Choked Up (25 page)

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Authors: Janey Mack

BOOK: Choked Up
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He parked in the visitor's lot. “I come with.”
I let him shepherd me into the lobby. Instead of taking the private elevator, I went to the reception desk and flashed my Onyx-wing badge. “I was wondering if I could get a pass for my friend, Mr. Ivanović to visit my Uncle Edward Dunne?”
She typed something into the computer. “I'm afraid not. He's had a difficult last two days.”
I turned to Gorilla. “I really need to see him.”
He gave a heavy sigh and sunk his hands into his pants pockets. “I wait in lobby.”
I was inside the elevator, pressing the fourth- and fifth-floor buttons before the doors even opened all the way. Detective/RN Anita Erickson met me. “What gives, Rook?”
“I need Kaplan, Sawyer, and Dunne for a debrief ASAP. I don't know how long my babysitter's gonna wait.”
“Sawyer's out. Scorpion's in her office. Head there and I'll see what I can do.” She took off in the other direction, talking on her micro headset.
I hustled through
CSI
Central and knocked on Kaplan's door. With a click it sprang ajar. I pushed it open and went to close it. “Leave it,” she ordered, coming around the desk in an amber-colored pantsuit. She gestured to the conference table. “Take a seat. Edward will be here momentarily.”
Edward bustled into her office before I was able to sit down.
Kaplan opened a folder. “The information we obtained from the train was solid. The VINs on the parts have all been burnt off, which raises evidentiary difficulties. We need a track back to Renko and his men.”
I shook my head. “Renko hates computers. He makes a list of parts ordered, disguises them as people's names, and hand-delivers them to the garage. He selects a year for a specific phone book, a single letter and number, neither of which I could discern, and the garage owner opens one of a dozen Chicago phonebooks from the 1980s and deciphers the code.”
“Clever and innocuous.” Edward chuckled. “Nothing like returning to the tried-and-true book cipher secret code of the seventeen hundreds.”
“But we have time for that.” Kaplan raised a shoulder in unconcern. “The real prize is the evidence we're now tracking. The trailers unloaded at ten different garage and auto parts distributors throughout New Jersey and New York. When we move, that'll take a nice bite of flesh from Don Constantino's working crew.”
“Unless, of course, Walt trades it to the Feds,” Edward said.
Kaplan looked me straight in the eyes. “Nice work, Agent McGrane.”
Whoa! Didn't see that one coming.
“Thank you.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “Stannislav prefers to physically see every aspect possible.”
“How so?”
I pulled over the map of the CEC Intermodal train yard and tapped a finger on the bluffs. “We watched his containers load from this mesa top over here.”
Edward circled the spot with a highlighter.
“We flew to New York, drove into Newark, and watched them unload there, as well,” I said. Kaplan looked at my hands. My fingers were twisting and wringing against each other. I laid my palms on the table. “I'm not here to debrief the chop.”
“Oh?” Kaplan said.
“Renko is going to hijack two closed-transport semis loaded with new luxury cars and ship them to Juárez. I don't know the street value, but retail's in the neighborhood of one-point-two million dollars.”
Kaplan leaned forward. “Where and when?”
“This week. Friday? Tomorrow? I have no idea.”
“Danger to hostages?”
I looked blankly at her.
She gave an irritated shake of her head. “The drivers?”
“Renko may be incredibly violent, but he's equally disciplined. Killing the drivers would force attention on an act that neither the carmakers nor the insurance companies want to go public. I can't guarantee the drivers will be untouched, but they'll be left alive.”
“When will you know?”
“I won't.” I shook my head.
Kaplan scoffed. “It's your job as a field agent to find out.”
“Danny,” Edward warned. “Maisie's continued intel is far more valuable to us than a flash-bang collar.”
“Besides. If I do find out when and where,” I said, “it'll be too late. I'll be with him.”
Kaplan sat back and folded her arms across her chest. “HRT?” she asked Edward with a snake-like smile.
Hostage Response Team?
Cripes. The Feds?
“Walt will have to clear it.” Edward turned to me. “Best guess, how many would be with you?”
“If he ships them via intermodal rail. If he takes me to watch”—I tapped the circled hill on the map—“we'll be here watching from his Range Rover. Driver, two guards, Renko, and me. Five.”
Kaplan nodded. “Doable.” She pushed away from the table. “I'll get our freelancer in here ASAP.”
We watched her slim, sticklike figure march out of the office.
“Blood in the water,” Edward said. “She can't help herself.”
“Yeah.” I cleared my throat. “Blood.”
“Master criminals are often extremely charismatic, Maisie. It's human nature to like him.”
“I better bounce. Renko's man is waiting.”
Edward gave me a sad smile. “Undercover work can leave some sizeable scars.”
I'm starting to figure that out.
Chapter 36
My phone rang on the way out of Kaplan's office.
Hank!
I trotted over to an unused glass cubicle and answered the phone.
“You a ‘go' tonight, Peaches?” he said.
Abso-firmative-lutely!
“You bet.”
“Where should I pick you up?”
“Um . . . It'll be easier if I come to you.” I crossed my fingers.
I'll think of something.
There was a long pause.
“Hank?”
“I'm staying at my club.”
“Blackie's? Why? Missing me too much?”
“Yeah.” He laughed. “That's it.”
“What happened? The pipes burst or something?”
He uttered a groan and I could see him dragging his hand over his face. “Wilhelm.”
It took a moment to sink in. Hank Bannon, ex–Army Ranger, mercenary—the toughest, coolest, scariest guy I'd ever met—driven from his own home by an OCD butler. “What's he doing?” I somehow managed to ask with a straight face.
“Fussing.”
“That's—” I gave a strangled laugh-snort. “Terrib—” And then I started laughing for real. Tears, even. “I'm sorry,” I said with a shuddering breath. “Really.”
“You through?” he said. “How about you turn up around six?”
“Like a bad penny.”
 
