Strip Search (43 page)

"Oh my God ..." Nicki muttered, shaking her head.

Zack slowed as he approached a red light. Nicki waited for him to stop, praying that in the precious moments he did, Mark might come after her or figure it out and send the police. Maybe she could jump out of the car. Something. Anything!

Bad went to worse when Zack didn't stop at the red light. He checked left, right, made sure no cars were coming, no police cars were evident. Then he sped on.

"When I cracked the gas pipe at the back of your stove," Zack went on, "I never imagined the blond hulk would come back from New York so suddenly and carry you out of there. Another hour, tops, and it would have looked like an unfortunate accident. Again, you wouldn't have felt a thing. Perfect."

"You hired the intruder," she blurted.

"I had to do something. I was getting desperate. You just wouldn't die! I love you, sweetie, but you've always been too stubborn for your own good."

Zack had tried to kill her--more than once. Not Blade. All this time, her stage manager and friend, trusted business associate--hell, he had signing authority on the club's accounts in the event something happened to her... Oh God, was that how he'd planned to control the money pipeline all along, by killing her? Nicki's gaze fell to the gun pointed right at her side. Scratch that. Was that why he planned to kill her tonight?

"Why?"

He sighed, seemingly exasperated. "Why does anybody do anything? Money, of course. Money laundering is dangerous business."

Shock cracked Nicki's numb shell. "You'd kill me for money? You were a friend. I trusted you ..."

"I have to care for family first. You can't imagine that my grandfather's treatment is cheap. Old Frank's medication for his Parkinson's alone is a fourth of what I make. I have no health insurance, so I can't add him to my policy. Medicare isn't paying for much. I can't keep him at my place with a nurse at night anymore. He's declined too much. He needs assisted living, but I can't afford it. So, when I was contacted by someone who represented Cosa Nostra kinds of interests who offered me a way to make money, of course I accepted. It's either that, or watch my grandfather die a fast, humiliating death."

"I know you're distraught, but think it through. He's going to die, anyway."

"Bitch!"

Fury exploded in Zack's dark eyes. He raised a fist from the steering wheel and punched her in the cheek. Pain exploded inside her head, detonating every nerve with agony. The searing clawed through the muscles of her face, into her head. She cradled her cheek in her hand and looked at him as if he were a completely dangerous stranger.

He was.

"That man raised me, gave me everything when my own worthless parents were too drunk to care. When he was diagnosed, I vowed I'd spend my last dime to take care of him. And I have. It's not enough." Zack's voice broke.

"I'll help you. I have money--"

"It's too late." He shook his head. "Mark and Blade now know I was the one washing money through your accounts. I managed to hide the truth for over a year, but they were both suspiciously nosy. Blade is your uncle's lackey, so his prying didn't surprise me. I did wonder why he hasn't told Pietro about his suspicions. But Mark ... I wondered if he's a cop or something. But then I realized neither trusted the other. I made sure it stayed that way."

He'd been very effective, Nicki knew. The two men could hardly be in the same room without coming to blows. All along she'd thought it was too much testosterone. Instead, it had been too much suspicion without enough facts.

"Even more delicious, I suspected Mark thought you were guilty of helping Blade. So I helped him believe it, planted clues, timed things just right, like not moving money while you were in the hospital. Worked like a charm ..."

It had worked--all too well. Fury shook her. The man she'd thought of as a friend had done his best to ruin her life. Now he wanted to end it. "Who are you laundering money for?"

He shot her an incredulous frown. "Look, when you're presented with a great business opportunity, sometimes it's smart not to ask too many questions."

"You have no idea? That's crazy! This plan doesn't make any sense, Zack--"

"It makes perfect sense! I've been stashing my cut of the money and distributing the rest as I was instructed. The next group of real estate transactions was going to be to be my last. You were supposed to be dead so that nothing could stop me from withdrawing the last of the transaction's profits from your bank--along with your cash on hand. I could skip town before anyone figured out that I'd cleaned out the club's accounts. Frank and I would be settled and comfortable in the Caribbean. Now ..." he raked a hand through his dark, spiked hair, "This is just a disaster."

