“What do you mean you lost the signal?” I bark into my phone, then wave at the cab driver to keep going when he asks, “Are we still heading to the Lower East Side then?”
“It’s gone, Sebastian,” Elijah says, the sound of keyboard keys tapping in the background. “I’m pinging her cell off all the towers in the area, but it just dropped. She must’ve turned her phone off.”
When my phone beeps with an incoming call, I tell him to keep trying and then click over. “Talk to me, Connelly.”
“I struck out at Windsor Middle School. Only a P.O. Box is listed for her address. Got that from her college info, but not much else. The Middle School did have an address listed that was a co-worker of her aunt’s. They stayed there temporarily when she was thirteen after a fire took out their apartment.”
“A fire?” I watch the newly refurbish buildings whiz by as the cab moves into the area of the Lower East Side that hasn’t been “revitalized” by the city.
“Yeah, according to the lady they stayed with, it was some kind of explosion. She lost touch with Talia and her aunt once they moved to their own place.”
“Find out where the aunt and this woman worked together. The employer must’ve had an address on file. Hopefully we’ll get lucky and the employer didn’t erase the old address from their records once Talia found a permanent home.”
“They worked together as nurses at Memorial. Headed there now. Oh, and Bash?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you going to do with this information? I thought you only wanted to go so far back into her past. I got the impression she likes to keep to herself.”
Bear’s protective soft spot for Talia is starting to piss me off. “That was before someone started threatening her life, Connelly. The serial killer, Tommy Slawson, had a connection to her past. And since there’s no one from his past left to care about this book coming out, I just want to make sure there aren’t any other connections from Talia’s past that we’re unaware of. Now get over to that hospital.”
“Whatever you say, Boss.”
His obvious sarcasm makes me grind my teeth. I do what’s best for the people who matter to me. Period. I make no excuses or apologies for it. The big guy’s so wrapped around Talia’s little finger, now he’s insisting I call him Theo—her nickname for him. His fucking name has been Bear ever since our BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL) training. At least he’s answering to his last name. Next he’ll be telling me to call him Teddy. Fuck that. From now on, if anyone from BLACK Security has to interact with Talia, I’ll call Elijah in. My tech guy doesn’t have an empathetic bone in his body. There’s no way she’ll reel him in like she did Bear.
Talia. She both arouses and infuriates me. The moment our gazes locked in William’s office, I got kicked in the gut. I know I pushed her too far last night. But watching her so easily pretend we’d never met, and then hearing her spout that “we can work together but nothing more” bullshit when the pull between us in that ballroom felt like a fucking vertical G-force and vortex rolled into one, I didn’t give a damn if I stepped over the line. The fact she refused to acknowledge our attraction when she never had before brought out my ruthless side.
If she wants to battle, she needs to know I go for the kill every time. She shocked the hell out of me when she slapped me, but the more I think about it, the more I fucking love it. It means the passion is still there. Now I just need to get her to show it. I sure as hell can’t stop thinking about what we were like together. I miss her smell and the feel of her soft body against mine. I crave her taste and the sensation of her hair spread across my chest. We work well together, both in and out of the bed. No matter how much she tries to deny it, she knows it’s true.
And yet the first chance she gets, she ditches me. What errand could be so important? With the hours she kept while working two jobs since she got back from Martha’s Vineyard, she made it impossible for me to reconnect with her. When she didn’t respond to the note I included with the pearl necklace I returned to her, I focused on things I could control.
While we were together in Martha’s Vineyard, she gave me very little to go on. The names Walt and Amelia didn’t help. Without their last names, I couldn’t make the connection to this Hayes guy. The apartment building where I’d dropped her off when we were teens turned out to be a dead end. Either that or the lease wasn’t in her aunt’s maiden name, Murphy. Hopefully something Bear comes up with now can help with Talia’s current threat situation. And as a side benefit he might uncover more info that will help me find that bastard Hayes.
Just before I put my phone away, I receive a text from Elijah.
Elijah: You hung up before I could update you. I tracked down the copier that was used to print that threatening letter. Some college student made the copy using his copy card. A guy in sunglasses and a hoodie paid him fifty bucks to do it, but he never got a good look at his face.
Me: Age, height, body-build?
