Deep Into The Night (Hartz Island Series) (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

"S
o, I see you have satellite radio.” Cassie adjusted her seat and fiddled with her air vents.

“I do.”

“Any chance you enjoy…country music?” He was from Colorado. She loved country but kept it hidden.

He smiled. “Is that what you want to listen to on the ride down?”

After the ice cream episode, Cassie wasn’t taking any chances. “Yes.”

He hit a button and music filled the cab. So he did like country. She wondered what else he had programmed.

“If you have a favorite station, you can turn that on. Otherwise, I’m surprised you like country.”

“It’s soulful, grabs your heart. Each song is a story.” She could never marry a man who didn’t like country. Sergei hated it. He hated Elvis, too. “My mother loved Elvis Presley, his Christmas carols and gospel music. It got to me, too. What do you think of Elvis?”

“You know, I hadn’t really given Elvis a thought. But I’m open.”

By the time Jack reached I-5, Cassie had fallen asleep. He plugged in his Bluetooth and got caught up on calls. Even with the slowed traffic entering the Seattle area, she didn’t stir until he parked the Tahoe in his condo garage on lower Queen Anne Hill.

He nudged her. “Wake up. We’re here.”

“Where’s here?” she mumbled, keeping her eyes closed.

“My place. Grab your bag.”

She made a few helpless sounds, but he wasn’t biting. It took a few minutes, but Cassie got her things and followed Jack to the elevator. The doors opened and a tall, blond svelte woman with big breasts exited.

“Well, hey, Jack.” The woman took her time looking at Jack and then Cassie.

Cassie stepped inside the elevator and held the door open, watching the exchange.

“Misty.” He kept his voice polite.

“Where have you been? Long time no see.”

“Working.” He purposely kept his answer short.

“Oh…” Misty glanced at Cassie and then back to Jack. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“That figures.” She flipped Jack a smile and walked toward the cars, swinging her hips. She turned around and gave a flip wave. “You know where to find me.”

“That is true, I do.” Jack stepped inside the elevator.

“What floor?” Cassie asked.

“Four.”

She pressed the button. “Misty lives on what floor?”

“Five.”

“Oh, the top floor. Please don’t tell me she lives right above you so you can take a stick and hit the ceiling.”

He grinned. “No. She’s on the opposite corner. I just whistle.”

“Right. In your dreams.” She smirked at him, and he laughed.

In reality, he could whistle and Misty would be there in a moment.

Exiting at the fourth floor, Cassie followed Jack to 401. When she entered, she caught her breath at the view that unfolded in front of her: Elliott Bay.

“That’s my reaction when I come home. I never get tired of it. Let me have your bag.” He took it and disappeared down a hallway.

She stood at the large window and gazed at the night lights. A ferry made its way across the bay. He joined her looking out over the city.

“I need to head down to my office for a couple of hours. I should be back by eleven. Make yourself at home.”

Somehow, she wasn’t surprised. “Do you have a computer I can use?”

“Yeah, back here in the office.”

She followed him down the hallway to an alcove that was his office. A wall desk made of dark wood was on one side with a computer set up and an oversized chair and foot stool across from it. He opened a drawer and pulled out a laptop and charger and handed it to her.

“I’d prefer you to use this. The other one is for work. Call me if you need anything.”

“I don’t have your number.” She looked around the room. “Or a phone.”

He jotted his number down on a Post-it note. “And I got rid of my landline.”

Cassie pointed to the fax machine. “I suppose I could always fax you.”

He smiled and wrote down another number. “Here’s the number at work, but worse comes to worse, my cell will show you called using the fax. Don’t open the door to anyone, and you should be okay. Lock up behind me.” Which is exactly what she did.

Cassie peeked around and liked what she saw. It was on the smaller side with an open plan. The kitchen was to the right from the entrance, and the living room was to the left with a gas fireplace on the left wall and a flat screen television above it. Jack had arranged his furniture around the fireplace, but the view was still visible.

