by Jaci Burton
No one didn't exist. There were records of everyone. Everyone except Dante, and that wasn't normal.
She decided to pay Paolo Bertucci a visit.
Bertucci lived in a sprawling, private, gated area with plenty of acreage that gave him space away from neighbors, unsurprisingly. His house was a remodeled two-story brick mansion set back in a thick wooded area. Perfect to give him enough privacy, especially with the gate and the security system he'd put in making the place look like a celebrity lived there.
Anna was certain Bertucci thought himself a celebrity of sorts. He frequented the clubs, always had two or three women on his arm. He dressed in designer clothes, wore expensive jewelry and drove flashy sports cars and high-dollar SUVs. He always had an entourage of bodyguards trailing him.
Unfortunately his celebrity status had more to do with his mob connections than Hollywood. And they hadn't been able to officially tie him into anything hard to make an arrest. All they could do was watch, make notes and work with the feds on gathering evidence, hope their informants continued to bring them information and maybe someday take the bastard down, because Anna knew he was dirty.
She pulled to the front gate, rolled her window down and flashed her badge at the camera. After a minute or so the gate started its slow roll open and she drove down the long concrete driveway toward the house. A tall dude in a tight black T-shirt meant to show off his sizable muscles met her out front. She'd just bet he had a piece tucked into the back of his pants.
He leaned against her window. "Can I help you?"
"Detective Anna Pallino from St. Louis Metro. I'm here to see Paolo Bertucci."
"You have a warrant?"
"He commit a crime that I need a warrant for? I just want to have a conversation with him."
"About what?"
"About none of your fucking business."
He glared at Anna, a look meant to intimidate. She stared back, not even bothering to remove her sunglasses.
He finally pushed away from her car. "Just a minute."
The guy went inside. Anna got out and leaned against her car, surveying the impeccable landscaping filled with colorful flowers, the trellis with climbing roses and the copious wide windows on all levels that offered a clear view of approaching vehicles. The windows were probably bulletproof, too. You didn't get to the top of the mob food chain like Bertucci did without making enemies.
The double front doors were thick as hell, which meant no one could kick them in.
The place was a fortress.
Muscle man returned within a few minutes and motioned her inside. She stepped in, impressed with the Italian-marble flooring, the wide-open floor plan that led to an expansive living area on the right and a dining area on the left.
The furnishings, the artwork on the walls and tables--everything screamed high dollar.
"This way. Mr. Bertucci is out back in the pool area."
Must be nice. She was taken down a long hallway, past the kitchen where a cook was busily chopping vegetables and didn't even bother looking up at her. She'd just bet the staff here saw a lot, and were paid very well not to notice a damn thing. Or ever say a word about anything they "didn't" see.
The kitchen was huge, with stainless-steel appliances, a giant center island and an eating area that would serve all her friends and possibly the entire precinct. Since she loved to cook, Anna would kill for a kitchen like that. She could spend hours, days and possibly the rest of her natural life enjoying that kitchen.
Muscle guy opened the back door and led her outside to what had to be the Garden of Eden. A sheltered arbor covered with greenery provided cool shade where a table sat filled with drinks. Beyond that was a sizable pool where Paolo Bertucci lay floating on a raft in his board shorts, his buffed hairless body well tanned, his bald head reflecting the sun with the same intensity as the giant diamond earring in his left ear. He was surrounded by a bevy of beauties sporting very tiny bikinis.
Anna was most definitely overdressed.
"Ah, Detective Pallino, welcome to my home."
"Thank you."
"Can I offer you something to drink? Sangria, perhaps?"
"No, thanks, I'm on duty."
"Then how about some lemonade or iced tea."
Both sounded great. It was hot and the back of her shirt stuck to her. But she stepped out into the bright sunlight and walked to the edge of the pool. "No, thank you. I'd like to ask you a few questions."
"You can ask. Depending on the questions, I may or may not answer."
"There was a murder in an alley off Lindell two days ago. A man named George Clemons."