My hair and clothes still reeked of the skunk-weed from the morning takedown. I didn't dare go home. The very last place I wanted to end up was at the dinner table with Cash dragging out that citizen's arrest story. Which left only one place for Gorilla to take me.
The penthouse.
And because I have as much luck as a dog on the wrong side of the door, Stannis was not only home, but he called me into his bedroom.
“How was your day?” he said from the bathroom.
“Interesting.” I dropped onto the edge of the bed, trying to figure out how to get the night off. “Gor—eh, Ivanović has a crush on Leticia.”
He popped his shaving cream–covered face out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. “What is crush?”
I kissed the air. “New love.”
He laughed and disappeared. “My day was very good. I am surprised you are back early.”
I sat there, listening to the water run, the
clink
of the razor handle against the sink, and his idle talk, thinking hard. How was I going to get the night off?
I have this date . . .
Stannislav's phone rang from the nightstand. I flopped across the bed, grabbed it, and read the caller ID. “Coles.”
Stannis came out from the bathroom, face clean, still in the towel. He drew a line across his throat.
I swiped the screen and answered, “Mr. Renko's phone.”
“Why the fuck are you answering his phone?” Coles snarled. “You're not his goddamn secretary.”
“I'm sorry, sir. Mr. Renko is taking a shower. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Tell him I'll see him in an hour.” He hung up before I could say, “
Yessir.
”
I winced. “He said he'll see you in an hour.”
“Ugh.” Stannis rolled his eyes. “Talbott is needy like woman.”
“We call that ‘clingy' 'round these here parts,” I drawled.
“Clingy.” Stannis rolled the word around in his mouth, savoring it. “This I like.”
Strike while the iron is hot.
I gave him my sweetest smile. “I was thinking I'd spend the night at—”
“No.” Stannis said. “Home by one o'clock.”
“But—”
“I have meeting in the morning. And I need you,
Vatra Anđeo,
my luck.”
 
