“How long before your parents call and find out Vincent’s missing?”
They were in his truck on their way back to the hotel.
Ally glanced out the window. “They don’t call more than once a month. Maybe an email once a week, but usually it’s to me, asking for updates and business reports.”
Trey maneuvered through the slow traffic, cutting into side alleys to avoid the worst of it. “That’s cold. I’d have thought they would want to stay close, given their attachment to Vincent.”
“It’s a push-me, pull-you situation. They want updates but are trying as hard as they can to keep us at arm’s length, give us the authority to run the company without looking over our shoulders. It’s not good business practice to be second-guessed by the previous boss, especially if it’s family.”
“While Vincent’s been drinking and gambling and…” He cut off the last of the sentence.
Ally nodded. “Oh, yes—I’m sure there’s more than one woman around somewhere with Vincent’s phone number scribbled on a napkin. That I can’t do anything about.” She gazed outside. “I have to defend him to everyone else—I don’t want to keep doing it to you. He might be a jerk, but he was there for me at the worst time in my life. I just want him back.”
Trey focused on the traffic, tamping down the words threatening to break free.
Most of them unfit for shared company.
Ally politely refused his offer to go out for lunch, pointing at the amount of extra work on her plate. Trey ordered a sandwich and soup for lunch, continuing to have the waiter leave it outside the door to keep up the ruse of Vincent’s sickness. After eating, he settled in with his laptop in the shared area, letting Ally work alone in her suite. Edgar came in once to take a shower and change his clothing. The heat was taking its toll on the older man.
“Can’t understand it. I served my time in the dry,” Edgar muttered to Trey, toweling off his head. “Getting soft.”
“No luck yet.” Trey said it as a statement of fact, not a question.
“No.” Edgar folded the towel. “Saw a few of your friends. They’re…interesting folk.”
“Really.”
“Really,” Edgar said. “You and I, you and them—I can see they’re ready under the surface, the training still turning inside their minds.” His eyes narrowed. “Pretty badass for a bunch of club bouncers.”
“We found each other after we got out. Friends taking care of friends.” It was the usual explanation given for the Brotherhood, tripping with ease off his lips.
Edgar gave him the side-eye and headed for the door. “I’ll be back later. She’s in for the night, I figure.”
“Doesn’t she ever go out?” Trey asked.
“Not often enough in my book. She’s always working late, cleaning up Vincent’s messes.” Edgar shook his head. “Seems we all are.”
Trey pressed his lips into a tight line, returning his attention to his laptop screen. There was still plenty of work to keep him busy—the Devil’s Playground didn’t run itself—and the mundane checks and balances kept his mind occupied. Add in some light Brotherhood work, ongoing surveillance tasks such as keeping an eye on the Wolf’s Teeth and Molodavi, and he didn’t have time to consider the woman a heartbeat away.
Or at least, that’s what he kept trying to tell himself.
Chapter Ten
The shrill ring tone woke her, as it was supposed to do. She jerked her head up, glancing at the laptop screen.
It was past eleven o’clock. The only people who would be calling at this time…
Ally’s heart leaped into her throat as she stumbled across the room to dig the phone out of her jacket pocket.
New York, maybe. Someone at the office needing help, working late.
The ball of fear at the back of her mind grew like a balloon, pushing all other thoughts away.
Yes. No.
She’d fallen asleep at the desk, doing her own double-check of the accountants’ report in an attempt to shake off the growing shadows muddying her thoughts.
How did we miss this? What else haven’t we found yet?
The phone shrieked again, wiping out the last of her thick thoughts.
She stared at the screen, not recognizing the number at first. A swipe of her finger opened the connection.
“Hello?”
“It’s Jessie Lyon.” There was no pause for a response. “I’ve got some news. I’ll meet you in your hotel room in twenty minutes.”
“What…”
“You’ll want Edgar present. Along with Trey,” Jessie added.
Her stomach twisted, the long-finished pizza threatening to return. “Oh, God.”
“Listen to me,” Jessie said in short, sharp bites. “Call Edgar and tell him to come back to the hotel if he’s not there already. Call Trey. I’ll be there soon. You need someone there with you.”
The line went dead.
She stabbed at the phone with shaking fingers, tapping in Edgar’s number with the last of her strength.
…
Trey woke to the sound of the front door opening, the one leading into the hallway. Edgar stepped through, shot him a glance, and continued into his own room. His face was wet with sweat, his hair plastered to his head.
Trey’s phone rang before he could call out to the handler. He snatched up the cell from the side table.
He stabbed a finger at the screen. “Pierce.”
“It’s Dylan.”
The tone shot him into full alert. He threw off the sheets and reached for his clothing, tucking the phone under his chin.
Edgar charged out of the bedroom and past Trey, heading into the shared suite as he tugged a clean T-shirt over his head.
Trey felt a familiar chill through his bones. “What’s wrong?”
“Jessie’s on her way over. She found a body in Henderson. Son of a bitch fell on the train tracks, all torn up.”
That was Dylan. Straight and to the point.
“Shit.” Trey went into the bathroom. “Any confirmation as to his identity?”
“No. Face is ripped up.”
