An Eye for Danger (16 page)

From my hall closet I fetched the Kevlar vest, my grandfather's plaid overcoat for Sam, and my torn ski jacket. I caught up with him at the door, proffering the vest, but Sam grunted refusal.

"Can't breathe with that thing." He shook his head as I pulled on my coat. "Whoa, you've done enough. No more hero tactics."

"Risk is my middle name."
Right after Stupid-Gullible-Naïve-Sucker.
"We'll take Max for extra protection."

"Can't risk my buddy either. Troy knows Max by sight now. He'll ID us from a distance."

"Troy's off planet, remember."

Sam's face cringed.

"Don't tell me," I said. "Big boy's back in town."

"This isn't your fight, Jules. I work best alone."

I snorted. "You haven't worked alone since you mugged me in the park." I was picking at a scab by bringing up the abduction, but not much else shut him up. "Besides, you're not the only stubborn idiot in New York with a death wish."

CHAPTER 12

"Not far to go," said Sam, his head reclining against the taxi's back seat, his eyes inspecting every person on every corner, while perspiration dripped down his temple.

My toes never uncurled as we drove north on Central Park West. Even my stomach knew we were about to cross 108th. Between Sam's sweating and my panic attack, Raul must have thought we were both druggies.

"That's the drop," Sam rasped, indicating the sunken deli at the corner.

Oh, God.
My mouth went dry. Park West Café & Deli was an easy six-block walk from my house, but I never ventured beyond my five-block radius to find out, especially at dusk. Especially not to the deli. Sam was taking me back to the scene of the crime. Mine.

"Have him loop the circle and double back." Sam nudged me. "Jules."

My Spanish was sloppy, but I reluctantly repeated orders. Raul moved to the center lane and followed the same course Luke had driven three years earlier to round the circle. Just before his Audi exploded.

Sam watched my hand wrench the seat cover so tightly the elastic hem nearly snapped. He took my hand and squeezed. "Hey, we'll be fine. Easy in, easy out."

We took the circle without incident, doubled back south and turned right onto 108th, a street lined with anorexic elms and brick-and-mortar apartments that had been converted into multimillion-dollar homes for their proximity to the glorified park. Anyone would feel lucky to live here. Anyone else.

"Christ," said Sam as we passed the deli. "One door in, one door out. That's bad."

Black iron fencing lined the sidewalk around the corner store, keeping pedestrians from plummeting into the basement-level patio where the store entrance was located, along with a few outdoor tables and chairs. The deli was known for a killer Turkish Panini. And a killer drop.

Sam pounded the Plexiglas divider for Raul to stop a few buildings past the deli and then turned to me. "You put in your time. Now go home, live a long life, be happy. For both of us."

He struggled out of the car. With his fever and injuries, and my brewing meltdown, I couldn't allow Sam out of my sight.

Rattling directions to Raul, I slid out of the car and slammed the door.

Sam pointed me back to the taxi. "I said go home."

"Sorry, I'm a little deaf in that ear," I said as Raul drove off.

"No kidding." Sam smirked. "Okay, but stay close."

I held onto his arm as we headed toward the deli corner. A screaming horn sounded from a shiny black Escalade that Raul had cut off like any decent cabbie.

Sam looked toward the park and paused.

"If something's wrong, tell me now." I tried to trace his sightline.

"Nothing. Keep moving."

Ahead, a ghost car smoldered at the opposite corner, as firemen soaked the ruins and yelled at one another for more pressure over ambulance sirens. Someone was grabbing my arms and legs and laying me on a gurney. I wanted to run back for Luke. "He's gone," the voice argued, holding me down so his buddy could inject me with a needle. Then I was wheeled away, catching the rough engine start of the Jaws of Life, which chewed and choked on the Audi's door frame uselessly. Luke had already burned to death.

"I said let's go." Sam yanked my arm and kept talking, but all I heard was thunder, the echo of the loudest blast I'd ever experienced, and I braced for impact.

Sam stepped into my face. "Jules, look at me. We don't have much time. I need you to focus. Where are you?"

Blinking, I shook off the vision. Sam's hand scrubbed my arm, helping me get present. He glanced to the corner and frowned. That didn't help my confidence.

"Turn back," he whispered, imploring me with those same wide eyes. He'd risked his life to save mine, and here I was, falling to pieces for a ghost when Sam needed help.