If Kontrolyor's spade-shaped chin juts any farther forward I might have to sock it back in place.
Kon stomped around the penthouse like a left-winger sentenced to the penalty box.
What he didn't know, couldn't know, was that Stannis chose Gorilla because of his discretion. No one knew of his relationship with Coles except Gorilla and me, so I left Kon to find solace amongst the stove and other appliances.
I showered and dressed, taking my time and ramping it up to the nines, because Blackie's was tony and smart and I hadn't seen Hank in two weeks. I leaned over the sink to put on my mascara. My fingers trembled and I had to stop and take a deep breath.
I missed Hank like the devil. And I was scared as hell to see him.
Lies of omission had settled like a solid steel sable over my shoulders. I wasn't sure who I was anymore. Or who I ever wanted to be.
Shake it off, kid.
“Game time.”
I strode into the kitchen, where Kon was smearing fuchsia paste on a vile-looking mound.
“What is that?”
“Dinner.
Seledka pod shuboy,
” he said without turning. “Herring under a fur coat.”
Wow. That actually sounds as horrific as it looks.
“You will like.” He spread the pink shavings like frosting. “The cake is salted herring and vegetables with a ‘fur coat' of grated beets and mayonnaise.”
Um, yeah . . . that's, ahhh . . . never going to happen, mmm-kay?
“Let's go, Kon.”
“Where?” He looked up, took in my glam appearance, and shook his head.
“I'll tell you on the way.”
Kon braced his hands on the quartz countertop. “No.”
“I can either walk the eight blocks to my apartment and drive myself in an unsecure, unprotected vehicle or you can drive me in the light-armored Expedition. Gee”—I tapped a finger against my cheek—“I wonder which Mr. Renko would prefer.”
With a grunt, Kon shoved off the countertop. He carefully wrapped the pink mound in aluminum foil and stowed it in the Sub-Zero fridge. “Let's go.”
Kontrolyor drove, seething in silence.
Where Gorilla was bodyguard, Kon was Secret Service with threat identified. He jerked to a stop in front of the nondescript limestone building with a black awning and sprang out of the idling SUV, opening my door before the Blackie's valet had even torn the ticket.
Kon escorted me awkwardly to the door, shifting behind me from side to side. The doorman stopped us.
“Maisie McGrane for Hank Bannon.”
“A pleasure to see you again, Ms. McGrane.” The doorman turned to Kon. “And you are?”
“Not on the list,” I said as Kon answered, “Her bodyguard.”
The doorman stepped between us. “I'm sorry, sir. I can call Mr. Bannon to see if he'll allow entrance.”
“No,” I said, “you will not.” I put my hand on Kon's chest and backed him up. “This is a private club. A safe and secure building. No one knows I'm here except you, the doorman, and Mr. Bannon.”
Outmaneuvered, he nodded. “Twelve forty-five. I come in.”
“Deal.”
Kon gave the doorman a look so cold he shivered. “I will stay with car, right here.”
“Certainly, sir,” he said, opening the door and ushering me in.
 