Paolo stared at her, then shrugged. "Name doesn't mean anything to me."
"I'm sure it doesn't, but he was found with an ounce of cocaine on him."
"Mmm, bad boy. Someone kill him over the drugs then?"
"If they did, I'm sure they would have taken the drugs with them, don't you think?"
Paolo raised his hands, the two diamond rings on his fingers glinting in the harsh sunlight. "I wouldn't know anything about that."
She crossed her arms. "I would think you'd know a lot about the drug trade in my city, Mr. Bertucci, since known dealers are seen coming and going from your house all the time."
Bertucci flattened his lips. "You watchin' my house, Detective?"
"Me personally? No. But I believe you're well aware that you're under surveillance, so I think we can cut through the crap and get down to an honest discussion."
He sat up on his raft. "I don't know what you're talking about. I have a lot of friends who come and go. Sometimes there are parties. That's probably what your surveillance people see."
"Uh-huh. Look, I'm not here to bust you for drugs. I want to know if you have any dealers working the area around the alley where the murder occurred."
He laughed. "Like I'd tell you if I did. Maybe it was your friend Gabe."
He'd throw Gabe under the bus just to piss her off? "Gabe's not a suspect."
"So you want me to give you a name?"
"That'd be helpful."
He took the cocktail offered by one of the bikini-clad women and grinned up at Anna. "Now, that would be me doing your job for you, wouldn't it?"
"I would appreciate the help," she said, gritting her teeth the entire time. "We just want to question anyone who might have been around the alley at the time of the murder."
If there was recognition on Bertucci's face, he didn't show it. Instead, he shrugged again. "I'll have to put some feelers out and see if anyone knows anything."
Right. In other words, she wasn't going to get shit from him. "If you hear of anything, or your memory has an epiphany and you think of anyone who might have been in the alley that night, do let me know. I'll leave my card with one of your associates."
"You do that. Always nice to see you."
"Likewise."
"You're a beautiful woman, Detective Pallino. And it's a very hot day. Care to take a dip in the pool?"
She gave him a lift of her lips. "Gee, Mr. Bertucci. I'm kind of overdressed for a swim."
"My ladies here have many extra bikinis. Or you could go without."
She eyed the women, who looked as though they couldn't care less if Paolo added one more to the harem. They must be well compensated. Ugh.
"Thanks for the offer, but I have to get back to work."
"Some other time, perhaps."
Yeah, around the time pigs sprouted wings. "Have an enjoyable day."
Bertucci was cool and not very forthcoming with information, but it was always a brain game to spar with him, and she had to admit she enjoyed it. And he knew something. She was sure of it. She just didn't know what he knew, or how he was connected to George's murder.
The bad thing was, if Bertucci was connected, then Gabe was connected.
Did Gabe know anything? Was he withholding information from her?
Now, that really would piss her off. Would he place his position with the Bertuccis over the death of his
foster father?
Sometimes she wasn't exactly sure where Gabe's loyalties lay.
Maybe she needed to find out.
Once summoned, you didn't ignore Paolo Bertucci. Gabe had been in the area anyway when he'd gotten the text from Bertucci's right-hand monkey, so he'd ridden over.
Bertucci was on the patio in the backyard, his typical group of bikini babes serving lunch.
"You're just in time for some salsiccia-and-polenta sandwiches. You hungry?"
"Sure, boss, thanks." Gabe grabbed a bottle of beer from the center of the table and popped it open, leaned back and waited. Darla brought him a sandwich. He thanked her and ate, watching the girls frolic in the pool. Paolo talked on the phone while he ate and barked instructions to one of the black-clad morons standing guard over him.
Finally, he wiped his mouth with his napkin, sat back and lit a Cuban. "Detective Pallino dropped by today."
"Yeah? What did she want?"
"To grill me about some dead guy in an alley. They found drugs on him and she thinks I'm connected."
Gabe finished the last bite of his sandwich and pushed his plate to the side, then grabbed another beer. "She's got nothin'."
