Hard to Stop (5 page)

"It's my job to ask personal questions."

"Okay, then the answer is never. At least, none were married that I knew about at the time. Like I said, flirting is one thing, but I don't take it any further than that. If some women make assumptions based on that, I can't be held accountable. And as for Damon, I would assume the same is true for him as well."

"Did anyone ever tell you that you were arrogant, Mr. Shaw?"

"All the damn time." He folded his arms behind his head and relaxed in the uncomfortable chair.

Until he could get her off the case, he planned on giving her a whole bunch of red herrings to follow while he worked the case as it should be done. He had no doubt this had something to do with his past.

Goren Petrovich had tried to kill him eight years ago and hadn't been successful. There wasn't one iota of doubt in Max's head that this time somebody was here to seek revenge and see that Goren's desire to see him six feet under was fulfilled.

He'd been waiting for this to happen for a very long time.

*   *   *

Gianna chewed her lip as she watched the autopsy of Damon Rice. It wasn't a huge surprise. More of a formality than anything else. He'd been stabbed in the gut. Her spine tingled. Her fingers felt numb.

Damn it.

She'd found a pistol in Mick's possession not three weeks ago. Of course, she'd taken it and thrown it into the East River. He'd told her he'd found it. Bull. She believed his excuse at the time, because if she had to think too long about it, she'd dissolve into complete hysteria. And he had a knife. But nothing like the one that had killed Damon Rice. Thank God.

Mick was a good kid. Maybe she'd done something to screw him up. He'd been on a good trajectory until she took the detective's promotion. But providing for him was her responsibility. That meant giving him a head start in life. College, law school, everything he'd dreamed about. Everything she'd dreamed about as well…until life interfered.

She shook off thoughts of things she could never change.

Mick had been talking about colleges and where he'd like to go. He had high aspirations, like Notre Dame, Harvard, Duke… How had he gone off the rails like that?

When she'd taken the promotion, it seemed like a great idea—more money, more flexibility than driving the streets. The challenge of solving problems was something she'd dreamed about for the longest time. But now, how could she not second-guess that decision?

Did she take her work home with her? Yes, but it was part of the job. One thing bled into another when she worked a case. It was difficult to keep boundaries doing that kind of work. There were some detectives who managed to fit it in nine to five, but she considered them slackers. To her, there was always someone to interview, paperwork to complete…

"Detective?" The ME's voice brought her to the present.

"Sorry, did you ask me something?"

"Do you have any questions?"

She shook her head. "It seems pretty cut and dry. Stab wound. It must have dissected a major artery, right?"

"Yes, but the high-powered rifle shot is what killed him. I'm surprised you don't have any questions about the cocaine."

"What? Did you say high-powered rifle shot? And did you say cocaine?"

"It's not like you to be so scattered, detective." The ME shook his head. "Yes, there were traces of cocaine in his system. My best guess is that he used a couple of hours before his death. I'll send you a copy of my report, as usual."

She chewed her lip to keep focus. This opened up another avenue to explore. "Do you think he was a recreational user or was addicted?"

"I'm not sure there's such a thing as recreational cocaine use, but I would say based on his liver samples, he was on the way to full-blown addict at this point."

"Crap. Where was the bullet? The one that killed him?"

"Back. Probably why you didn't see it. You spotted the stab wound in front, made an assumption, and didn't look any further." He looked at her in a way that was a cross between kind and pitying. "Does this help your case?"

"Probably made it more confusing."

Unable to think straight, she drove back to the station. Now she had even more things to occupy her mind on the way back. Was this some kind of drug deal gone south? And if the high-power shot killed him, did that absolve her brother? What did Max Shaw know about the drugs his friend had in his system? What the hell was her brother's involvement in any of this?

She couldn't believe he'd be involved in anything illegal, especially after his last close call and her resultant scared-straight approach to his missteps. But she didn't imagine he'd be with Joey Trattner either, but that was who he'd been with last night running the streets of Manhattan.

