by Cindi Madsen
Vince tried not to think about how what he was doing tonight might hurt Bobby in the long run. He’d have to warn him somehow and hope he was coherent enough to listen.
A junkie brother and a mob boss uncle who sends me to kill a sweet, innocent girl. I really hit the family lotto.
The last pin clicked into place, and he held his breath, listening again. Maybe they’d moved Cassie to a safe house or were quickly entering her into the witness protection program. It would be the smart thing to do, as long as none of the agents Carlo had in his pocket found out the location. But his uncle’s contacts ran long and deep, which gave him little faith in either option.
After taking a quick glance around, Vince drew his gun and eased the door open. He supposed he should’ve worn some type of mask, but he was afraid it would scare Cassie and make everything more difficult. Of course, he was fairly certain she’d seen him the day Carlo shot Eduardo Alvarez in the alley, so she’d be scared anyway, and that meant he’d probably have to end up using force.
Another thing to push to the back of his mind—it wouldn’t do him any good right now. First find her, then deal with the other part.
Complete darkness greeted him, the blinds drawn tight enough to shut out the almost non-existent lights of the ghetto apartment complex she had no business living in in the first place.
If she’s already asleep, this might be easier than I thought. His foot hit something solid, the thunk loud in the quiet. Boxes. All over the floor. Carefully stepping over them, he made his way to the living room. More boxes and the dark outline of a couch.
He crept down the hall, gripped the knob to the bedroom door with one hand and his gun with the other, and then pushed it open and moved inside.
The few missing slats in the blinds let in enough light to see the bed was empty—stripped of its bedding, too, only a bare mattress remaining. Vince checked the closet just to be sure, and then flipped on the light to get a better look.
More labeled boxes sat on the floor. Of course she’s not here. Cassie’s smarter than that.
He put the safety on his gun and slid it back into his holster. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
He poked around, trying to find something that would clue him in on where she might go, and then moved to leave. He had his hand on the knob when a knock came at the front door. He quickly flattened himself against the wall, drawing his gun again.
“Cassandra Dalton?”
The voice was male, but he didn’t recognize it. The cool, hard handle of his gun dug into his palm as he gripped it tighter. He wanted to peek out but wasn’t willing to risk blowing his location.
Another loud rapping of knuckles split the air. The need to breathe hit Vince strong, so he let an exhale leak out and then sucked in a mouthful of air, careful to remain perfectly still.
Finally, the guy gave up, his footsteps retreating from the door.
Looks like I’m not the only one looking for Cassie. Vince moved the blinds aside, trying to get a look at the guy; surely Carlo didn’t send someone else already. With the dim lighting, the night swallowed up the dark outline within seconds.
Once Vince reached the parking lot, he glanced around for Cassie’s car and noted it wasn’t there—her ride definitely stuck out. He wondered how hard it’d be to find with nothing but make and model. Unlike Carlo, he didn’t have any cop friends. After all the trouble he’d gotten into in high school, he avoided pigs at all costs.
He fired up the engine to his Jeep. He couldn’t help wishing that Carlo would drop the search for Cassie now that it’d obviously become more complicated. Just leave it to his well-paid lawyer to work his magic if charges came up, but Vince knew better. His uncle never left loose ends, and he wouldn’t stop until Cassie was found and killed.
No… unfortunately this didn’t change anything.
Looked like he’d have to do the one thing he swore he’d never do—fully jump into the side of the business he hated so he could get access to information he needed. That way, when Cassie was inevitably found, Vince would be the first to know.
Then he’d make sure he got to her before anyone else could.
Chapter Seven
“Gone?” Carlo banged his fist on his large mahogany desk, rattling the cigar ashtray he used when he didn’t feel like going to the alley. “Where the fuck did she go?”
Vince thought this might be a new record—Carlo showing up to the restaurant this many days in a row, not the losing his temper when he got bad news part.
“Everything was packed up,” Vince said with a shrug. “I doubt she’ll be going back. She’s smarter than that.”
Please let her be smarter than that.
Or should I hope that she’s not so I can get to her easier? His emotions couldn’t decide which to cheer for. Every option had shitty sides, and the longer it was drawn out, the worse it’d be, yet the farther away she could get. Then maybe the mess would die down and just go away.
It was a big fucking maybe.
“What about all of the boxes?” Carlo asked. “Someone has to get them, don’t they?”
“I’ll keep an eye on the place, but her car’s gone, too.”
“What kind of car was it?”
Dammit. He’d been trying to convince Carlo she was gone, not give him more information to track her down. “I don’t remember,” he lied. “It was an old white car. I bet they got rid of it. By now she’s probably got a brand new identity and is holed up far away from here.”
Carlo stuck his chin on his fist. “If she’s talked and tucked away already, why hasn’t the cavalry come charging in? I keep waiting for them to, which is why I’m here showing what a hard-working responsible restaurant owner I am. My sources haven’t heard anything, either.” He ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair, his fat gold wedding band catching the light.