“Should be easy to check for his tattoos.”
“Ever see what train wheels can do to a human body?” Dylan kept speaking, not waiting for an answer. “Bastard got shredded, dragged under the train cars. Only real identifiable body part is the torso, and even that’s going to be a stretch. Jessie’s running it down. She should be there in a few minutes to talk to Ally.”
“Damn.” Trey turned the taps on. “How much does she know?”
“Not as much as you do—Jessie doesn’t like delivering this sort of news over the phone. She’s coming to tell her in person, make the offer to take her to the morgue in Henderson. We’ve got the coroner’s photographs if she wants to try and avoid seeing the actual body. Is Edgar there?”
“Just burst through here like a cattle stampede. He’s with her now.” Trey splashed cold water on his face. “I’ve got to go see Ally. She’s going to need help whether it’s Vincent or not.” He hesitated, unsure which outcome he wanted.
“What are you going to do if it is him?” Dylan asked. “Is that going to be enough for you?”
Trey grabbed for a towel, noting the dark circles under his eyes. “I guess it’ll have to be.”
“Talk to you later.” Dylan cut the connection.
Trey went to the door leading to the adjoining living room. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, listening.
Edgar’s voice drifted through, the low mumbling rolling on and on. He couldn’t make out the words but suspected the bodyguard/handler was doing his best to soothe Ally’s jangled nerves before Jessie’s arrival.
Trey opened the door and saw Ally sitting on the couch. She had on the same outfit from their earlier meeting.
She hadn’t faltered in her vigil, waiting for news.
He slipped into the living room, closing the door behind him with a light click.
Ally gazed up at Trey, her lower lip trembling. Her ey
es were red, and she held Edgar’s hand tight.
It hit him hard in the gut, the guilt almost overwhelming.
He didn’t want Vincent dead.
But he’d told Dylan he’d be fine if the bastard was, not thinking of the collateral damage it’d do to Ally.
Trey cleared his throat. “Dylan called, brought me up to speed. Jessie’s on her way,” he said. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions until she arrives and has her say.”
“What did he tell you?” Edgar demanded. “What do you know?”
“Nothing.” He wasn’t going to do this without Jessie present—he couldn’t handle it alone.
“You think he’s dead?” Edgar said.
“What I think doesn’t matter. No use guessing about anything until we have confirmation.”
Ally closed her eyes.
“Just hold on until Jessie gets here.” Trey sat beside her, cocooning Ally between Edgar and himself. “She’s a straight shooter. She won’t lie to you.” He took her other hand. “I won’t lie to you.”
The second the words left his mouth he regretted them, angry with himself.
A rap at the door had Edgar rising to answer it. He released Ally’s hand with a glance at Trey.
You know what’s coming, the look said. We’ve both been there when it goes bad. When someone finds out their loved one’s not coming back.
Get ready.
Ally spun and looked at Trey. “Don’t make any promises you can’t keep,” she whispered as Edgar opened the door.
Her words shocked him, held him in place as Jessie entered. She wore her usual leather jacket and jeans, and clutched a file folder in her hand.
“I’m sorry about calling so late, but I wasn’t about to leave this until morning.” She sat beside Ally without invitation. “I ended up in Henderson, following up on a lead. A John Doe turned up in the local morgue matching Vincent’s general description. There was no identification, and no one else has reported anyone missing in the area. A long shot, but I figured you’d want to know right away.”
“You guessed correctly. I do.” Ally drew a shuddering breath. “I assumed the worst when you called.” She touched the folder. “Are these pictures of the body?”
“Yes.” Jessie held the file closed. “Before we proceed, let me explain. They found this man after a train hit him. There was no wallet, no way to put a name to him. Now, you have a choice. We can look at the photographs first, and if you fear it’s Vincent, we can drive to Henderson and view the actual body.” Her grip intensified on the file. “I won’t sugarcoat it. They’re pretty gruesome.”
“The tattoos. Vincent—”
Jessie shook her head. “The train… There was a lot of damage to the body, including the face. You gave us a description of his tattoos, but his arms were disfigured, too much for any clear identification at this point. The coroner’s trying to do a reconstruction, but that’ll take time. We can do DNA testing, instead, if you’d like, put a rush on it but…”
“No.” Ally pressed her lips into a tight line. “I can’t wait that long.” She took the file out of Jessie’s hands and opened it.
The color images spilled out, falling off her lap and onto the floor. Edgar, who had been standing off to the side, bent down and picked some up, as did Trey.
Jessie took hold of the thin cardboard folder, holding the remainder in place. She said nothing, watching Ally.
Trey stared at the gory images in his hands.
“Jesus,” Edgar whispered, the single word serving double duty as a prayer and a curse.
Trey’s previous skepticism about being unable to identify the body by the tattoos/birthmark fell away as he stared at the shredded flesh. The train had torn the anonymous man into pieces, battered and ripped by the undercarriage and the relentless steel wheels grinding over bone. There was barely enough to make out the body’s gender, much less identify him by any tattoos or birthmarks.
He’d been in battle, seen people shredded by IUDs and destroyed almost whole by bombs going off under their feet. This was almost as bad, if not worse.
