Taking Care of the Target

by Cindi Madsen

  Then she would truly be alone forever. She knew she needed to be careful, but she promised herself she’d get out there again. To try, even though the thought of starting over made her want to curl up in a ball and never move again.

  She glanced at Maude and Harold, who were seated on the same side of the booth, cozy and smiling at each other. It made her think about her theory on the kind of love that lasted for decades. Obviously they didn’t agree on everything, but the feistiness and love was still there. She might have to re-think her stance on the two types of love. Maybe it didn’t have to be one or the other.

  A pang went through her as she realized with her and Vince, it’d been the crazy-strong type, and they’d already had to let it go—another point for her original theory. She pressed a hand over her aching heart, hoping it’d eventually heal to a bearable level, even though she knew it’d never be completely whole again.

  If he can’t be with me, I’ll settle for him being safe.

  Just please, please, don’t let his plan end up getting him killed.

  ***

  With the feds watching, Carlo would be hard at work looking like a legitimate restaurant owner, so Vince headed to Rossi’s.

  Home shitty home, he thought as he parked the Jeep at the curb. New Jersey was so far from where he wanted to be it might as well be another planet. Time to shove those feelings aside and put on his game face. On the drive from Maryland, he’d gone over the story in his head until he knew it backward and forward.

  Now he just needed Carlo to buy it.

  Then he needed to go home and numb himself with as much alcohol as he could get his hands on, because every inch of him ached like he’d never ached before, and it had nothing to do with the stab wound in his side.

  For Cassie, for Bobby. For Cassie…

  He closed his eyes against the squeeze in his chest, but that only made him see her beautiful crying face as he’d left her in that bus station. He’d camped out where he could see the buses to make sure she got on one, and it’d nearly killed him to not go after her. If it weren’t the only way to keep his promise to keep her safe, he would’ve.

  “Here goes nothing,” he muttered to himself and got out of the Jeep. Snow flurries fell from the sky, giving the night a peaceful snow globe effect it didn’t deserve. The tiny specks of white melted as soon as they hit his bare arms. Cold was good. Maybe it’d freeze the tangle of thoughts and emotions raging inside of him.

  Lifting his chin, he strode into Rossi’s like he owned the place. Mia stood behind the hostess stand, her usual greeting halfway out before her eyes widened. “Vince. Hey.”

  She must’ve been warned to watch for me. “Is Carlo here?”

  “Yeah, he’s in his office. You want me to tell him you’re here?”

  Vince ignored the question and made a beeline toward the back. He suddenly hated every table, every chair, every connected man that frequented the place, and the whole building in general.

  He stormed into Carlo’s office, and when his uncle looked up, his expression was almost identical to Mia’s. Under other circumstances, it might be satisfying to see him so shocked.

  Carlo’s hand moved under his desk; he’d recovered and gotten his hand around a gun, no doubt. “Vince? What happened? I’ve been trying to call you.”

  “Was that before or after you sent someone to kill Cassie while I was trying to take care of things?” He slammed his fists down on the desk and didn’t have to fake the anger now that Carlo was a few feet in front of him. “Who should I thank for almost killing me? I’m guessing it was a favor called into New York, but as you know, I have no problem heading down there and shaking things up. Why don’t you give me the name, because I’d love to return the favor. Or maybe you sent him for me, too, and I’m the dumbass who came strolling in for more.”

  “You know how it is,” Carlo said, trying the soothing, understanding voice tactic Vince had seen him use a hundred times, usually before he used his fists or brandished a weapon. “I had to be sure. Why don’t you just calm down? Let’s talk about what happened last night and go from there. First things first, is it done?”

  The slight twitch in Carlo’s arm told Vince that he’d tilted up the barrel of the gun, ready to fire through the desk if he “needed” to.

  “If you mean is Cassie dead, then yeah. Messier than I wanted it to be, thanks to the sniper mucking it up, but it’s done.” He had no idea what the hired thug had told Carlo, which forced him to walk a tricky line. “So? The shooter? I’m serious about having a talk with him.”

