Tell It Like It Is

by Stanalei Fletcher

  “Is she all tucked in for the night?” He looked up from working on his laptop.

  “I’m not her nursemaid, but yes. I do believe she’s settled for the evening.” She walked to the cupboard, pulled out a mug, and poured some coffee. “I’ll check on her in an hour and see if she needs anything.”

  Kane chuckled. “Not her nursemaid, eh?”

  Shelby added some sugar to the coffee. “Keep it up, FBI. I’ll make you go up and tell her a bedtime story.”

  He shook his head. “She’s the only storyteller in the family. The rest of us stick to the facts, not fiction.”

  “The rest of you?” She somehow hadn’t thought of Kane with more family.

  “My dad and brother.” Kane stood and crossed to the counter. “We’re all that Aunt Rosalee has left.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother. I thought it was just you and your dad.”

  “Nigel is in Afghanistan.” Kane’s statement was blunt.

  “Boots on the ground?”

  “Logistics.” He grabbed a mug and reached for the coffee pot. “Doesn’t make it easier, thinking of my kid brother in a war zone. At least he’s not busting in terrorists’ doors.”

  In an effort to put distance between her and Kane, Shelby moved to sit at the other side of the table. “That must be hard on your family, so close to the holidays.” She couldn’t think of anything more to say. In contrast to Kane, Shelby had no one to miss her at Christmas except the kids back at the children’s home.

  “We’re getting by.” Kane shrugged. “It’s hardest on his fiancée.” He poured his coffee and settled into his chair. “She’s in Seattle with her folks right now. Probably planning the wedding for the moment he gets home.”

  “What about you?” The question was out before she realized it.

  “Me?” He looked at her strangely, but didn’t give the impression he thought she was prying.

  In for a penny… “Do you have someone waiting in the wings when you get back?”

  His laugh had a hard edge to it. “I don’t think so.”

  “Why not?” Something about the way he’d denied having a relationship made her want to learn more. She didn’t know why. She never pried into other people’s personal business, just as she didn’t like other people digging into hers.

  Oddly, Kane didn’t seem to think the question was too personal, or maybe he was used to dealing with his aunt’s nosiness and took Shelby’s question in stride. “I like my job too much.”

  “In other words, you think a woman can’t handle the danger that comes with your job.”

  “I don’t think—I know. Been down that road once and I’m not anxious to drive those hairpin curves and potholes again.”

  “You’re divorced.” It wasn’t a question. “It sounds to me like you’re using your job as an excuse to avoid involvement.”

  “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

  Shelby pulled up short. “No. I wouldn’t presume.” She took a sip from her cup, searching for a way to extract herself from a conversation she had no business being engaged in.

  “Why aren’t you married?” Kane asked abruptly.

  She bit her lip. Here it was—tit for tat. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? “How do you know I’m not?”

  Kane grabbed her left hand. “No ring.”

  Heat flickered over her skin where he touched. She snatched her hand away. “That doesn’t mean anything.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  “You don’t know anything about me.” She pushed her hand in her pocket.

  “I know more than you think.” He gave her a considering look. “What is it you’re trying to hide?”

  “Nothing.” She pulled her laptop out of its case. “I should be going through your aunt’s story, instead of discussing personal matters.”

  “You brought up the subject.” He shrugged, letting the issue drop. “Why don’t you let me help with the investigation? I can help you look for clues.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t.”

  Shelby only hesitated a second. She trusted her eidetic memory, but also believed that two sets of eyes were better than one when it came to reading through critical data. She wasn’t just reading the information, but needed interpretation, too. “Okay. Here.” She gingerly held out the flash drive with his aunt’s autobiography. “Copy Rosalee’s manuscript onto your computer, and then pass it back.”

  Kane took it from her, avoiding brushing her fingers, as though he’d felt that earlier spark, too. He took a few moments to let the drive register onto the USB port and then copied the latest version of the manuscript onto his laptop. When it finished, he ejected the drive and passed it back. “Where are you in the book?”

  Shelby plugged the drive into her laptop. “We’re wrapping up Rosalee’s roller coaster ride to publication and what she believes made her books so popular all these years.” She drew her notepad closer and picked up a pencil. “We’re nearly at the end. I think she has a few personal notes and observations she’d like to make. Of course, now she’ll want to include the threats—then she’ll be done.”

  Kane nodded. “How much of the earlier story have you read?”

  “None,” Shelby confessed.

  He grinned. “You are in for a treat.”

  She was surprised at his comment. “I thought you hadn’t read the book.”

  “I haven’t, but I’ve heard stories all my life.”

  “Oh.” She could only imagine that his childhood had been vastly different from hers, growing up with a family history—roots established through generations.

  “Can you tell if she’s written the book chronologically?” His question brought her back to the task in front of them.

  “She mentioned an introduction that is a notation about her mother and father.” Shelby tilted her head. “But then it starts pretty much at the beginning. You don’t honestly believe her youth or teen years hold any clues, do you? Surely, most incidents would be too old or irrelevant. I’m still baffled why she thinks someone wants to kill for something that happened over fifty years ago.”