He had said to make myself at home, so why not
? she thought, and decided to check out the kitchen. Kitchens revealed a person’s personality, plus she wanted to see if he had anything good to snack on. Photos of kids were on the refrigerator, along with a note under a magnet—
Got everything done. I’ll come at my regular time in two weeks. Took $$ out of cookie jar, Lydia.
Jack had a cleaning woman. Had he wanted it cleaned before he brought her here? If so, how sweet. It had been years since anyone cared. The only thing she spotted close to a cookie jar was a ceramic University of Washington football with a Husky dog sitting on top. Cassie hadn’t attended the U, but her brother had, and once a Husky fan, always a Husky, especially when someone played football for them, like Jack.

She lifted up the dog’s head and, sure enough, a pack of double-stuff Oreos and an envelope were stashed inside. She grabbed three Oreos and replaced the lid. Delighted to find milk in the refrigerator, she poured a glass and dunked an Oreo. Cassie couldn’t remember the last time she dunked Oreos. Misty wasn’t totally correct. Jack had been around, but maybe not for her. His refrigerator had good basic staples, and his freezer had frozen pizzas plus two different containers of ice cream. With her curiosity satisfied, she dropped another cookie in the milk and let it soak up the liquid. She finished drinking the milk and went looking for her bag.

Cassie assumed the guest bedroom was across from the office, but she assumed wrong. It was a laundry room. The only other door, which stood ajar, was the one at the end. She pushed it open and the light streamed in from the hallway, highlighting her bag that sat at the end of Jack’s bed. Obviously, he had a plan and would be back at eleven to tell her what it was.

In the meantime, she wanted to shower, wash clothes, and get on the computer. This time, her assumption was correct in locating the bathroom—just off the bedroom to the right. A walk-in closet was to the left. Whoever had designed the bathroom had done a great job; it was compact but spacious, including a large tiled shower that easily fit two. Clean folded towels were on the counter between the double sink, as if they were waiting for her. Maybe they were.

Before turning on the shower, she went looking for something clean to put on from Jack’s closet. His chest of drawers took up one wall, and the rest was a designed closet organizer, similar to what she’d had in California. Besides rugby and polo-style shirts, he had plenty of flannel shirts, so she picked one and headed to the shower. When she finished, she stuffed all of her clothes in the washer, barely filling it. She sighed.
Gee, what’s your wardrobe like these days? Oh, less than a washer full.

Now she was ready to log on to the computer. A blanket lay across the footstool, so she wrapped up and got comfortable. The first thing she wanted to do was check her bank accounts. Old Blue might have been free, but in reality, it had cost a bunch of money in gas to drive up. If her calculations were correct, she had just over twenty-five hundred left. The next account she checked was the one her brother transferred the trust money into. She said a silent prayer before checking. Relief flooded her. Nine hundred dollars, bringing her total up to thirty-four hundred, but that had to last her since the Caribbean account was off limits.

Feeling a bit better about her situation, Cassie searched the Internet for information on Sergei. An article in the Los Angeles Times surfaced with a picture of him and a headline reading “Russian Organized Crime Boss Indicted—Linked to Odessa Mafia.” A cold chill ran through her body reading the article. Sergei’s immediate charges seemed minor compared to the Odessa Mafia group, which was highly secretive and organized in San Francisco and Los Angeles with their roots in Brighton Beach, New York. This group was involved in extortion, money laundering, fraud, prostitution, and homicide. She sucked in her breath, realizing the money hidden in the Caymans was probably a result of three out of the five. Who knew about prostitution and homicide?

What she read next chilled her even more: the Thieves’ Code of Conduct, which described eighteen rules. If those rules still existed and Sergei followed them, she had been spied upon. It wasn’t her imagination. It felt like a hand had closed around her throat, choking her while she continued to read the information. A knot bigger than her fist formed in her stomach. She realized she’d probably transferred not Sergei’s stash of money but Russian Organized Crime money. Not only had she transferred it all out, she’d purposely sent red flags waving in the accounts to be scrutinized by the banking authorities. Her heart skipped several beats realizing the severity of her situation. How could she have not known?
The reality was, she had chosen not to.

The buzzer from the washer signaled it was finished, and she leaped out of her chair in fright. Cassie transferred her clothes into the dryer, then ran and checked the condo front door to make sure it was still locked. No wonder Jack had good locks and a sturdy front door if he was dealing with these sorts of people. The articles made them sound worse than the Italian mob. Not everything on the web was true, but she felt certain everything she’d just read was, and it scared her. Knowledge was power and right now, she needed knowledge.