  “Trigger was just doing what I paid him to do, and I’m ordering you not to go after him. You’re supposed to be the cool-headed one, remember?”

  Vince paced the office, shaking his head. “Right now being the cool-headed one seems overrated. He fucked up my whole plan.”

  “If it makes you feel better, he got himself picked up by the police. He won’t talk, but I’m not sure he’ll walk. Now, back to Cassie. Tell me exactly what happened.”

  Vince ran a hand through his hair. “It was tougher than I thought it’d be, and I didn’t go at her as hard as I should’ve. So she freaked and pulled a knife on me. Bitch even stabbed me.” He lifted his shirt a few inches to show Carlo his injury. Thanks to Cassie’s generous gauze and tape job, it looked even worse than it was. He forced away thoughts of her and got back into character. “That made it easier.

  “But right as I got my hands around her neck, the shooting started,” he said, picking up his pacing again. “She tried to get away, and I went after her. The asshole sniper kept firing, so I got to dodge bullets as I chased her down, tackled her in the hall, and dragged her out the side-exit of the building. Ten fucking flights of stairs. By the end I was so mad, I just wanted it to be over. But there were too many people around, and I saw the cop lights, so I knocked her out, shoved her in my Jeep, and drove until I could find an isolated place to do it. I made it quick and clean, a bullet right through the head.”

  He swallowed back the toxic mix of fear and fury that image sent through him—he had to sell this. No cracks, no making the mistakes he had the first time he’d lied to keep Cassie safe. This was the way to ensure a death like that never became a reality.

  “So where is she?” Carlo asked.

  “I buried her out in the New Jersey Wildlife and Game refuge. I dug the grave deep, too. None of that sloppy stuff that gets people caught. No one will ever find her.”

  Carlo let out an audible sigh. “Good. I can breathe easier now.” The relief only lasted a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “Took you a long time. Why didn’t you answer your phone?”

  “I tossed it. You said the feds were sniffing around, and I was probably just getting paranoid, but I thought I had a tail for a while yesterday. Didn’t want them tracking me to Cassie before I could take care of her. And the ground was rock solid—took forever to dig the grave.

  “Then, as soon as I got home, I found Bobby detoxing hard and ready to crack, so I drove him to a rehab center just outside of Baltimore. We used a fake name so no one could trace him there, but I had to get him help before he ruined all of his progress.”

  Vince sank into the chair across from Carlo and rubbed at his eyes. “Let’s just say it’s been a long night and day.”

  “Sounds like. But I’m glad you got Bobby help, and hey, I’ll pay you back for whatever you fronted to check him in. I told you I’d take care of that.” Carlo ran both of his hands through his hair—finally abandoning his grip on his weapon was a good sign. “Man, that was too close for comfort. But now it’s done, and Dante’s bail’s been posted, so he’s out, and Uffizi will take care of the drug charges at his court date.

  “There for a bit, I was afraid he’d turned,” Carlo said. “The feds claimed to have an informant on the inside, so he was trying to get enough information to figure out who it was. He finally decided they were just bullshitting, using it to get him to talk. I think if the FBI had anything real, they’d have arreste
d me already. I’m not saying we don’t have to be careful, because I’m sure they’ll keep watching me for a while, but I think the worst is over.”

  “That’s a relief. I’m not sure I can handle any more problems right now.” Vince rubbed at his side. “She got the knife pretty deep, and the shoveling tore it open. I might need a day or two to recover.”

  “Rest up, you deserve it. You straight about New York and Trigger? I don’t want you going and causing trouble over there.”

  “I’m straight,” Vince said through gritted teeth. “Still pissed, but I’ll get over it. Especially when I think about him sitting in a cell.”

  Carlo chuckled. “Good, good. And Vince, for what it’s worth…I didn’t want to send the sniper, but I had to be sure. I’m just glad it all worked out in the end.”

  Yeah. Your definition of “all worked out” and mine are a bit different, considering you obviously didn’t care if I lived or died.

