Lucky Break (25 page)

Oh, yeah, Irv was playing a game, and he’d lie; he’d lie big.
 
I just had to catch him in it.
 
This was just the sort of stunt he’d pull—sin in plain sight.
 
Do something so bold, so stupid, that no one would believe he would actually do something that would so easily implicate him.
 
I pulled the now creased photo from my pocket and snapped it open, then stuck it under Shooter’s nose.
 
“You seen this guy around?”

He scrutinized the blurry image.
 
“Not lately.”

With a frown, I pulled the photo back and began refolding it.

“Not since he bought the gun.”

I found Romeo and Brandy huddled, holding hands, at a tiny table in the back at Tigris.
 
Tucking a chair between them, I wiggled in and sat.
 
Neither of them seemed surprised nor all that unhappy to see me.
 
When the shit hit the fan, we all were on call twenty-four/seven.

“The steak is to die for,” Romeo said, then cringed at his choice of words.

Had it even been twenty-four hours since a man died in Jean-Charles’s kitchen?
 
Seemed like a lifetime.

“How’s your father?” Brandy asked.
 
Young, beautiful, smart, and so much the master of some obscure martial art her hands had been registered as lethal weapons, my youngest assistant came to me with ambition, drive, and a former terrible taste in men.
 
I was so glad she had listened to me and my whole do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do routine.
 
Romeo—there weren’t any better.

“No change, and no word, which is a good thing.
 
Given time, he should be fine.”

Roham, my favorite waiter, rushed over.
 
“Miss Lucky, so wonderful to see you!”
 
He set in front of me a double Wild Turkey 101, one cube of ice.
 
“Will we be eating dinner or just drinking it?” he asked with a smile.

Sometimes it didn’t pay to be so predictable.
 
“Drinking.
 
No time to eat.”
 
I took a long pull, savoring the whiskey’s warm path down and the explosion of calm that came after.
 
Then, I pulled the check Shooter had given me, after I’d promised one of my own to cover the amount, out of my pocket, pressing it on the table in between Romeo and Brandy.

They listened as I told them what Shooter had told me.

“Any idea where Gittings is holed up?” Romeo asked, after he’d taken a bite of steak and a moment to process.

“No, but I bet we can find out.
 
Any idea who’s holding his ticket?”
 
Daniel had mentioned it, but I’d forgotten.

“Eddie V’s Quick Stop Bail Shop.”
 
Romeo gave me a look, easy to interpret.

Oh, yeah—there was a good reason I’d not wanted to remember.
 
“Likes attract.”

Brandy pecked at her salad.
 
“I know this is a bad time.
 
But I really need you to sprinkle holy water on the holiday party for the whales.
 
It’s pretty important.
 
I’ve never handled one by myself before, and, not to complain or cast aspersions or anything, but Miss P is a bit distracted.
 
And, well …” she wandered to a standstill.

“I’ve been shirking my duties.
 
Yes, and thank you for stepping in.
 
To be honest, I’m not at the top of my game.
 
You’ve got to step up.
 
Can I count on you?”

New, young, she swallowed hard and nodded.
 

Brave, too.

“When do you want to go over the setup?”

Brandy checked her phone.
 
“We have time.
 
Tomorrow afternoon?
 
I can text you.”

“Perfect.”
 
I agreed, even though I had no idea what the next hour held, much less tomorrow, besides a bail hearing.
 

“Agent Stokes.”
 
Brandy gave me a conspiratorial grin that lifted on side of her mouth.
 
“I managed to get rid of him.
 
Not forever, but you can worry about dodging him tomorrow.”

“He found me in the lobby.”
 
She looked sort of crestfallen.
 
“The shooting wasn’t an act of terror, can’t see why it raised his antennae, but I’m glad it did.
 
I think he might be able to help.”

“Spooks, they want to know everything,” Romeo added through his mouthful of steak.

“Did you get any hits on the golden button guy?”
 
Romeo had run his picture through the facial recognition thing, and I wanted to shift gears.
 
I didn’t want Romeo asking me how Homeland Security was helping.
 

“The photo was pretty grainy,” Romeo reminded me.
 
“Got a couple of hits, nothing definitive.
 
I have some guys chasing the leads down anyway.
 
You never know, right?”

“Right.”
 
I grabbed a knife and fork and carved a bit off of his hunk of meat.
 
A bit well-done for my taste, but I couldn’t resist.

“It’s a long shot.”
 
Romeo wiped his mouth with his napkin, then motioned for the check.

“But it’s a shot.”
 
I waved Roham off.
 
“The check is mine.
 
And there’s nothing to do right now that I can’t get done.
 
Enjoy yourselves.”

Romeo settled back in his chair.
 
“Don’t you want to find Gittings?”

“He could be anywhere.
 
I’ll check with his bondsman, but I bet Irv has jumped bail.
 
He’s got a plan.
 
