting him to open the car door.”
“True, Lopez didn’t follow the rule book used by all bad guys, the one saying that you should knock before opening any door. It’s the only way to be sure that it’s a fair fight.” He shook his head. “Next reason? There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you alone.”
“But I don’t mind being alone.” She played with the tags on Bruno’s collar.
She was sure she was convincing when she said that. She almost believed it. “Maybe you don’t, but I would go crazy wondering if you were okay. If you didn’t answer your phone because you were in the shower, I’d be back on the road driving up here.”
“But…”
“Please, Brook, don’t argue. I need this.”
“Fine.” She wasn’t completely disappointed. The thought of being in the middle of nowhere alone, with crazies after her, scared the crap out of her. She just didn’t want him hurt.
“How are you feeling?” Joe’s attempt at a smile was shadowed by the dashboard lights. Changing the subject.
“Fine.” She snuggled the dog close. She loved his warmth and the soft rise and fall of his chest. It wasn’t really a lie. She didn’t have a choice at this point; her life was in danger. Worse yet, she was putting him in danger. Why bog things down with insignificant feelings? “Fine?”
Why couldn’t he just let it go? He turned to face her before turning his attention back to the road, disbelief written all over his raised eyebrow and tilted head. It wasn’t in his nature to let it go, apparently. He never let anything go.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, fine. My bridesmaid dress is destroyed, my family’s in danger, I miss my job. Every mile, we get further and further away from the people I care about. I’m running away from this mess I created and leaving everyone else to pick up the pieces.” She heard her voice crack as she rambled on, but she didn’t care. “I’m sorry if you don’t like fine, but the other words I have to describe my life aren’t all that appropriate.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“No? Really.” She pulled at the sweatshirt she wore, the neckline a noose stopping the air from getting to her lungs. “Stark never should have pleaded out. Larry Bosk had a fundraiser that night. A fundraiser he didn’t want to be late for, or his wife would’ve never let him go out and play with his mistresses, so he advised Stark to take the deal. The judge, Judge Stanton, was an asshole, looking to make a name for himself.” She took another deep breath to keep from yelling and then continued.
“Larry knew it. He didn’t care. So what if some kid who made a mistake would go to jail for years? Wasn’t his problem. As long as he got to the museum before they started serving cocktail wienies, who cares who suffers?” Regret balled up and lodged in her temples. “I did nothing. Dennis asked me straight out what to do, and I didn’t speak up. I should’ve followed my gut, but I was new and stupid and I let that son of a bitch sacrifice my client.”
“What would have been different?”
“What?” She ran a hand up and down the side of her head. Her eyes drifted to the purse at her feet. There was a pharmacy of pain relievers stuck in the pocket, but she couldn’t bring herself to take them. Weak people didn’t deserve a reprieve.
“If you had followed your gut, would he have gotten out of jail time?”
“No.”
“Would he have spent less time in jail?”
“If it went to trial? Who knows? He could have spent less, but maybe more.” “It sounds like you took the advice of your boss, who had more knowledge and more experience. If things went south, shouldn’t it fall on his shoulders?”
“But Larry didn’t deserve to die.” The regret-ball grew spikes and jabbed at her eye.
“No one deserves what happened to him. Not Bosk. Not Timmons. Not you. Captain Humphries put Adam and Shay on it now. They are the best out there. They’ll find him. Stark won’t get the chance to hurt anyone again.”
She wanted to believe him, but she felt so helpless. So alone.
“So, are you ready to admit this was all Stark?” Joe did hesitate before he asked. She’d give him a few points for that, but negative points for asking the damn question. She hated that she was wrong about this.
“They destroyed my dress, not Shay’s. Other than the girls, he was the only other person who knew which one belonged to whom. And the note—in the dress shop, he mentioned to tell my boyfriend to back off, tell my goons to back off. If he thought you were my boyfriend, he must have been following me. I—shit, I didn’t even notice that until I thought about it today.”
“So, is today a bad day to tell you I told you so?” “Depends.” “On?”
“On whether you like your happy-stick attached to your body or if you’d like a free amputation.”
“My happy-stick?”
She couldn’t help but laugh. The conversation was so absurd and she needed this. Just to laugh. “Yes, it’s a stick that makes you happy.”
“It seems to make you happy, too.”
The smile spread on her lips. Yeah, that happy-stick did make her quite happy. Too bad it was attached to the I-told you-so mouth. “True. Now if we could only get your mouth to make me as happy as your stick.”
“That can be arranged.”
Heat spread up her face. That might not have come out exactly as planned. Not that she was complaining. If he took the discussion as a challenge to make her happy with his mouth… Nope, didn’t see a downside to that.
“It’s nice to see you smile again.”
“It’s been a rough day, leaving everything behind.” She slid her hand along Bruno’s head, and he wriggled his butt. He was so easy.