  Vince leaned his forearms on his knees and looked at the ground, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it. “Honestly, after spending all that time with Cassie, I got a little attached to her. Even after everything, including her stabbing me… It wasn’t easy pulling the trigger and dealing with her body. I want to make you proud—make my dad proud—but maybe I just don’t have what it takes.”

  “The first one’s the hardest, and then a hard one only comes along once in a while.” Carlo swiped a hand through the air. “You get used to it. And if we need to, I know a guy. Or ten.” He laughed, and Vince smiled as acid ate through his insides. “Last night you proved you do got what it takes. But tell you what… If after six months, you wanna go straight, the restaurant will still be there for you.”

  It was a lie. Once you were in, you were in for life, even if Carlo made it a short one. “Sounds good.” Vince stood and rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m dead on my feet, and my bed’s been calling my name for hours. I’ll get a new phone tomorrow and call you with the number. Will the restaurant be okay? Because I could—”

  “Everything will be okay. You’ll see.”

  No, you’re going to see that you’re not the only person in this family who shouldn’t be crossed.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The bus was finally on its last leg of the trip to Oklahoma City. Cassie had hardly slept during the past twenty-four hours. Partly because the bus made frequent stops that jarred her awake, but mostly because it was difficult to get her mind to stop spinning.

  With her memories back, she started wondering how she could’ve misjudged Mr. Rossi so greatly. How many of his meetings had involved hurting people? Now she knew the majority of them had revolved around illegal activities. She’d been too focused on her college classes to see the red flags. Well, classes and Vince—thinking straight around him had never been an option.

  I just let him leave to take on an entire arm of the Mafia and his own uncle. All because of my conscience. She couldn’t help that she wanted Mr. Rossi to be held responsible, but she didn’t want Vince to be the one who paid.

  What if he gets himself killed? She might never know, and the thought of that tortured her.

  “Hey, Katie,” Maude said, sitting in the seat next to Cassie. It still threw her off to be called the wrong name, and she wondered if she’d ever learn to respond before letting a couple of seconds tick by.

  Last pit stop she found out that Maude and Harold Hurst lived in Tulsa and had been in Maryland visiting their daughter and her family. Neither of them could drive very well in the dark, and Harold refused to take a plane because he didn’t trust an object that heavy to remain airborne, so they went most everywhere via bus. Not the mode of travel Cassie would choose, but Maude’s kindness and the couple’s funny interactions made the trip more bearable.

  “Harold’s asleep and I thought I’d come chat.” Maude pulled out knitting needles and a spool of red, yellow, and gold yarn that reminded Cassie of fall. “Helps with the arthritis,” she said as she started working on what looked to be a scarf.

  With her sitting this close, Cassie noticed a few rebellious strands of blond in the woman’s hair. Talk of her three children and five grandchildren accompanied the click of needles. After about twenty minutes of that, Maude lowered her knitting and glanced at Cassie. “I know you said you were going to Oklahoma City, but Tulsa’s nice, and well, I live there. You said you’ve worked as a waitress, right?”

  Maude pried that out last meal stop—well, she noticed how Cassie treated their server and guessed. Lying about that part of her past didn’t seem important. “Right,” Cassie said.

  “Harold bought a restaurant the year we married. Little place called Front Range Steakhouse. Spent most of our lives working there, too, and when we got too slow to keep up, my son Levi took over. Owen, my oldest grandkid, works there as well. I could easily put in a good word for you.”

  “Oh, that’s okay.”

  At the utterly distraught look on Maude’s face, Cassie said, “I mean, I’ll think about it. It’s just that I might not be stopping in Oklahoma permanently.”

  She’d already ignored Vince’s instructions to transfer to another destination at one of the connections. She meant to do it in Missouri, but Maude and Harold had roped her into eating breakfast with them, and she didn’t want to leave their familiar faces behind quite yet. Not to mention she’d been too exhausted to deal with changing the ticket anyway. She figured Oklahoma was as good a place as any to pick a new destination.