I’m thinking the only way we’ll find him is to force him to show his hand.”

“How are we going to do that?”

“Figure out exactly who he wants and offer that to him.”
 

Romeo and Brandy looked at me, their expressions holding the same look of dread.
 
Romeo found his voice first.
 
“That sounds an awful lot like you plan to be bait.”

“Only if it’s me he wants.”

I needed answers.
 
For some reason, I felt Kimberly Cho was the key to unraveling all of this.
 
And, if I understood anything about her culture, when the shit hit the fan, a good Chinese girl ran home.

Jean-Charles caught me heading in his direction.
 
“You look like you need a hug.”
 
He didn’t wait for an answer as I fell into his arms.
 
I felt like crying, but couldn’t.
 
My throat choked shut, the tears hidden.
 
I worked hard to keep myself from falling apart.

Taking a deep, ragged breath, I stepped away.
 
Too easy to be weak when propped up by his strength.
 
“I need so much more than that.”

“Do we have time to check on the twins?
 
Your mother will be worried.
 
Children, there is nothing more precious, and more terrifying.”

“Tell me about it.”
 
I so got the terrifying part.
 
Tiny little humans, so breakable, so foreign, like aliens.
 
I swiped at my eyes and motioned for Dane’s man to come closer.
 
“We’re going up to a private suite on the top floor.
 
It’s secure.
 
Will you be comfortable with waiting here?”
 
I answered a few questions that seemed to alleviate his concerns.
 
We left him sitting on a bench watching the people parade.

As we rode the private express elevator to the Big Boss’ and Mona’s apartment, Jean-Charles held my hand, our reflections staring back at us in the polished metal of the doors.
 
I loved the way his hand sought mine as if by its own will, or to satisfy its owner’s unspoken need.
 
We looked good together, Jean-Charles and I, and, despite everything, happy.
 
Happy was good.
 
Silence enveloped us, cocooning us from the outside world for a divine few seconds.
 
Closing my eyes, I drew a deep breath, pulling this moment deep inside.
 
Fortification against an indifferent world.

The elevator eased to a stop; I braced myself.
 
New territory for me, dealing with babies, and siblings.
 

Jean-Charles gave me a grin and squeezed my hand.
 
“They don’t bite.”

“They don’t have teeth.”
 

Wails greeted us as the doors slid open.
 
Jean-Charles stepped out; I resisted.

“Come.
 
Babies are easy.
 
Wait until they are two.” He pulled me after him as he followed the trail of cries to the kitchen.

A large room with white walls offset by a warm, burnished hardwood floor, open cabinets displaying a dizzying array of plates and stemware, a farmhouse sink, three ovens, two dishwashers, and a center island that housed a commercial Viking gas cooktop and grill.
 
A counter with orange leather stools arced around the island. Orange was Mona’s favorite color.
 
She’d replaced the tired granite countertops with quartz, translucent white marbled lightly with pale orange. Under lit, they were a nice touch.
 
Mona, the happy homemaker.
 
That label didn’t jibe with the Mona I knew—one of her newer incarnations.
 
But, she
had
been nesting.
 
Hormones could do crazy things.
 
Trust me.
 
A pregnant Mona had been a weapon of mass destruction—an overwrought version of her already dangerous normal.
 
I assumed, with the birth only a month ago, the hormonal stew still sloshed through her veins.
 

Two nurses, each cradling a swaddled baby, lightly bobbed and danced around the kitchen making soothing, crooning sounds.
 
One of the nurses, a tall, black man, shot a wicked grin our way when we walked in.
 
“Ah, just in time.”
 
He stopped bobbing and weaving, motioning to me.
 
“Here,” he extended his little blanket-wrapped bundle with oversized lungs, from the sound of her.
 
“Take her.
 
This one’s Thing One.”

I couldn’t very well refuse. I folded my arms and accepted the package, trying to hold her as he had.
 
Nothing about this felt familiar, but it all felt right—the barely-there weight, the little red face, and large blue eyes that stared up at me.
 
She stopped crying, preferring instead to comfort herself by turning and attaching to my knuckle as I brushed her cheek, like a little suckerfish.
 
“Thing One?” I asked, enraptured by the tiny form in my arms and the odd suckling sensations.
 

“Since they have no names, we’ve come up with our own solution.
 
Your mother doesn’t like it.
 
On the other hand, I think it amuses your father.”
 
His face clouded.
 
“How is Mr. Rothstein?”

“He’ll be fine.
 
Thank you.”
 
Some hidden instinct made me start rocking and bouncing my baby bundle.

Jean-Charles, his arms extended, took who I assumed was Thing Two from the other nurse, a harried, whippet-thin older woman with a soft expression and a halo of weariness that she wore with a smile.
 
The baby instantly stopped crying.
 
Of course, she did.
 
She was female and in the arms of a very charming Frenchman.
 
Clearly, the girl was no fool.