"Not on your life."

"You don't have to prove how tough you are to me." Sam's stare didn't make me flinch.

"You can't shake a journalist from a good story."

He washed a hand over his face. "Alright, but we can't be seen together. Be my lookout. Anyone approaches, throw a rock through the window. Anything happens, you hit the ground, fast. Then get the hell out of here. I mean it, Jules. Don't look back. Not for me."

I thought of the three years I'd been looking back for Luke.

"I'll make the drop." I got in his face when he reeled. "No one will recognize me, and you'll kill yourself just going down those stairs, not to mention getting back up them." That, and Sam's two-day beard growth looked more like the sketch artist's thug every minute. As he pondered my logic, I pulled the band from my ponytail and shook out my hair. "Besides, you're better equipped to stand guard. Only one of us has a weapon, and I can't shoot."

Cursing a string of words under his breath, he slipped the recorder into my pocket and whispered in my ear. "There's a napkin holder at the counter. Secure this to the bottom, then grab two orange sodas with straws and exit. That's the signal the drop is made. This is a live drop, so our window is tight. Two minutes, or I come after you."

"Two minutes." I checked my watch, glanced at the empty sidewalk in the park where Sam had stared. "At least your partner's nearby. That's reassuring."

"Not exactly." He looked me in the eye. "Told you this would be fun."

"Real party."

Before the scared child in me reneged, I pummeled down the stairs to the front door and stormed through the entrance, dinging the bell wildly. Not exactly covert tactics.

 Smells of salty meat and pickle vinegar tightened the knot in my stomach. The warmth of cinnamon wafted from freshly baked baklava, which the clerk was unloading onto a cake platter. He dipped his chin to acknowledge the new customer and I smiled.

"Two Reubens," I said to the clerk. "Everything and kraut. And a couple of orange sodas."

Then I scanned the room. At a table nearest the door, a young couple gobbled oozing sub-style sandwiches without looking at each other. The back table hosted two retiree-age men in black coats and yarmulkes, whose laughter filled the room as they conversed over empty plates and steaming coffee.

I fetched our sodas from the spring-loaded drink case. They were packed tighter than double Ds in a push-up bra, so the bottles popped out and I fumbled them.

Spotting the napkin holder, I shifted toward the condiment bar, my back to the patrons. How the hell I was supposed to attach the recorder escaped me.

"Let me help you, sweetheart." Sam palmed the recorder out of my hand and handed me a napkin.

"It's hardly been two minutes." A shadow arrived at my left shoulder and I shut my trap.

"Everything alright, I hope." Officer Petosa stooped over the condiment bar, his pencil-thin nose flaring as he watched Sam return the napkin holder to its place. "Ma'am," he said, tipping his hat to me.

When we'd left my building, I'd snuck Sam out the back alley. How Petosa knew to find us here, I didn't want to stay and find out.

 "Allergies," I said, setting the napkin to my nose.

"Your friend got allergies, too?" asked Petosa, looking Sam up and down.

"My neighbor, Duke. We used to come here as teens for cheap dates. The Reubens are to die for."

Sam grimaced at my words. I casually tapped my brow. He looked confused, then wiped his brow of sweat. We couldn't afford to both look nervous in front of Stone's attack dog.

"Heard you found that mangy mutt of yours." The corner of Petosa's mouth curled up.

"Maybe if you hadn't tried to kick him he wouldn't have—" But Sam snagged my jacket before I blew the conversation in the wrong direction.

"So this is the cop who rescued you in the park." Sam thrust out a hand. "Wow, he is strong. Just look at that grip. I can really feel his muscles."

The men stared at one another for a few petrifying seconds. Sam wasn't letting go of Petosa's hand. Jesus, he was making a power-play with a cop. Or worse: flirting.

"Order for Larson," called the deli guy, who held our bagged sandwiches in the air.

Laughing, I pushed Sam toward the counter. "Food's up."

Petosa yanked a wad of napkins from the canister. I held my breath, expecting the recorder to drop to his feet. He wiped his hands, threw the napkins in the garbage by the front door, and gave that damned two-fingered salute. The bell dinged as he exited and aimed for his patrol car, which sat double-parked above the store.

"So who's this Duke fellow?" asked Sam.

"High-school boyfriend. Who's straight, by the way."

"And whose mother just happens to live in your building. Got it." He chewed the inside of his cheek, watching Petosa from the corner of his eye.