“Well, when we get to the cabin, you can call your sister while I make us something to eat.”
“Cooking?”
“Um…stopping to grab us pizza. But I’ll put it on plates and pour the drinks.” “I’m surprised the Food Network isn’t knocking down your door.”
He smiled and exited the highway, navigating the dark streets until they came to a gravel lot. The sole light in the lot, heck on the block, lit an old junker hunched next to a windowless stone box of a building. A green wooden door hung in the center of the box with a sign saying TONY’S PIZZA FEEDING WISCONSIN SINCE 1985 dangling from a chain above the door.
The rain had downgraded to a li
ght sprinkling by the time they ran from the truck to the warmth of the restaurant. Joe held the door as Brook walked over the threshold, and the earthy smell of oregano and garlic hit her square in the stomach.
A growl escaped the afflicted organ.
She followed Joe past the small wooden stools and tables circling the tiny eating area. Behind the stained Formica countertop sat multiple ovens filled with rotating pizza racks. One oven stood open, the smell of sweetly acidic tomato sauce wafting to her nose. Had she mentioned she was hungry?
“Be right with ya,” A dark-haired teenager called as he lifted a pie from the oven.
“Where’s your pops?” Joe leaned against the counter.
The boy spun, a huge grin on his face. Dark hair, dark eyes—with a few variations, the kid was Joe’s miniature twin. “Yo, Cousin.”
“Tyler, my man.” Joe reached across the counter and fist bumped his mini-me. “Want me to throw in a pie for you?” “Yeah. Large sausage okay?” He turned to Brook.
At this point sawdust would have gotten a thumbs-up, so it required little effort to agree to sausage. It was her favorite topping.
“Where’s Tone?”
“Dad! You’re wanted out front,” Tyler screamed toward a doorway in the corner.
“I told you, I’m paying bills.” An older man lumbered out from the back, his beer can print button-up shirt swaying as he walked. The open shirt revealed a Flurries T-shirt and the slight paunch hanging over his jeans.
“Little Hef!” He wrapped his arms around his nephew. “How’re you doing, big city cop? I hear my sister likes Florida.”
“I’m doing well, and Mom’s loving the weather down there.”
“What brings you this far north?”
“Brook and I are staying at the cabin.”
“Bringing a girl to the cabin. Your aunt would approve.”
Tony smiled and turned to Brook. “Well—hello, Brook.” “Hi.”
Joe did the introductions. “This is my Uncle Tony, and the little guy is his son Tyler.”
“I’m eighteen years old and almost taller than you. So I think little guy is outdated.” Tyler slid a pizza into a box and attached a delivery slip.
“Incantato, amore mio.” Tony cupped Brook’s hand and raised it to his lips.
Smooth and endearing.
She couldn’t help but smile. Italian. What a beautiful language. “What did you say?”
“He asked if you’d like a slice of pizza.” Joe rested a hand on her back, staking his claim.
And she was all right with that. She was pretty sure Joe’s
uncle just called her his love. Although sweet, someone already held that title.
“Of course.” His uncle smiled, a knowing glint in his eye. “It’s nice to meet one of Joey’s friends. His somewhat of a legacy around here.”
Joe shook his head. “Don’t listen to him.”
“What? This boy has talent. Kickboxing champ, two summers’ running.”
“I was in grade school.” Joe laughed and turned to Brook. “We lived here with Uncle Tony for a few years while I was in grade school.”
“When your dad left, that no good son of a…”
“Tone.”
“Sorry. You’re right—there’s a lady here. You must be starving, what can I get you?”
“I got it, Pops.” Tyler pulled out a bubbling, cheesy piece of heaven and placed it in the box, rolling a cutter over the pie before closing the box. He spun the box toward Joe and turned to his dad. “I have to take these deliveries. I’ll be back in a half hour to close up.” He slipped out the front door carrying a stack of boxes.
“We should head out, too.” Joe ran behind the counter and grabbed a six-pack of soda and a salad. He set it all on top of the pizza box before slapping a twenty on the counter.
His uncle shoved the money back into Joe’s pocket. “What is this?”
“Tone, you can’t give away free pizza to everyone in our family, we’d eat all your profits.”
“Ha—How often do I get to see my favorite nephew? Take it.
Enjoy.”
“Thanks.” Joe carried the food pyramid out the door. “And by the way, don’t mention to anyone you saw us today.”
“Sure kid, no problem.”
Brook and Joe walked through the water-logged lot and slid into the truck. “Your family is nice.”
“Yeah.” He nodded and slid the key into the ignition.
“They are. And they make a mean pizza.”
Her mouth watered as they drove the light-challenged streets of Who-knew- where, Wisconsin. She couldn’t wait to get to the cabin and sink her teeth into the Perretti legacy. Which legacy—the pizza or the man—excited her more? Hell, it was a toss-up.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joe turned into the darkened driveway of the cabin at a little before eleven. The food in the backseat was calling his name. Between the gun range and getting Brook out of Chicago, he hadn’t had time to eat, drink, or breathe. He was looking forward to doing all three.