Vince rubbed his jaw. “Maybe she didn’t talk. Maybe as soon as she was released from the hospital, she just got the hell out of Dodge.” Would she do that? No doubt she’d be scared, but she also seemed like the responsible type who’d feel guilty if she didn’t report something like witnessing a murder.
Then again, survival instincts were a hell of a thing. After all, they’d driven him to do things he wasn’t proud of.
Carlo took a burner phone out of his desk and scowled at nothing in particular while he waited for whoever he’d dialed to answer. “Sal. Get over to Cassie’s apartment complex on Prospect and watch the place.”
Vince took a step forward, panic rising hot and fast. “You said you’d let me do it. I don’t want any of your goons to go in and mess it up.”
Carlo narrowed his eyes. He twisted the mouthpiece up and in a low voice said, “Watch yourself. I know what I promised. I need you here running the restaurant. Let Sal do something useful for once.”
The springs of the seat squeaked lightly as Carlo sat back and moved the phone back into place. “If you see her, you stay on her. Find out where she’s staying and how many people are watching.”
Vince couldn’t make out what Sal said in return.
“Watch and report, that’s it for now. Capisce?” Carlo rolled his eyes. “Make sure that you do.” He ended the call, pulled a cigar out of his desk drawer, and ran it under his nose. He looked up at Vince almost as if he’d forgotten he was there, although Vince knew better. He was drawing it out, enjoying the power and making him pay for his outburst.
Clenching his fists to control his temper, Vince remained in place. If Carlo wanted an apology, he could wait for hell to turn chilly. Apologizing would show weakness anyway, and Carlo loved testing people. Loved seeing who’d suck up and who’d hold their ground.
“Don’t worry,” Carlo finally said. “You’ll know as soon as I know.”
Vince nodded and turned to get back to the restaurant, sure it’d be impossible to focus. The one thing that made him feel slightly better was knowing how unlikely it’d be for Cassie to ever go back to that apartment again.
***
People more experienced in being bold might scoff at Cassie’s risk-taking, but she needed to get to her old apartment complex, and she thought driving around without a license made her at least half a badass.
Half an ass. That’s giving me some weird imagery. Being overly analytical about a statement she’d made in her head probably dropped her down to more like one-third badass. Considering she also planned on calling Tom to help her get out of a ticket if she did get pulled over, that number probably needed dividing as well.
One sixth of a badass is still more than I was before. Pulling off any sort of cool title in her ’78 Dodge Aspen was a feat in and of itself. The thing was a total beater, but it ran, was paid off, and never failed to get her from point A to point B. Surely Tom had known she’d drive it when he brought it from the impound lot for her last night; his knock had woken her up, and when she tried to lay down again after he left, her instincts wouldn’t stop screaming that something wasn’t right.
The frantic impulse to leave beat out logic, and she’d grabbed the necessities and driven to Hudson Grove Apartments. The landlord there was not only friendly—despite it being after office hours—but had also given her a key without threatening to charge for it, and showed her to her new apartment. Without her furniture, she’d made do with the carpet and Mom’s quilt for a bed.
The engine’s loud roar as she accelerated made it hard to hear the radio, so Cassie twisted the knob, turning it up so she could decide if she liked the current track. Most of the songs were new to her, which was kind of nice while also being disconcerting.
At the stoplight, she checked the time. The movers should be at her old place in about twenty minutes, so she’d beat them there by about ten.
This day had been forever long, and while she’d accomplished quite a bit, she was already exhausted with a lot left to do. First thing this morning she’d gone to campus and found her schedule—she had all but two textbooks for her classes, but when she’d cracked open the spines, everything had looked so foreign it might as well have been another language. After an hour of trying a combination of speed-reading and osmosis, she’d returned to the registrar and dropped her classes. It physically hurt her to do it after being so happy to discover she’d finally started college, but trying to cram two and a half months of material while getting her life back in order would only lead to failing grades.
The lady at the registrar took pity and refunded half her tuition. Apparently part of it was paid by a scholarship, and she said they’d apply it next semester if Cassie came back.
The pang of feeling like a failure hit her again. It’s okay. I’ll brush up on the year and a half’s worth of classes I got credit for already and then try again.
After she left campus, she used the stash of money she found in her dresser and headed to the eye doctor. The good thing about waiting tables was having a lot of cash on hand, and judging from the wad of bills, she’d kept the career. Or become a stripper, which was extremely unlikely, as just the thought made her want to internally combust from embarrassment. She’d check into her last job when she had internet connection and could log into her bank accounts. With any luck, they and her passwords were the same.
For now, she was just happy to have exchanged the ancient brain-squeezer glasses for black rectangle frames. They had a pink “color pop” on the inside, and she decided she was totally going to start wearing more color on the outside, too.
“Oh crap, was that my turn?” Cassie made a frowned-upon U-turn she was pretty sure bumped her back up to one-third a badass, and then pulled over in front of her old apartment complex.