Nicki couldn't decide what to do. Play on their past and their friendship and pray she could talk him out of it? Treat him like any other kidnapper or killer and fight to the last drop of blood?

"Zack, your grandfather wouldn't want you to kill for him."

"He's a frail old man. You think I'm going to tell him?" Zack made a quick left down a side street, wheels skidding.

Now they sped through an older section of town. Cracked sidewalks, aging desert landscaping with the occasional mature tree dotted the old neighborhood. She sensed they were nearly at their destination. Once they got there... Nicki shuddered, refusing to think about it now. She had to keep talking, keep him talking. Stalling until she found a better solution might be her only hope.

"There are witnesses now. Blade and Mark both saw--"

"I know," he roared. "They--they can be dealt with, too! The testosterone twins have been nothing but in my way."

Zack jerked on the steering wheel, sending the car zooming down a narrow alley. He parked between a Dumpster and his aging blue van, hiding Blade's flashy vehicle from the street.

"Get out." He poked her in the ribs with the gun.

Nicki scrambled to get out of the car. He moved to do the same on the other side. Screw this; she wasn't waiting for him like a good little girl to lead him somewhere so he could politely shoot her. Not a chance in hell!

She glanced at Zack unfolding his six-foot frame from the little car. While his knees were somewhere near his waist, Nicki started sprinting toward the street as fast as her bare feet would take her.

When the retort of his gun exploded in her ears and a bullet kicked up the cement inches from her feet, she began to wonder if she'd make it.

M
ark wasn't sure how long it took him to collect his jaw from the hot tar of the parking lot.

He stared at Bocelli, utterly stunned. "
You're
the undercover agent?"

"Yeah. I'm investigating Pietro DiStefano's Mafia ties."

Mind racing, Mark tried to wrap his mind around the fact Blade was one of the guys in white hats, not the man trying to steal the money. Not the guy trying to snuff Nicki. But more importantly, Nicki was out there now with the real bad guy, who'd likely do his best to kill her--and quickly.

"We gotta get the hell out of here and get to Nicki," Mark insisted.

Blade nodded. "Let's go."

Mark hopped in the driver's seat of Nicki's little car. Blade all but hurdled the passenger door.

"Where to?" he took off, driving in the direction Zack and Nicki had disappeared.

"I've already placed a call. GPS Tracking is one of the features on my car. I'll get a call when--"

Blade's phone rang, interrupting him. "Yeah?" he answered. "Is that south? Okay." He fished around in the glove box and found a pen and a scrap of paper. He jotted down a few numbers and a scribble. "Got it. Send backup."

While Blade ended the call, Mark gripped the steering wheel. "Where is she?"

"Older part of town. I have an address. Just keep going in this direction. We're ten minutes away."

Ten long minutes. Damn it! In ten minutes, a man with a gun could easily kill an unarmed woman. In a white dress, she couldn't hide well. With no shoes she wouldn't be able to run well. How on earth was she going to live another ten minutes?

Mark gunned the accelerator, willing the car to travel faster, to reach Nicki before the worst--the unthinkable--happened.

This was his fault. Totally his fucking fault. If he had, for an instant, suspected Zack... More, if he hadn't given her a reason to want to crawl out the window to escape him ... If he'd been more capable of giving her what she needed... If he'd been capable of loving her like she deserved...

If he'd believed in her goodness... none of this would be happening.

Thanks to Tiffany, he just didn't have it in him anymore. His suspicions of Nicki only proved that his thinking was permanently warped, his heart eternally scarred. His inability to trust, coupled with choosing women who would likely star in a
Girls Gone Wild
video, simply doomed him from happily ever after.

But damn it if he was going to let Nicki die.

"So you're undercover?"

"Yep. My job is to get the goods proving that Pietro is big time Mafia. But Zack and his scheme aren't helping me. Pietro knew nothing about the money laundering, so in this case he's not guilty. The only consolation I have is that finding out is going to royally piss him off."

"You played the part of a Mafia thug really well," Mark commented. "Pietro has no idea you're a Fed."

Blade shrugged. "Been doing it for three years."