In the dark, the house looked the same as always, well, except for the overgrown lawn and unkempt window boxes he could see in the headlights. But the fifty-foot white oak in the back yard was still there. Hadn’t changed. It still looked climbable. Not that he could climb it anymore, some things had changed. But back when he lived here—he’d loved that damn tree.
From high atop his perch he could watch the world spin. He’d watched his mom and great-aunt fold laundry. He’d watched the dogs run and dig. He’d watched his dad not come to get him. He did that a lot. He’d watched and waited— waited for his dad to come back for him. Dreamed about having his father love him.
Some dreams grow up.
“Are you okay?” Brook asked as she got out of the car, Bruno following behind and running over the lawn.
“Yeah, fine, just haven’t been here in a while.” He slid out of the car and followed Brook up the long walkway. Cracks and invading weeds covered the once-flat stones leading to the scratched and dented door. This slice of his history was falling apart. Time hadn’t been kind.
He unlocked the door and pushed on the warping wood. Hinges croaked as he swung the door wide. He was in, back in the house where his life fell apart piece by piece. He stepped inside.
The air hit him like a battering ram, musty, stale. Dust swirled and followed. Escape. Even the crusty smell was running out the door, too busy to stop and ask for directions. Not that he blamed them. When he mentioned coming to the cabin, he hadn’t thought about the last visitors. Or really, how there had been no visitors for over eight months.
He hadn’t thought about the last time he was here either. How his mom dragged him out of school to live here when his father left. How he hated every minute. He hadn’t thought about a lot of things.
He hit the switch on the wall, and the bulb on the ceiling buzzed and sputtered before humming to life. Thank goodness he left the food and bags in the car. Dust covered every available crevice. Chairs and tabletops topped with gray fuzz.
“It’s a little dusty, but we should be able to clean it up tomorrow.” He reached under the couch and found the edges of the plastic cover. He’d always hated these damn things, but he had to admit they served their purpose today. He yanked the plastic back. A dust cloud funneled up into his face as he rolled the cover in a ball and placed it outside.
Brook walked over to the living area’s fireplace mantel, looking at the many frames lining it. She picked up a blue and red finger-painted frame, smiling as she wiped the dust from the glass. “Is this you?”
“Yeah. I made the frame, too.”
”Wow, you’re an artist.”
“It’s one of my better works. It’s from my kindergarten collection.”
“Cute. I hope you have some rags and Pledge on hand, otherwise cleaning this place might take a while.”
“I’m sure we do, somewhere around here. We’ll tackle it tomorrow. Tonight we eat.”
“I’m a
ll for that.” She leaned the frame back on the mantel and wandered around the room, taking in all the antiquated decorations. His aunt always had an interesting way of decorating. “There are a lot of owls.”
“She liked owls.” His eyes roamed the room. Yeah, the owls were still creepy and overpowering. They were in every space—ceramic owls on the tables, stuffed owls on the floor, owl throw pillows lining the floral furniture, plaster owls and plates hanging on the walls. So far, no one had taken the time to dismantle the owl shrine.
He walked to the back of the room and got the owl bowl from the center of the dining table. Every day they had lived here, he’d come home from school and find that bowl filled with fruit. He’d sit at one end of the table and his mom would sit at the other. Him adding and subtracting. Her trolling newspapers, local and not-so- local, trying to find a job.
He walked into the kitchen and found a towel in a kitchen drawer. He ran the towel over the table and chairs before wiping the slippery grooves of the bowl. He’d never dismantle the owl shrine, either, it meant too much to him and to his mom, no matter how much he’d like to. He placed the bowl in the center of the table. ”Ready to eat, or did you want to call your sister first?”
“Eat.” She started poking her phone. “I’ll send her a text.”
He slid out the chair, and motioned for Brook to have a seat before he ran out the door to get their dinner. When he came back inside, the smell of pizza replaced the musty air as he dropped the box on the table. “Did you want this salad tonight, or should we save it for tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow is fine.” Her stomach growled. “A salad just isn’t going to cut it tonight.”
Yeah, he knew the feeling. Joe opened the box and then broke off two cans of soda.
She took a slice, cheese hanging down in oozing strings, and groaned as it hit her lips. “This is amazing.”
“It is.” He brought a piece to his mouth. Gooey cheese, sweet sauce, and cornbread crust melted in his mouth. “Mmmm…”He had missed this taste. Chicago had some kickass pizza, but still, nothing beat Uncle Tony’s. They ate in silence with the occasional groan mixed in. This was exactly what he needed after today.
Stark Raving Mad (Chicago's Finest Book 2) Page 20