She climbed out of her car and took a deep breath of fresh air. Fall was her favorite season; it wasn’t too hot or too cold and the world decided to try on brighter colors itself. She leaned against her hood to wait for the movers. Sometime in the near future, she needed to get a phone—the moving company had a hard time believing she didn’t have one, and even though she received hesitant looks, they finally accepted her pinky promise that she’d be there when they arrived.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a guy coming up the sidewalk. She straightened, suddenly feeling vulnerable out here by herself, especially with Tom’s words about it being a bad neighborhood running through her mind.
Usually she avoided eye contact, but self-defense tips all said not to, so the person knew you could ID them.
So, gathering her courage, she looked straight at him and assessed him the way she would if she were to give a description. Thin, pointed nose, greasy-looking dark hair—ew—and a foot or so taller than she. His eyes widened when he met her gaze. Goosebumps pricked her skin, and her heart hitched up a few notches.
Then a large moving van pulled up, its engine as loud as her car’s. The guy in the van unrolled the window. “Looks like you kept your promise.”
She smiled, batting away the heat trying to climb up her neck. “I always do.”
As the movers exited the truck, Cassie glanced back toward where the other guy had been on the sidewalk, but he wasn’t there any longer.
Hmm. That trick about making eye contact totally worked.
Several hours later, Cassie stood in the middle of her new apartment. The place wasn’t any bigger than her other one—in fact, it might be a tad smaller—but the kitchen had more counter space, a U-shaped area around the oven, fridge, and dishwasher; it was in a safer neighborhood where the main doors faced an inside hall, which made her feel more secure, and it wasn’t like she needed much space anyway.
Then there was her favorite feature: the huge living room window. When it was sunny, it lit up not only this room but also her kitchen. She stepped closer to the glass. Her tenth-floor apartment was level with the roof of the complex across the street, and just beyond that, ran the Delaware River. If she lowered her gaze, she could see into the lit up apartments that didn’t have their blinds drawn. They could probably see into hers as well, and she reminded herself to get curtains, even if shutting out the amazing view seemed like a crime.
Cassie walked backward until her knees hit the couch. Then she flopped onto the cushions and thought she might never move again. The hardest part’s over, and at least I feel safe for the first time since I woke up in the hospital.
Before her eyelids decided to shut down on her, she pulled up her bank accounts on her rather nice laptop. She’d worked long enough as a server that she recognized wimpy waitress paychecks when she saw them, even before she read the restaurant’s name to the side of the amounts.
Every couple of weeks she’d received a modest check from ROSSI’S RISTORANTE PAYROLL PPD, and then she made deposits once or twice a month. The balances in both her checking and savings weren’t great, but not completely desolate.
Plus, she still had a significant stash in her dresser. If she didn’t have so many bills to pay off, she’d actually be in a good place financially. But since bills would only keep coming, she needed a job, either her old one or a new one.
She stretched, glad she wasn’t so stiff anymore—she worried the moving and rearranging would’ve made her worse, but it seemed to loosen her up instead. Her bruises were mostly gone, all but one on her right hip that was at the ugly purple and yellow stage. Sometimes it still seemed unreal that a truck had hit her.
All things considered, she’d come out pretty well. If only her memories would return, she’d be no worse for wear.
Tomorrow I’ll go see if Rossi’s has my spot open still, and before you know it, my life will be back to semi-normal.
Chapter Eight
Carlo was enjoying his Cuban cigar in the alley behind the restaurant when the back door burst open with so much force it clanged against the wall. So much for a few minutes of peace and quiet.
Even before Sal spoke, the smug look on his face had Carlo fighting the urge to smack him upside the head. The guy was loyal as they came, which was why he’d promoted him through the ranks, but he was also like a gnat, this tiny
buzzing creature that wouldn’t leave you alone. He talked about himself in third person, too, which was annoying as shit.
Carlo blew out a ring of smoke and then tapped the ashes off the end of his cigar, making sure not to get any on his new sport coat. “You going to stand there grinning like an idiot, or you going to spit it out?”
“Sal found her.” His snake oil smile widened. “Sal found Cassie. She didn’t even change her name. I did just what you said. Watched her old place, and when the moving truck came, she was there.” His forehead wrinkled. “It was weird, Boss. She looked right at me, but it was like she didn’t recognize me…She tensed, but she didn’t run. Just made eye contact and stood her ground. Almost like a challenge.”
Carlo had no idea what to make of that. Unless she had damn good protection, surely she would’ve fled—even with, she should’ve shouted for help. She was sweet as they came, but he’d never thought of her as particularly brave. Then again, Allegra had tried to scare her away, and Cassie had shaken it off. This wasn’t his pushy wife, though. This was a guy who’d shot at her the last time she’d seen him.
“She have an escort?”
“I didn’t see one. The new complex I followed her to is locked up pretty tight; it’d be hard to get in and out completely unnoticed. Not that Sal couldn’t do it, but I’m thinking it’d be easier to hit her when she leaves.”