I took an elevator to an upper floor of the private club. “Tall Dark and Dangerous” was waiting for me in the bar.
Hank whistled. “Hell-o, Firebrand.”
My hand flew to my hair. “Better as a blonde?”
“There's no right answer to that question.” He closed in and kissed me. Hard and possessive, the way that melted my insides.
Leaving me, as always, behind the count.
We followed a tuxedoed waiter into the mahogany and leather Club Room, Hank's hand at my lower back. The waiter seated us at a quiet table with a panoramic view of the city lights.
Japanese Gin martinis, shrimp cocktails on ice, and Hank Bannon across the table. For the life of me, I couldn't think of a single reason why I was doing anything other than being with him.
I have so much to confess, I don't know where to start or stop.
“What's the grief, Chief?” Hank said.
First things first. “Flynn and Rory got the Mant case.”
Not a whisper of worry crossed his face. “Tough hop.”
For who?
“They're damn good detectives, Hank. I saw the file. Mant's upper torso survived the shipyard. No hands, but his face is rec-ognizeable. My brothers could—”
“They can't.” A comma of iron-dark hair fell across his forehead. “Unless you plan on helping them?”
Mant would have killed me or died trying.
“How can you think that?” My voice cracked. “I would never!”
“Ultimately, I'm to blame. Do what you need to do.”
“Hank, I'm serious.”
He nodded solemnly. “Maisie. I'm serious-er.”
He was actually laughing at me.
“This isn't funny!”
“Even with an ID and solid evidence against me, the state attorney's office will never file.”
“Don Constantino,” I said softly.
Duh.
“It's the Chicago way, Angel Face.” The curve of his superhero mouth was so seductively smug, I couldn't help but smile back.
“I need to be home by one.”
“Curfew?” His big hand covered mine. “Square things with your father?”
I shook my head. “A non-starter.”
The closest I've ever told to a flat-out lie to Hank. I hadn't even tried to make things right with my dad. How could I?
Hey, Da, guess what? I'm an undercover cop for the BOC's Special Unit and in more trouble minute to minute than I'd have ever been in if you'd have just let me make my own way on the force?
Talk about arguing Sartrean Existentialism with a twelfth-century Crusader.
“Make it liveable,” Hank said. “Time's almost up.”
I winced inwardly. I had two weeks left of the month he'd given me to square things. “Putting the hammer down?”
“I am the hammer, Sport Shake.”
I put my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand and gazed at him dreamily. “God, I love it when you talk like that.”
“I'm out of country again this week,” Hank said.
“Where?”
“Central America. Anything you want to tell me?”
Yeah. Everything.
I gave him my flirtiest, most innocent look. “Can't think of a thing.”
It didn't work.
His eyes went flat. He stood up. “Let's go.”
My martini was almost full, shrimp cocktail uneaten. I got to my feet and he took me by the arm and hustled me to the elevator.
He was angry. But I wasn't sure why, and I sure as hell wasn't going to start suggesting reasons.
He waited for me to get in the elevator and stepped in behind me. He hit the button to the thirty-second floor. We stood next to each other, not touching. The elevator doors closed.
“Christ, you piss me off,” he said in a low voice.
I have a really bad feeling about this.
The doors opened. He exited behind me and turned right. I followed him to the room. He unlocked the door with the key card and pushed it open.
Dark as pitch, I got two steps into the room. He caught my arm and jerked me against the length of him, kicking the door shut. He backed me up hard against the wall, his size and strength dwarfing me, waiting, letting it sink in.
He caught my face and forced it up. I strained on tiptoe to meet his mouth, but all I could reach was the base of his throat. He kept me like that, uncomfortable and fluttery and a little bit scared.
I shivered.
He let go.
Time seemed to stretch. I wasn't scared he would hurt me. I was scared he wouldn't. “Hank?”
“Quiet.”
I heard him yank his dress shirt off over his head. A button hit the wall next to me. He stepped in so tight, I could feel the heat of his bare chest through my dress.
His mouth slammed down on mine, fierce and hot. His tongue slicked between my lips, devouring me, sucking the breath from me.
His hands were everywhere, hiking my dress up around my waist, as my underpants hit the floor, the heat between us red-hot. A black haze of love and lust buzzed in my head. My fingers shook as I unfastened his pants and unzipped his fly.
He picked me up. “Leave your shoes on.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist, hands sliding over the hard muscled shoulders and ridges of scars across his back.
He carried me to the bed, his mouth never leaving mine. His shins knocked against it. He turned, landing heavily on his back, pulling me down on top of him.
I sat up, straddling him and slowly eased the dress off over my head. He reached up, grabbed the nape of my neck and dragged me down to him.
With an impatient grunt he flipped us over.
He pinned my wrists over my head with one hand, his mouth tight on my throat, jaw rasping against my collarbone, other hand sliding up between my legs. “Maisie . . .”
There is nothing quite as glorious as the ecstasy of pure surrender.
I was a zebra in the maw of a lion. And I loved it.
 
Faint city lights glowed and blinked from a crack in the curtains. I sat up, hugging my knees to my chest, Hank's warm hand gliding across my skin.
I shivered.
He switched on the lamp.
“Good God.” The room looked like a crew of homeless raccoons had had the run of the place for a month. Clothes, books, papers, dirty glasses, empty cans and bottles, capped off by wadded-up towels. Gun oil and brushes and rags covered the small table. “How long have you been here?”

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