Where had she gone wrong? And was it too late to save him?

As soon as Max left the police station, he traveled back to Brooklyn hoping to catch the kid at lunch. And, more importantly, before the kid had a chance to blab to his sister about this morning. He was betting on the fact the kid hadn't texted her in the interim. If he had, she would have called Max on it during their meeting this morning.

In order to get this done, he needed to get involved with what the kid did on a daily basis. Whom he hung with, besides the two losers he was with last night and the girl who rescued him earlier.

The lunch bell rang, and as expected, a swarm of teens fled through the open doors. Most walked the neighborhood chatting and goofing off. A few hung in groups, some stopping at the local park to sit and eat their home-packed meals. Some invaded the local fast-food places to inhale some empty calories.

But he didn't see Mick. Did he ditch out the back after their encounter earlier? Or did he skip school altogether? That would really piss off his sister, no doubt. But he wouldn't put it past the teen. He was a bad apple. She didn't see it yet. But with or without her permission, her brother's connection to this mess would surface.

What he'd yet to put together was how some low-level street thugs connected to all this. It seemed inconceivable they'd been hired to orchestrate the hit on him. Unless whoever hired them thought Max had gone soft in the intervening years and would be an easy mark. Or it could have been a completely random act of violence. If he followed young Collini's movements, that might give him a clue.

Finally he spotted the kid leaving. He glanced around before yanking up the hood on his sweatshirt, stuffing his hands into his pockets, and walking to the corner. Max kept his distance but followed behind. The kid meandered his way through town, first down one residential street, then another, before walking up the steps of an old brownstone. An irate-looking bald guy opened the door and yanked the kid inside.

Shit.

What in the hell was that all about?

There was only one way to play this. Max inched closer to the building and crouched near the first-floor window. Angry voices were audible even through the closed window. Sounds of crashing furniture followed. A younger voice pleaded something like, "It's not my fault." Max couldn't quite capture all the words.

"Keep cool. And nobody gets hurt."

Max wanted the kid to pay for whatever part he had in what happened, but not by some wannabe mobster. He could call the detective, but that would bring about too many questions he didn't want to answer. It would also put him back on her radar.

Max blocked the number on his cell phone and dialed 9-1-1 and reported a domestic disturbance. He tucked himself between two buildings and waited. Two minutes was all he was giving the police. Then he'd have to intervene.

Max sucked in a deep breath as sirens raced closer. Seconds later, the back door slammed, and the kid charged outside. Max followed. He would have Jennings run a check on the address later.

For right now, Max sidled next to the kid. "Having some trouble today?"

"Geez, what is it with you? You a pervert or something?" He wiped at the spot of blood that trickled out of his nose. Based on the trembling in his fingers, the kid was good and spooked by whatever had happened inside that house.

"We got off on the wrong foot." Max tempered his anxiousness. Damon's murder wasn't random. And the kid knew a whole lot more than he was saying. "I don't believe you killed my friend, but I'm pretty sure you know who did. Does any of this have to do with your sister?" He knew a whole lot about protecting siblings, and he was definitely getting that vibe despite the fact she was much older than Mick.

"Nothing. My sister…well…she knows nothing. Best keep it that way."

The hairs on Max's neck prickled. "Is somebody threatening you? Threatening her? She's a cop. You need to tell her if that's what's going on."

The kid bit off a cynical laugh like he was a fifty-year-old man instead of a young kid. "Not from these people."

Bingo. Max was definitely on the right track. "Enlighten me. I'm not without my own set of connections."

He looked Max up and down for about thirty seconds, then shook his head. "Nope, you're way too pretty boy to know what you're up against."

"Believe me, I can hold my own."

He took in Max with a sweep of his gaze. It didn't take a genius to figure out the kid was sizing him up to see if he should be forthcoming. The kid was teetering on the edge. "You need to leave me alone."

"Or else?" Max let the question hang in the air, anxious to hear what the boy might say.

"You might end up dead too."