  And maybe, just maybe, she held out hope that if she didn’t veer too far from her original path, Vince would find her someday.

  He’d probably say that meant anyone could find her, but who would know she was going under Kate Jones besides him? Since he wasn’t here in person to demand she follow his instructions, either, then it was just too damn bad for him. Technically, stopping early in Tulsa was sorta, kinda following his instructions. She also hated job interviews with a passion, and this one was pretty much being offered up on a silver platter.

  “You know what? I’d love a job,” Cassie said. “As long as you think your son will be okay with it.”

  “He’s okay with whatever I tell him to be okay with.” Maude patted Cassie’s hand. “We’ll get you settled and all fixed up, just you wait.”

  Having a plan calmed Cassie’s frayed nerves a bit, and she needed every ounce of calm she could get. A job wouldn’t fix everything, but it was a start. Besides, she didn’t think she’d find another Maude out there, and she was already becoming attached.

  If the options were start from ground zero totally alone or get a little help from Maude in a place that didn’t veer off the bus path very far and might make it easier for Vince find her one day, the risk seemed worth it.

  ***

  Vince parked down the road from Rossi’s, waiting for Carlo’s tail. Carlo pulled up to the restaurant and headed inside. A couple of minutes later a beat-up brown car with tinted windows turned onto the street and parked a few blocks down.

  Were they seriously just hoping to spot Carlo doing illegal activities through the brick walls of the restaurant? Or did they think he wouldn’t notice them and go down to the docks in the middle of the day so they could get it all on video?

  Whatever they were doing, it obviously wasn’t working. They also had an unmarked car watching Vince’s house—not surprising considering Cassie’s sudden disappearance. Enough people knew he’d been with her to lead police or feds or whoever was looking into it to at least question him. Since he didn’t want that to happen quite yet, he’d stayed in a cheap motel last night, with no Cassie to keep him company. Talk about adding insult to injury.

  Vince pulled the bill of his baseball cap lower, walked over to the brown car, and tapped a knuckle on the driver’s side window. It unrolled a couple of inches, revealing a man with a hard look to him, the kind that suggested he’d seen his fair share of action over the years. He also had his hand on the handle of his gun.

  The passenger craned his neck to get a
peek, and Vince immediately recognized him. “If it isn’t my favorite P.I. Fancy seeing you here with a federal agent as a partner. Guess you’re moving up in the world.”

  Vince stepped back, lifted his shirt, and spun around to show them he wasn’t armed. Then he leaned in again. “Why don’t we take a ride and have a little talk?”

  “Funny, because I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” the driver said. “I think it’s more of a down at the station talk, though.”

  “That’s fine if you’re happy with how your investigation’s going. If not, I’d suggest choosing the ride option. Just know the longer you think it over, the more likely someone will see me talking to you, and then we’ll both be SOL.”

  The locks disengaged with a click, and Vince ducked into the backseat. Mr. Fake P.I. turned and aimed a gun at him as the driver pulled away from the curb and took the next side street. “I’m Special Agent McVee,” the driver said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror, “and my partner’s Agent Mancini.”

  “You guys aren’t being as conspicuous as you’d like to believe,” Vince said. “I spotted you from a mile away. Same with the car watching my house.”

  Mancini looked like he wanted to argue but kept his mouth closed. It wasn’t like Vince thought they’d give away their secrets, but he would like to know he’d chosen competent people. Not some green agent he’d been able to easily sneak up on. At least the driver seemed better. But he didn’t need better. He needed the best.

  McVee pulled off in an alley and twisted in his seat. “So, Mr. DaMarco. I don’t suppose you know where Cassandra Dalton is?”

  “Let’s skip the bullshit and get right to it.” Despite what he just said, the words weren’t as easy to force out as he’d expected. He could hear Carlo and his men referring to rats with disgust. Even out of the biz, he’d often wondered what kind of person turned on their friends and family. Dad had to be rolling over in his grave right now—that dug at him the most.