All I've Ever Wanted (7 page)

“H
ey, Kennedy,” Bennie called.

She looked up to see him waving her over. Before she took a step, she glanced over to table twenty-three.

Det. Collier and Dossman waved.

She moaned in disbelief.

When she approached Bennie, he looped an arm through hers. “Do your friends plan on being here all day? They're costing me money.”

“They're not my friends.”

“What—you recently started a fan club? They're sure as hell acting like they know you.”

She sighed. “They're cops, Bennie. You're more
than welcome to go and kick Atlanta's finest out if you want to.”

His expression grew serious. “Is everything all right? Are you in some kind of trouble?”

Saying yes wouldn't change anything, nor would it help. It would only bring up more questions.

“It's nothing like that.”

“Then what?”

“Nothing,” she insisted, and searched for a lie that would appease him. “They knew my father, that's all.”

Bennie's expression displayed disbelief. He cast another glance at the two officers. “They look a little young to have been associated with your father.”

“What are you, the FBI now?”

“Now calm down,” he said, trying to placate her. “I was just saying—”

“Look, I'll just tell them to leave.” She turned on her heel, ignoring Bennie when he called for her to come back.

As she drew near the table a funny thing happened. Her pulse quickened and her palms felt slick. When Det. Collier's head lifted and their gazes met, a sudden rush of heat surged through her. There was something about him that reminded her of her father. Perhaps it was the intensity of his stare, or the subtle character lines etched along his mouth and eyes. She wasn't sure.

To keep her wits about her, she decided to make and maintain eye contact with Dossman. In her opinion, he wasn't as intimidating as his partner. “Look, I'm going to have to ask you two to leave. My boss is giving me a lot of flak.”

“Well, we can't have that.” Dossman looked to his partner as if waiting for an objection.

“You know I'm really impressed with the service around here,” Collier said. “Maybe we ought to have breakfast here every day before heading into the office. What do you think, partner?”

Dossman shrugged. “It's as good a place as any, I suppose.”

Kennedy turned then, sweeping her gaze over Collier like a searchlight. “Just what are you trying to do—get me fired? Is that how you go about coercing false confessions?”

Max showed obvious surprise at her outburst.

“Look,” she said, slapping her hands down onto the table and leaning toward him. “I have a four-year-old I have to look after. I bust my ass waitressing two jobs and somehow still manage to scrape out time to go to night school. I don't have time to play silly games with you and your partner. I said it before and I'll say it again—I was
not
in those woods Friday night.”

 

Disguised in a fake goatee and dark sunglasses, Keenan Lawrence smiled, and then took the last drag
of his cigarette. He'd watched the fireworks exchange between Kennedy St. James and the two detectives with amusement. Though the small group had frequently talked in hushed tones, he'd always prided himself on his ability to read lips.

Whether the waitress was telling the truth, he didn't know. But he had every intention of finding out. The night he'd finished off Underwood, his men had come up empty when they'd chased the unexpected witness. But Keenan knew everything that went on on his streets, and he knew the regulars who traveled them. So he'd decided to do a little investigating on his own.

He'd seen Kennedy St. James from time to time, but knew more about her father than about her. And he should—considering that the man had arrested him more times than any other cop on the force.

“Can I get you anything else, sugar?” his waitress, Tyne, asked as she placed his bill facedown on the table.

He lifted his gaze to the waitress and admired her pretty smile. “Nah, I think that will just about do me.” He smiled back.

“Did you have just a little too much to drink last night?” she asked, dropping a hand to her hip, but continuing to smile.

“What makes you ask?”

“I don't know. You're wearing dark sunglasses indoors.”

“I guess you got me.” Keenan reached into his jacket. He watched the waitress's eyes widen when he withdrew a wad of money. The look in her eyes told him that she could be bought. “You know, now that I think about it, there
is
something that you can get me.”

“You name it, sugar.”

“Information.”

 

District Attorney Judith Mason leafed through the remaining papers stacked on Underwood's desk. She half hoped that something would jump out at her—something that would tell her what had really been going on with her colleague. Everyone knew that there was no love lost between her and her ex son-in-law.

For years she had suspected that he was dirty—involved with God knows what. Yet, Underwood was a smart man. She'd remained convinced that he'd always stayed one step ahead of her and the authorities.

She tossed the papers back onto the desk and pushed back in the chair with a sigh of disappointment. There was a chance that she'd been wrong about him.

She considered the possibility carefully before she shrugged it off. Her instincts were too strong where Underwood was concerned. She was willing to bet anything that he was as corrupt as they came. But proving it was a different story.

She glanced at her watch. The police and the FBI would be arriving any moment. She gathered the folders she needed and headed to the conference room.

Detectives Collier and Dossman arrived promptly at one o'clock and Lt. Scardino, Captain Vincent and two agents with the FBI shortly after.

“Now that we're all here, let's get started,” she said with a brief smile. “As requested, I've gathered information regarding current case files Underwood had open, and prepared a list of the cases he'd finished or had been associated with in the past ten years. If you need access to anything on that list, you can call anyone here in the office and they will help you.”

Max opened the manila folder he'd been handed and quickly scanned the contents. He shook his head. “May I ask you a few questions?” he asked, glancing up.

“Shoot.” Judith crossed her arms and gave him her full attention.

“How was Underwood's behavior around the office in the days before his death?”

“Upon reflection, I would have to say he came across as if he was nervous about something.”

“How so?”

“I don't know—he seemed distracted, jumpy even,” Judith answered.

Scardino leaned back in her chair and asked, “Did you ever question him about it?”