  He tapped the edge of the laptop screen. “I am too, but there’s got to be a connection. I’ll tell you what—you start at the front of the book.” He glanced down at his computer. “I’ll start on the chapters where she writes about her association with the Mafia guy.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe the Mafia could really be after her.”

  “I seriously doubt it. However, all the M.O.’s point in that direction. Besides, if I do find proof, I can convince the FBI to assign more agents to her case.”

  “I suppose that makes sense.” Shelby stared at her screen. The introduction looked unpromising, but it was a place to start. She spared another glance at Kane, but his gaze had already dropped to his laptop, fingers tapping on keys to page through the file.

  Shelby turned her attention back to her computer, reached for another sip of coffee, and started reading.

  Following the introduction, chapters one and two covered Rosalee Kane’s early youth. Even though she’d been born into a wealthy family in the early 1940s, she, and an older sister, had endured tough times during World War II. Their father had served in Germany. He was killed near the end of the war while he and Herbert Mansfield were escaping from the Nazis. After his death, their mother sank into a deep melancholy and never recovered.

  Even though Herbert Mansfield had kept in close touch with the family, he hadn’t been able to do anything to raise Rosalee’s mother’s spirits. Rosalee had just turned twenty when her mother died.

  Despite Mansfield being divorced, with his ex-wife raising their son, he had arranged for Rosalee’s university education. He’d also been in the picture when Rosalee’s nephew, Phillip, had been born. Not long after Phillip’s birth, Rosalee’s sister and brother-in-law were killed in an airplane accident, leaving the youngster in Rosalee’s care. Mansfield h
ad stepped in to provide assistance then as well.

  Shelby now understood the deep bond and sense of loyalty Rosalee held for the billionaire. That still didn’t endear the crotchety old man to Shelby. What did pique her interest, though, was the footnote about Mansfield serving with Rosalee’s father in the war as an OSS pilot. She recalled the password-protected file O’Neal had given her at the start of the assignment, and wondered if it was a coincidence or a connection that the service dates for the two men coincided with the dates on the WWII files.

  Chapter Twelve

  As Kane read the chapters in Rosalee’s autobiography, he tried to make notes on anything he felt was relevant to the threats his aunt had received. But when he glanced down at his notepad, there were far fewer notations than he expected. He’d known his aunt was a good writer, but hadn’t anticipated being so captivated by her personal story. After all, this story was one he thought he knew. He was pulled out of his trance when Shelby stretched in her chair and then stood.

  Walking over to the counter, she grabbed the coffee pot and refilled her cup. “I’m going to check on your aunt.” She held up the pot and he nodded. After topping off his coffee she put the pot back on the burner. “I’ll be right back.”

  He watched until she disappeared around the corner, then shook his head to clear it. The Northstar agent reminded him of quicksilver. Even when she stayed in one place, she didn’t seem to be at rest. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it. She didn’t fidget or have a nervous twitch, but there was something about her that always seemed to be in motion.

  Yet when she settled down and started reading, she went completely still. Several times, he glanced up and noticed her face alight with awe. When she smiled at something she read, it surprised him so much he nearly fell off his chair. He’d never really call Shelby a beauty, but that smile transformed her, making her glow from the inside out.

  The contrast baffled him. There were depths to this woman. She didn’t just shimmer on the surface; something inside ran deep and silent like the undercurrent in the ocean. It surprised him how much he wanted to discover exactly what that something was.

  He sipped the coffee she’d refilled for him. She probably hadn’t noticed performing that little courtesy. Her nature was to take care of others, even if she didn’t want it to show.

  The kitchen felt empty without her. The cooling coffee pot ticked unnaturally loud. Being alone wasn’t unusual for him, nor was it uncomfortable. He dealt with it every day since his ex had left. Most of the time, it was a matter of choice. Although lately, he found himself over at his dad’s house just to kill a Saturday afternoon.

  He enjoyed the company of his associates at the Bureau, but other than Roberts, he kept them mostly at arm’s length. Theirs was a dangerous occupation. When they went on assignment, one of them might not return. They all took the risks willingly. And like him, most of his team were unmarried. He supposed the avoidance was cowardly, but it was also self-preservation.

  Although his aunt never married, she continued to lead a full life. He could probably learn a few things about a successful single life from the pages of her book—literally. But then again, his younger brother was choosing to tie the knot as soon as he returned from tour. Kane was happy for his brother, and hoped Nigel’s marriage worked out better than his own had.

  Kane shook his head. This was not what he was supposed to be thinking about. He rarely traveled down the self-reflection road and wondered why he was doing it now. Rubbing his eyes, he blinked a few times and resumed reading about his aunt’s association with the Mafia.

  ****

  When Shelby returned to the kitchen, Kane surprised her with a smile that made her stomach pitch.

  “How is she?” His gaze never left her face.

  “She’s fine.” Shelby looked closer at him. “What’s the matter with you? You look like the cat that swallowed—” She bit off the cliché. “You found something, didn’t you?”