What she read about Seattle frightened her even more. The Russian Mafia was alive and thriving in the Seattle region with their claws in everything. Up and down, the West Coast was inundated with activity.

Chilled, Cassie wrapped the blanket tighter around and continued to surf the web. The muted ring of the fax machine startled her. A fax spit out, “
At work a little longer. Jack
.” The time on the fax header said eleven thirty p.m. She found a pen and scribbled a note back, asking where to sleep. Cassie tapped in the number and fed the machine. His reply came back fast: “
Wherever you choose. Fine with me.”
Interesting. At this point, anything was better than the truck. Since Jack had said a little longer, Cassie kept reading. Soon, her eyes burned from fatigue, so she closed them for a bit.

Jack looked at his watch and was surprised how late it was. The situation at work had gotten away from him. Plus, he’d spent an hour talking to Mike Ryan in Japan. He’d made a point of calling him at work. He never understood what Mike saw in Marliss. Jack liked a woman with some fire and spunk instead of the cool persona of Marliss Ryan. They’d finished the conversation by agreeing that Jack would keep track of any expenses Cassie incurred, and Mike would reimburse him. Jack wasn’t worried about it.

Just before leaving, Jack checked the Internet search results using the full face photo of Rob Armstrong that Montana had taken. Ray had e-mailed him all the photos, but the full face was perfect for running the recognition software. Too many coincidences with variations of Rob Armstrong’s name popped up internationally. Jack didn’t believe in coincidence. Just out of curiosity, he also ran searches of Sergei Koslov and the variations in his name. From what he could tell, the FBI had a good handle on him.

Cassie wasn’t blameless in her situation, but she certainly had been preyed upon by Koslov. Losing both parents in a tragic accident at twenty-eight would leave anyone vulnerable. He knew Mike had had some tough moments, too. These Russian assholes had a way of picking out women they knew they could control and threaten. At least she’d gotten the hell out of there and was safe. Though Jack wouldn’t have minded taking a fist to the shithead’s face, leaving him lying on the ground.

Jack pulled into the condo parking garage and parked in his spot. Heading to the elevator, he wondered where Cassie had chosen to sleep. He half hoped his bed, but then again, maybe not. Something about Cassie had gotten under his skin. If he could pinpoint exactly what it was, he could deal with it. He had to admit, there was a moment when she was between his legs applying that stuff to his face that if they’d been alone… It wouldn’t be the first time she’d made him hot. If it was just sex, then Misty was very willing and had made it perfectly clear by showing up one night, but Jack didn’t find her attractive at all. In fact, Misty was a problem.

The condo was dark when he entered, so he paused in the doorway and listened. Jack had made a habit of leaving a light on if he was returning late, but Cassie wouldn’t know that. He stepped further in and saw the light shining from the office area. Either she left it on or was still there. He took his badge and gun off, left them on the kitchen counter, and went in search of her.

With the computer propped open on her lap, Cassie had fallen asleep all wrapped up in a blanket. Curious to see what she’d been looking at, Jack gently removed it. She didn’t stir. He activated the screen and sucked in his breath. Russian Organized Crime listings. He shook his head, knowing she got an eyeful. Signing off, he closed the lid and set it down on his desk.

“Christ, Princess Sassy Face, how deep are you really into his shit?”

As if she sensed his presence, Cassie opened her eyes.

“Come on, Cass, time for bed.”

She smiled, nodded her head, and closed her eyes. For a moment, he contemplated their lack of sleeping arrangements.

“Ah, hell, I’m so tired I wouldn’t be able to get it up anyway.”

He leaned down to scoop her up. “Put your arms around my neck.”

She opened her eyes again, looped her arms around his neck, but then closed them. Lifting her, the blanket fell away, revealing one of his flannel shirts unbuttoned down to her breasts where her plumpness pushed out. But it was his hands feeling the roundness of her bare butt that nearly caused him to drop her. When she opened her eyes and gazed up at him in the sleepy, sexy pouty way, well, he wasn’t so tired after all.

Nestling her head in his neck, she purred, “Jack…”