"Yes, and he moved out after graduation. I haven't seen him since. Satisfied, Mr. Jealous?"

"When I'm satisfied, you'll be the first to know."

Like hell if I'd ask what he meant. I motioned to the napkin holder.

"Forget the drop. We're blown."

I looked out the window. Petosa sat on the trunk of his squad car, one foot on the bumper, a stalk of smoke rising from his cigarette. Even I knew no decent cop would be caught smoking in uniform let alone on duty in public.

Sam growled. "Any guy who kicks Max deserves to be gut—"

I coughed hard so patrons didn't hear Sam's street talk, and then handed him the orange sodas.

"Plan B." He set the sodas on the counter and pulled me against him. His body was so close I could feel his fever. "When that cop pulled up, I came to get you out. He ain't..." Sam blinked. "He ain't gonna way-wait..."

Sam dropped his head on my shoulder, and I hooked his waist like we were hugging, so nobody noticed him struggling not to pass out.

"This is no time for a nap," I said in his ear. Then I bit his ear lobe. He snapped awake alright, and struggled for balance, cupping his ear as I asked the clerk, "Do you have a bathroom?"

The clerk grimaced, suspicious of our intentions considering our embrace, but he handed me the key anyway and pointed to the back door, which was propped open by a metal canister of carbon dioxide for the soda fountain.

Driving Sam through the narrow exit meant removing the canister and balancing him against the doorway at the same time. Sam grunted as we squeezed through the door. Once inside the hall, we aimed for the green exit sign at the end of the hall, up a short set of stairs.

Wheezing, Sam stopped, lowered onto a bench near the door marked Restroom. But sitting only thinned his breathing.

"This is the part where you get your second wind, Detective." I tried hoisting him by his shoulders, but his leaden body leaned sideways, frustrating my efforts. "Shit. Get up."

His flushed cheeks and forehead felt hotter than a radiator, yet he still managed a smile at my childish fretting. "Hey, you done good by me. Wish I coulda returned the favor." He lifted a wilted hand to my cheek.

"You want to help me, then get off your ass and finish this." I pulled, again to no avail.

Sam opened his hand to show me the recorder he'd palmed. I reached, but he made a fist. "Gotta destroy it now."

"Your whole case depends on this. I can still make the drop."

"Fuck the case. It's over, Jules. Get out of here."

His arms felt like wet sandbags. I needed to believe that I had the strength to carry him, that I still had enough fight left for both of us. Even if that was a lie.

Kneeling, I took Sam's hand between mine. "Please, Sam. Please get up."

His eyelids fluttered, the meds and fever catching up with his sprint to the finish line. "No more running. I'm worn out."

He couldn't mean it. He couldn't just give up and let himself die and leave that on me. This black hole of a store had swallowed my life once already, and I didn't need a fucking replay with Sam's suicidal stare-off with fate. I'd consume a whole bottle of pills not to feel that emptiness again.

"Sorry." He grasped my hand. "For what I said. About Luke. I know you loved him."

"No apologies. Not for the truth."

"Happened here, didn't it. The accident."

"Yes, damn it, now move."

I jolted him upright, ignoring his groans before he sagged back to the bench. I held his face in my hands, and he blinked, refocusing on me.

"You need to let me go, Jules. Let him go."

What I needed was to shut Sam up. His dead-man-talking routine was scaring the hell out of me, and I couldn't hear him talk about Luke like this. Luke was the safest choice I'd ever made. A safe man in a safe world. And he'd died on me.

"Fine, you win, Sam. Everything you said about me was true. But if you want the whole story, you gotta stay awake." I patted his cheek. Harder. "Sam."

"Okay, okay, I'm awake."

"Now listen. It's January, 1999," I started, looking to the deli's back door and expecting Petosa to come hunting us when he'd decided we'd had enough dinner time to ourselves. "Serbian forces are exterminating their Albanian neighbors. They slaughtered a village the size of my neighborhood. Men, women, children. No one was spared. Then they mounded the bodies in roads and ditches. The Račak Incident, the papers called it. A horror we called it, but we took photos all the same. Only a few press members got in, and they descended like excited gulls on garbage." I lowered my gaze. "I was one of the lucky few. But I was young, straight out of college and new to conflict zones. So when the cameras weren't shooting, I was out back vomiting my brains out."