Mark scowled as a memory assaulted him. "Hey, you pointed a gun in my face."

"Just trying to calm you down, hoping to make you take a breath before you decided to try to pound me into the wall. I didn't know until this morning that you'd been sent in here to look at Nicki's books and help with the money laundering angle. Sorry if I offended you about the accounting crap. I didn't know you really are a CPA."

It didn't matter. Nothing did. Not until they found Nicki in one piece.

"You never touched Nicki," Mark challenged, "Despite the line of crap you fed me."

"I never touched her. I only said otherwise so you wouldn't get too cozy at the club or with Nicki. I didn't need a Romeo in the middle of my investigation. Sorry."

Mark nodded. The explanation made sense, even though it had screwed with his head in a major way.

"Head southeast," Blade barked, switching gears. "My car went that direction. I've got the tracking downloaded to my phone now. I'll tell you where to go."

Mark nodded, tense, silent, mind racing as neon lights gave way to streetlights. He barely paused at traffic signals. Stop signs blew past his shoulder at forty miles an hour before he floored the accelerator again.

"I think Zack has been trying to kill Nicki for a while."

As if he needed to fucking hear that now? She was alone with a thieving lunatic who has a gun and a fast car. Fear twisted his gut into more knots than macrame.

Mark peeled his eyes from the road for a moment to stare at Blade's somber face. "I know about the stage light, the gas leak, and tonight's intruder."

"There's more. You have to understand exactly what we're up against. Zack tried to kill Nicki back in March."

"What?"
The suspicious accidents had been going on that long. Why hadn't Nicki said something? Why hadn't anyone noticed anything sooner?

"Let me show you something."

Blade punched a few buttons on his phone, then thrust it in front of Mark's face. The little screen showed a picture of Nicki standing outside wearing a huge smile and a black trench coat on a rainy evening, with the club's lights illuminating the gloss of her long, dark hair.

"Yeah?"

"Hang on." Blade punched a few more buttons, then put the phone back in front of him.

This photo was of a woman lying facedown in a pool of blood, long, dark hair strewn all across narrow shoulders encased in a black trench coat.

The photo made him shiver. If he didn't know better, he'd think he had just seen a picture of Nicki again, this time in death.

"Holy ... Is that the murdered accountant? From the back, she and Nicki could be twins."

Nodding, Blade took the phone back. "Exactly. Marcy had borrowed Nicki's coat that night for her drive home, since the heater in her car wasn't working."

"And you think Zack mistook her for Nicki and .. Killed her, Mark couldn't make himself say the words.

"Exactly."

It was one thing to believe that Nicki had fallen prey to a dangerous criminal. It was another to see a grainy color photo of a murder victim's pale cheek bracketed by Nicki's black coat and her own red blood.

"I never thought the drive-by was random." He sighed, tensely pushing his hair from his eyes. "I assumed that you--" he paused, shook his head, but it still seemed surreal--" Zack killed Marcy to get her out of the way."

But no, Zack had meant all along to eliminate Nicki. And he was serious--deadly serious. At the realization, Mark started sweating even more.

Dear God, what if ... what if he couldn't reach her in time?

B
lade instructed Mark to stop Nicki's car a good hundred yards shy of the location the GPS tracking indicated his car sat.

Putting the vehicle in park, he yanked out the little key and shoved the driver's door open. Blade's hand on his arm prevented him from jumping out and running after Nicki like the possessed man he felt sure he was.

"I doubt Zack is onto the fact the car was being tracked, but be careful. Just in case."

Gnashing his teeth, he nodded. Bocelli was right. Getting his ass shot wouldn't do Nicki a damn bit of good.

Slowly, quietly, they exited the car. The night stood silent, its curtains drawn, displaying nothing, speaking of nothing. It was as if the air hovered unmoving, still.

It felt unnatural.

An old apartment building stood in yellowing testament to the number of years it had graced this Las Vegas street. Entrances to the building's parking lot sat on either side. A row of overgrown bushes in front of the building led to a railing dotted with peeling paint, illuminated by a faint yellow ray of light from its shadowed alcove. A rundown park across the street looked so empty, it felt haunted.