"That's what I figured, too. She wouldn't have come fishing at my house if she did."
"So no problem then."
"She's your friend."
"Yes, she is. And you've known that since the beginning. I've never hidden that from you."
Paolo nodded and smiled. "I know. Your honesty has always been refreshing, Gabriel. That's one of the reasons you've risen so fast in my organization. I trust you."
"And I appreciate it, Paolo. Anna might be my friend, but you know where my loyalty lies."
"I also know having a 'friend' like Anna can be useful."
Gabe leaned back in the chair and offered up a sly smile. "It serves its purposes. She cuts me slack and feeds me information even when she doesn't know she's doing it."
"Because you know all the right questions to ask, and because she trusts you."
"She thinks I'm not going to cause problems for her, and so far I haven't--that she's aware of."
"Cultivate that relationship."
Gabe crossed his fingers. "We're like this."
"Good. But keep in mind the time may come when you may need to sever that tie."
Gabe shrugged. "Whatever needs to be done for the greater good. Like I said, I know where my loyalties lie."
"Good boy. Everything set up for tonight?"
"Yeah. MacKenzie and Smith are meeting me at eleven. Shipment comes in at midnight."
"Excellent. Let me know how it goes."
That was his signal he was no longer needed. He stood. "Will do. Thanks for lunch."
"Care to stick around and play with the ladies?"
He took a quick glance at the mounds of available breasts floating in the pool. He leered at the ladies, then turned to Bertucci. "Tempting as hell, but some other time, Paolo. I want to scout the warehouse in advance, make sure nothing's going to pop up that might surprise us."
Gabe left the house, climbed on his bike and headed out toward the location of the drop tonight.
Bertucci was a lot of things, but stupid wasn't one of them. That's why it had taken Gabe two years of working for him to get where he was now.
People like Paolo Bertucci ran these cities, smuggling in drugs right under the noses of the cops, lining the veins of the rich, the middle class and the poor. And the ones Paolo got to push it? They were the real victims.
Gabe had no idea what George had been doing with drugs in his pocket, but those drugs were linked to Bertucci. Someone had planted them there. Someone connected to Paolo's hierarchy.
And there wasn't a damn thing Gabe could do about it. He could find out with a little legwork and clear George, but it would blow his cover. And he'd spent two years getting himself dug into the Bertucci organization. No way was he going to screw this up. He'd get his ass fired for one thing. Or dead if Paolo found out who he was really working for.
So he'd have to keep his mouth shut and hope Anna could figure it all out, while he sat on the sidelines and played dumb.
Sometimes he really hated his job.
Nine
Anna was frustrated. She updated her reports and got into her car, not wanting to spend the better part of her shift stuck in the precinct.
She drove past the alley, though she wasn't sure what she expected to find there. Nothing, which was exactly what she saw. It was empty.
She pulled over and got something to eat, then grabbed her phone, impulse punching Dante's number.
"Anna?"
"Yeah."
"What's up?"
"Did I wake you?" She cringed, realizing not everyone kept night hours like she did.
"No. I'm up."
Now what? Idiot. Why did he still twist her up inside and make her feel like a tongue-tied sixteen-year-old? "I...I want to talk to you. You busy? You're probably going to bed soon aren't you?"
She heard the soft chuckle. "No. I'm up. Come over."
"Okay." She hung up, feeling stupid and hot and sweaty. Damn him for getting to her that way.
She drove over and knocked on the door of the condo.
He answered, looking delectable in a pair of jeans and a well-worn gray T-shirt that snugged tight against his body. His hair looked mussed, like he'd run his fingers through it several times.
"Are you sure you weren't sleeping?"
"I'm sure I wasn't sleeping. Come in."
He closed the door after she walked in. The television was on, though turned down low. He had a laptop open on the dining room table.
"Working?"
"Not really," he said, pushing it closed as he headed to the kitchen. "Online games. It's an addiction."