Jessie cleared her throat as Ally flipped through the photographs, the body parts displayed on a cold, steel table. “They think he passed out and fell asleep on the tracks, didn’t hear the train.” She met Trey’s eyes.
They think he didn’t wake up, he translated from her gaze. They think he didn’t wake up as the steel wheels ripped him apart, mutilating his body and shredding him to bloody, gory bits. They think he died in a second, unable to comprehend what was going on.
They think.
You hope.
Ally reached out and took the photographs from Trey and Edgar in silence. She went through the images, not blinking or flinching as she studied them, taking her time with each one. She closed the folder almost five minutes later and gave it back to Jessie.
“Not him. A mole’s missing, here—in his right armpit. I asked him once why he didn’t have it removed, and he told me he didn’t want to deal with the bandage.” Her voice rose slightly, the pitch higher. “There’s a tiny scar here on this man, under the belly button. I’d remember him getting stitches for that wound, including any surgery.”
“Are you sure? His body type matches the details you gave me in the office.” Jessie asked. She collected the last of the images and put the folder on the table. “I don’t mean to push, but…”
“I’m sure,” Ally snapped. Her hand went to her forehead, her cheeks reddening in response to her sharp answer. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s okay,” Jessie said. “This isn’t something anyone should have to deal with. If you’re sure, then we’ll move on.”
“Please.” Ally drew a deep breath. “Please keep me updated if anyone does claim that body. I’d like to make sure he’s taken care of if his family can’t be found.” She stared at the folder. “Everyone deserves a proper burial. Least I can do for the poor man.”
“I’ll inform the coroner.” Jessie got to her feet, collecting the file. “And I’ll keep you updated. I’m very sorry for upsetting you.”
“No, no.” Ally waved her off. “You’re doing your job.” She drew a ragged breath. “At least he’s not dead. That’s something.”
“Yes, it is. I’m also putting kidnapping on the back burner as far as theories go—I haven’t seen any sign that he was taken against his will. However, I do recommend you keep a bodyguard on hand just in case. Better to be safe than sorry.” She nodded at Edgar. “I’m sure you agree.”
“Definitely.”
“Right. I’m going back on the road. I’ll call if I find anything else.” Jessie gestured at Trey. “Can I talk to you outside?”
“You got it.” He stroked Ally’s arm, the trembling subsiding under his touch. “I’ll be right back.” He followed Jessie out into the hallway.
She closed the door, sealing them away from Edgar and Ally.
Jessie let out a sigh, shaking her head. “I hate this part of the job. Hated it when I was a cop and hate it even more now.” She rubbed her eyes. “Damn it, this guy’s gone deep to ground. I’m running out of contacts and Dylan’s running out of men.”
“Where the hell did Vincent go?” he mused.
“No idea. I was telling the truth about the kidnapping. I think Vincent’s off on a drunken gambling binge, but I don’t want to put her at any risk if I’m wrong. I’m following some leads on underground poker games, big money. These guys don’t advertise, and the games are invitation-only, which makes it that much harder to track them down. I hope he didn’t piss anyone important off. Otherwise we might never find a body.”
“Do you want me to come back to the club?” he asked. “I can help out, make phone calls and access surveillance cameras, maybe dig into the LAPD database, spread it down the coast to San Diego.” Trey nudged a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ve been working remotely but…”
She put her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll be fine. I know how long you’ve been looking for this
tattoo. How do you think I felt when I saw that picture? Took all I had not to start interrogating her about Vincent.” She continued, not waiting for his response. “Ally’s not only his family, but she’s also a woman, alone and worried as hell. She needs you to be here, keeping her safe until we bring him back. Trust me on this.”
“When did you become a psychic?”
“Since I started hanging out with you and Dylan.” She tapped her nose. “I’ve been studying your tricks.” She rose up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “I’m back out on the road. I’ll call if there are any updates.”
He watched her trot down the corridor, wondering if Dylan had any idea how lucky he was.
Trey walked back in to see Edgar sitting next to Ally, his arm around her shoulders. He rose from the sofa when Trey came in.
“Can I get you anything?” Edgar murmured to her.
“A stiff drink. But since I shouldn’t, it’ll have to be water.”
Edgar went to the small bar. “Right, then. Gin and tonic without the gin. I’ll even put in some ice to liven things up. Maybe a squirt of lemon and go wild.” He busied himself with slicing up a fresh lemon, the short angry jabs with the paring knife showing his inner frustration.
“Jessie’s good at her job.” Ally looked at the door then at Trey. “Glad I found her.” Her smile was weak but heartwarming. “And you.”
It was a one-two punch to his heart.
Edgar returned from the small bar, handing her a glass filled with ice and water. A thick slice of lemon floated inside.
She sipped, closing her eyes with a deep sigh as she curled both hands around the glass. Edgar retreated back to the minibar and busied himself with making his own drink.
Trey studied her. He’d lost men in battle, had to deliver the devastating news to family and friends.
Except this, this was worse. This was the not-knowing, no idea of what had happened. No closure, no resolution.
She stared at him, and he blinked, suddenly aware he’d been caught with his emotions hanging out.
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