Mick sprinted away and rushed up the steps outside the school, taking them two at a time seconds before the bell rang.

What the hell just happened?

*   *   *

Gia watched as Mick arrived for his interview at the police station after school. At least he had the good grace to look anxious. That tough-guy persona he'd adopted was wearing mighty thin about now. Her brother hadn't been forthcoming with her, which was just as well given the precariousness of her involvement. At the same time, she wanted him protected, so she called Doug—an old boyfriend and excellent criminal attorney—to represent him. It was going to cost her a small fortune, but she had no choice.

All she could do was pace outside the interview room until Doug came out, followed by Mick. Doug looked pissed, and Mick looked scared.

"Let's go outside so we can talk." Without waiting for her response, Doug grabbed her arm and ushered her outside.

"What's going on?" The three of them stood on the sidewalk outside.

"Your brother's not telling me what he knows, and that's only going to cause trouble in the long run. They have a guy who saw them in the area, and I'll be honest, it doesn't look good. I might be able to manage a plea deal if you tell me what you know." Doug put his hand on his hips and glowered at Mick.

Mick's eyes got wide when he glanced back and forth between her and Doug. His lip trembled, but he held it in check. "I told you, I was by myself when Joey and Frank showed up. And I know nothing about a murder. We ran because…this is New York. Who stops because some old guy yells at you?" She saw the lie in the way his gaze was anywhere but on the two of them. Spotting his tell gave her little solace.

"Why would you go into Manhattan on a lark? That doesn't make sense to me, and I'm blood. You need to be honest with Doug so he can protect you."

"Nobody can do that anymore." He shrugged, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and shuffled away.

Gia trailed after him, but he brushed her off. "I want to help you, Mick."

"You can't always help. Some things you can't stop from happening." He yanked up his hood, tucked his hands in his pockets, and walked away.

When she charged after him, Doug stopped her with a hand on her arm. "He needs some space. You smothering him is not going to help."

She yanked her arm away. "I'm not smothering him. I love him. And he's all…" She drew in a ragged breath, unable to complete the remainder of her thought. They had each other. If something were to happen to him, she wasn't sure what she would do.

"You know those two guys he was with are bad news."

"That's nothing new. I told him never to hang around with them after the last time he got in trouble. He was lucky they were stealing liquor from a convenience store and not holding it up or something." As much as it pained her to think about it, she couldn't dismiss the possibility it could have been a whole lot worse.

He forced her to look at him. "He's nearly a man, and he has to take responsibility for the consequences of his actions." He held up his finger when she went to interrupt him. "That doesn't mean I don't hear where you're coming from. I'm only saying you've done the foundation for him to make good choices. If he decides not to do that, it's on him."

"But what about the bullet that killed the victim? Even if my brother was there with those other two boys, they didn't kill Mr. Rice."

"But they were there to ensure the real killer could take the shot. If the stabbing itself was by accident or not, I can't guess."

She closed her eyes and drew in a breath. "I can't let my brother pay for one stupid mistake."

"Even if that one mistake is being an accessory to murder?"

Queasiness settled in her gut as she struggled to draw in a breath. This could not be happening to her. After all they'd gone through, the idea that Mick would betray her made her head spin. It had to get better. One way or another, it had to get better.

She couldn't respond. How could she when the fate of the brother she'd nurtured and loved more than herself hung precariously in the balance? Fear circled her brain until her breath stalled inside her chest.

"Gotta get going." Doug gave her a hug. "Take care."

Still numb, she nodded. "Thanks for coming on such short notice." She gave him a weak smile.

"And don't worry," he shouted as he slipped into a cab.

Easy for him to say. She rocked back on her heels as the fickle spring breeze blew cold this late in the afternoon. Mick was up to something. She could see it in his eyes. Over the last year he'd gotten better at fooling her. But his eyes always told the truth. As she walked back inside the station and to her desk, she thought of all the possibilities of where her brother might have gone. And none of them were good.