She laughed. "I guess it's good to have something to do to pass the time."
"You want something to drink?"
"Water, if you have it."
He pulled out a bottle of water for her and a soda for himself.
She felt ridiculously out of sorts standing in the middle of his living room, though this really wasn't his place, so she didn't understand her discomfort.
"Decent place."
"Gabe scored it for me, and yeah, it beats the hell out of a hotel."
She took a seat on the sofa, unable to take her eyes off him as he slid next to her. What was it about him that, even after twelve years and total abandonment, he could still capture her interest in a way that made her palms sweat and her heart beat faster?
It had to be the shadowy element. She'd been drawn to him when he was the bad boy, the kid with the rocky, brutal past. And now he'd swooped back into her life as mysterious as ever, possibly even mixed up in a murder investigation. She should be steering clear of him and focusing on him as a suspect. Instead, she was breathing in his musky male scent and wishing she had the guts to put down her water and climb onto his lap and do what she'd fantasized about doing for the past twelve years.
She breathed in and out, her focus on the sun-bleached hairs on his arm and the broad muscle of his biceps. She hadn't even realized she was staring until her gaze reached his face and he was smiling down at her.
"Lost in thought?"
She leaned back and took a long swallow of water. "Yeah."
"About the case."
"Of course."
From the smirk on his face, she could tell he knew damn well what she'd been thinking about. Bastard.
"You going to tell me why you came over?"
She'd love to. If she actually knew what had compelled her to drive over here. "I'm stuck."
"On?"
"This case. But Roman's the one I should brainstorm with."
"He around tonight?"
"I'm sure he is. I could call him."
"But you didn't. You called me. So talk to me."
He made it sound so simple when everything was actually convoluted. Like being here in the first place.
"Anna, it's me. Yo
u can talk to me."
She shifted to face him. "You want me to erase twelve years of 'I don't know where the hell you've been or who you are' as if they don't mean anything, Dante. I can't do that, especially when you won't tell me anything."
"I was in the army."
Her brows shot up. "The army?"
"Yeah. When I left here I joined the army. I needed to get away, start over, start a different life, but I was unskilled, so I knew I needed training. The army gave me that."
"How long were you in the army?"
"Still am."
"You... Really?"
"Yes."
"So you're on leave?"
His lips curled. "You could say that."
She frowned. If he was military, his fingerprints would have showed up in the database. "Are you Special Forces or something?"
He leaned back. "Why do you ask?"
"I ran your prints. You don't show up."
"You ran... When?"
"I used a glass you drank water out of and ran fingerprints on you."
His brows rose. "Why?"
"Duh. Because you wouldn't tell me a goddamn thing about yourself or where you'd been for the past twelve years. I don't like mysteries, so I wanted some answers."
His smile was infuriating. "Get any?"
"No. You don't show up on any databases. No license, nothing. Why is that? I can't imagine you'd be any good to Special Forces not knowing how to drive a car."
"I do special projects undercover. They don't want me showing up on any databases. Let's just leave it at that for now."
She opened her mouth to argue, but Dante placed two fingers at her lips. "Please, Anna."
She was supposed to believe him, take his word.
They'd been everything to each other at one time.
But right now, he could be a killer.
People changed. She knew it, saw it.
But how much did they change? All those years ago she knew exactly who he was and what he was capable of.
He'd saved her life that night. But he'd also taken a life.
She'd never been so confused about anything--or anyone--before.
"So tell me why you're here."
She should leave, keep her distance, listen to that inner voice that kept telling her to be wary of Dante.
Instead, she decided to see where this led.
"Autopsy showed nothing out of the ordinary other than George had been beaten and cut with a nondescript sharp knife, probably some random switchblade. No stray hairs or fibers, no fingerprints from the scene. The bag of drugs was clean, but it had George's fingerprints on it. The scene and the body itself were almost too clean. It was as if whoever had done this had been meticulous about prepping the scene or making sure he'd leave nothing behind."