  His smile widened and crinkled the corners of his eyes. They glittered like hardened coal. It was unsettling to see him so excited. Her tummy did a slow roll and then righted. This unwelcome attraction to her client’s nephew was getting out of control.

  “Let me show you.” He scooted his chair around the table next to hers and dragged his notes over, forcing Shelby to slide her laptop aside.

  “Right here.” He leaned nearer, angling so he could face her, and point at his notes at the same time. He was so close, his spicy scent mingled with his heat.

  She willed her breathing to calm down, and her heart to stop its insistent tap dance. Deliberately, she yanked her gaze from the top button of his shirt and focused on where he pointed on the yellow notepad. “What is this?” His scribbles didn’t make sense to her, but were safer than looking at his face.

  Kane’s pen drifted down his notes. “This is the chapter where Aunt Rosalee meets Antonio Denato, a Mafia lieutenant.”

  “Wait a minute. She never mentioned that Denato was a lieutenant.”

  “We, meaning the FBI, didn’t know that either. That’s why we didn’t think he’d have the clout to carry off the threats. And even if he did, there wasn’t motive.” He paused. “Until now.”

  “So you think he was higher in the organization?”

  “I do now. I did some research on the names she’s mentioned in her autobiography.” He pointed to his notes. “Look. Virginia Hill was involved with Bugsy Siegel and his rise in Las Vegas. As a courier between the organizations in Chicago and Los Angeles, Ms. Hill was associated with a lot of Mafia members. According to Aunt Rosalee, Virginia introduced Denato and Aunt Rosalee to each other.”

  “But Rosalee said she and Denato became involved because of his Hollywood connections.”

  “True. But the FBI has information about Hill and Siegel that even Aunt Rosalee doesn’t know. At least I don’t think she does.” He leaned back in his chair as he continued, “That information could show a connection between Denato, and the Mafia’s link to the JFK assassination.”

  “How so?”

  “During the assassination investigation, the name of Carlos Marcello kept popping up as someone who’d made threats against the president. The FBI couldn’t prove he was anything more than a small-time hood in New Orleans, even though he had ties to mob bosses like Bugsy Siegel. All the evidence linking Marcello to Oswald, the real shooter, was circumstantial.”

  “How does Antonio Denato fit in the picture?”

  “It appears that Denato was one of Marcello’s lieutenant’s.” Kane paused, letting the information sink in.

  “If Rosalee knew that, she could link Denato to Virginia Hill, who in turn, links to Bugsy Siegel.”

  “And Siegel and Hill can be linked to a host of others, including Marcello.” Kane gave a wry grin.

  “It’s a stretch, but Rosalee’s book could light a fire under the Kennedy assassination conspiracy theories all over again.”

  “Which would bring our man, Denato, front and center when he’d probably rather spend the rest of his days in peace, instead of fending off a host of inquiries from the FBI,” Kane finished the thought for her.

  Shelby let the relationships and implications of Kane’s discovery swirl around in her brain for a moment. “Do you really think Denato would have the means to call up a hit on Rosalee just to keep her quiet?”

  “You’re the one who found the rat in the kitchen. What do you think?”

  Shelby shivered. It had been ugly, but not the drive-by like old time Mafia hits. Something still didn’t fit. “I need to see if the firm’s found anything on Denato, yet. They need to know about all this, and make the investigation into Mr. Denato a priority.”

  “I’ll have the FBI follow up, too.” Kane grinned again. “I think we’ve got our man.”

  “I hope so,” Shelby said. “You don’t think he killed the maid himself, do you?”

  “No. I think Denato may have an associate, so we still need to be careful, until we can get some answers f
rom him.”

  She pulled out her cell phone at the same time Kane pulled out his. They both stood and walked to opposite ends of the kitchen to make their respective calls. When her call connected, Shelby brought Riley O’Neal up to speed on what they’d found. Then she filled him in with her nightly report.

  ****

  Kane’s call to Roberts took less time than Shelby’s did. She was still conversing with Northstar when he ended his call.

  It felt good to share the investigation with her. She was quick, asked intelligent questions, and had drawn the same conclusions he had. Although it had jarred him to share jurisdiction on his aunt’s case with a civilian organization, it didn’t seem at all out of place sharing his findings with Shelby. In fact, it felt natural in a way that should have scared the hell out of him.

  He hadn’t known her very long, but in all the ways that mattered, it felt like he knew her as well as he knew himself. More importantly, he was beginning to trust her. She was proving to be a good partner to have at crunch time—someone who wouldn’t give up, and would have his back.

  Whoa. Where were these thoughts coming from? He rarely got involved with any of the female officers he worked with. That could be a conflict of interest. Death around every corner, and all that. Since his divorce, he wasn’t one to go too far with a civilian either. They didn’t understand his work—his world. The risk and danger were great. He wasn’t under any illusion that he was bulletproof. He’d known enough Bureau widows to realize he didn’t want that for anyone he cared about.

  His thoughts had taken a wrong turn somewhere. Shelby wasn’t someone he cared about…at least not like that. Right?