“Actually, I did. Friday, the day of his murder, I made a point to stop by his office before I headed out myself. I remember, just before I knocked on his door, that I could hear he was in a heated argument with someone on the phone.”

“Did you hear what he was saying?” Dossman said, joining in the questioning.

Judith shrugged her shoulders. “All I recall was hearing a stream of obscenities before he slammed the phone down. I knocked then, and entered when he barked for me to do so.”

“And?” Max asked.

“He was clearly agitated and none too happy to see me at his door.” She uncrossed her arms. “You see, Marion and I weren't exactly on the best of terms. I'm sure everyone in this office will tell you that.”

“But you two have been able to work together for many years, haven't you?” Max leaned forward, keeping his gaze level with hers.

“Well, on paper, Marion Underwood was a good lawyer for the State.”

“On paper?” he asked.

“How do I say this?” She looked away, struggling with her personal feelings toward Underwood. “It's nothing that I can point out physically. I can't hold up a piece of paper and say, ‘See here, the man is dirty.' He was too smart for that. Yet, if you ever had
anything to do with him—if you knew him personally—you'd know to walk away from him searching your back for knives. Does that make any sense?”

From the way people were nodding, it made perfect sense to most of them.

“So, you don't think that we'll find anything in these cases?” Max asked, returning his gaze to the manila folder.

“In my opinion, no.”

Scardino cut in. “Why is that?”

“Because I've already tried.”

 

Max left the D.A.'s office convinced that their investigation was stalled. He, like Judith Mason, didn't believe that they would find anything in the case information.

“So, what do you want to do now?” Dossman asked, sliding on a pair of Ray-Bans.

“Frankly, I think that our best bet is to stay close to Ms. St. James.”

“I'm starting to think that you're developing quite a crush on the lady.”

“It's not that.” Max shook his head. “It's just a hunch that she's what's going to lead us to the killers.”

Dossman's lips curved in a knowing smile. “It doesn't hurt that she's easy on the eyes, does it?”

Scardino stepped out of the building. Max looked up and smiled to himself. “I think you have your hands full with your own women problems. I figure the last thing you'd be concerned about is who I am or am not attracted to.”

Dossman followed his gaze, and then swung back to look at Max curiously. “Now what's that supposed to mean?”

Max laughed heartily as he slid on his sunglasses and walked away.

 

Kennedy broke her routine and decided to take Tommy and Jimmy to Piedmont Park. She had all but made up her mind to send her son to stay with her grandmother, at least until things died down. As she watched him and his friend play Nerf ball, she missed him already. It's only temporary, she assured herself.

She hoped that she was not overreacting—that there was no real threat to her or her son—but she didn't want to take any chances.

“That's a nice kid you got there,” the raspy voice said from behind her.

She jumped and pivoted on her heel.

Keenan Lawrence smiled, but his eyes did not.

Speech eluded her as her mind filled with images of doom.

“I take it you know who I am,” he went on to say. He circled her.

“I've seen you in the neighborhood.” She was surprised to have found her voice.

“Is that right?”

She nodded.

“That's good. I've seen you around, too.”

She didn't respond, she couldn't.

“I knew your father, too. Did you know that?”

Kennedy shook her head, but it was a lie. Her father had hated Keenan—hated everything he represented. It had been no surprise to him when Keenan had risen through the ranks and become the leader of The Skulls. Standing this close to what she'd been raised to believe was the closest thing to the devil, she knew Keenan's being here wasn't a good sign.

“You must have this thing for cops.”

“How so?” she chanced asking.

He shrugged. “I've just noticed them hanging around you a lot lately.”

She cringed and cursed Det. Collier and Dossman for their carelessness. Their constant snooping might have just sealed her fate. “Why would you notice something like that?” She hoped she managed to look innocent.

“I make sure I know everything that goes on in these streets. That's part of my job.”

An awkward silence grew between them as the gang leader continued to walk around her.

Kennedy stood still despite the fact her skin crawled. She clung to the hope that he wouldn't have the balls to kill her in a crowded park, in broad daylight.

“I can't see why you would want to watch me.”

“Can't you?”

She shook her head. His words were like a sharp pin, puncturing her bubble of hope.

When he reached toward her, it took everything she had not to recoil. As he brushed back a wisp of her hair, the corners of his lips lifted again in a smile that looked sinister. “Did anybody ever tell you that you are a striking woman, Ms. St. James?”

She lifted her chin defiantly, struggling to comprehend the direction of their conversation.

“It's a shame for all this beauty to go to waste.”

Puzzled, yet wary, she took a step back.

“How about a proposition?”

She didn't like the sound of that. From the corner of her eyes, she could see the boys were still playing, both oblivious to her dilemma.

“Are you going to ask me about my proposition?”

“I'm not interested.”

He laughed, and the sound heightened her anxiety. “How can you say that? You haven't even heard what it is yet.”

“I'm sure it can't be anything good.”

He lifted his broad hands to cover what should have been his heart. “Now I'm hurt.”

She said nothing.

He shrugged. “Look, I'm a businessman, plain and simple. And standing here, it just occurred to me that we can help each other out. I tell you what—it beats the hell out of waitressing.”

Slowly she comprehended his offer. “Are you suggesting that I come work for you?”

Again he shrugged. “It's good money.”

“You've lost your mind.”

His smile vanished. “You think that you're too good to come work for me?”

Animosity radiated off him.

Kennedy took another step back.

“I think it would be poetic justice that the late, great, Supercop's daughter ended up on my payroll. Of course—” he stepped forward and returned his hand to her hair “—I have to test the goods myself.”

In a panic, she turned away from him and raced toward the children. His malicious laughter rang in her ears. “Tommy. Jimmy. Get your things. We're leaving.”