Elijah: Late-thirties to mid-forties. Average height, muscular build. Hoodie guy told the college kid he was paid to make the copy, but he didn’t have a card to the machines, so he waited for someone who did.
Fuck. I need to ID the person behind the threat.
Me: Hoodie guy is still a lead. See if any security cameras around there caught his face.
Elijah: On it.
Once I put my phone away, I give the cab driver an address. The new information in that ballistics report about my mom clawed at my gut. Heading to this side of town would’ve been my first priority once the tour was over and I knew Talia was safe, but now that I’m close and have at least an hour to kill, I’m not passing up the opportunity while I’m here.
“This the place?” the cab driver says, pulling up to a house just around the block from the apartment I grew up in. A dingy sofa sits to the right side of a sparse lawn currently littered with liquor bottles and beer cans. A couple of guys walk out and stare from the front porch. I don’t know the younger guy in his mid-twenties dressed in baggy pants and a parka, but I instantly recognize the scrappy shorter one sporting spiked dark hair and a flannel shirt. Paulo, Banks’ second.
Familiar spikes of heat and anger crawl along my spine. I might’ve walked out of that house beholden to no one when I was sixteen, but I’d still gotten the shit kicked out of me. It took weeks for all the cuts and bruises to heal. I had to lie to Mom, telling her I’d gotten mugged on the way to school. “Wait for me,” I say in a curt tone as I hand him a couple Franklins. In a neighborhood like this, I know it’ll take at least that for him to agree.
“Well, damn if it ain’t Blackie himself,” Paulo gives my suit a smug once over. “I heard you’d moved up in the world. Gone and gotten all soft, huh?”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Paulo. I need to see Banks.”
Hooking his hands on the open lapels of his flannel shirt, Paulo rubs his knuckles on the white T-shirt beneath as he rocks on his heels, his dark gaze full of suspicion. “What business could you possibly have with Banks?”
I narrow a steely gaze on him. “Tell him I’m here.”
Grunting, he jerks his chin to the guy next to him, silently telling him to convey the message.
While the guy’s inside, Paulo folds his arms and tucks his hands in his armpits, remaining silent. At least he knows when to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he remembers what my fist felt like splitting his lip wide open all those years ago.
Banks opens the door himself, a look of smug curiosity on his face. “You’re the last person I ever expected to see here again.”
“I need to talk to you,” I say, knowing all eyes are on us.
He looks me up and down. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not here to stay?”
“You inviting me in or not?”
Waving, he turns and I follow him inside to the living room with ten or so guys lounging on sofas and the floor playing video games and watching TV. Machine gun battles rage on the high-end surround sound speakers. Stolen. Like most of the nice things the guys have in their house. Even the old tattered sofas have been replaced with leather.
Banks’ crew isn’t technically a gang, but they were unofficially known as the BBs around the neighborhood, short for Banks’ Boys.
“And what do I owe the honor of your visit, Blackie?” Banks says as he rests his two hundred-and-forty pound bulk on the sofa’s arm. He’s feigning a relaxed pose, but I know better. Just like I know the six guys playing video games and the other four watching the wall-mounted TV are keeping one eye on me.
Time hasn’t been kind to their leader. Sporting a goatee and a scalp buzz cut, he’s put on a good fifty pounds since he beat the hell out of me that day in this very room. I remember every punch and kick; Banks’ way of trying to convince me to start rolling with his crew.
A scar slashes across his forehead and over his left eye, ending halfway down his cheek. The scar is so deep it’s a wonder he still has his eye. That scar definitely overshadows the small one I gave him along his chin. I was fighting for my life back then; my freedom to choose where I went and what I did. I didn’t hold back, and I can tell by the way he’s rubbing that tiny scar, he remembers it too.
“I’m here for some information.”
Banks snorts. “What kind of information would a trust fund type from the Upper East Side want from little ’ole me?”
I tense. “The tabloids are mostly fiction, Banks.”
He hitches his jaw. “So you’re not a billionaire’s bastard?”
“That part’s true,” I admit in a dry tone.
“Always did act like you were better than the rest of us,” Banks snarls, his beefy hand clenching into a fist on his jean-covered thigh.
I shrug. “Just smarter.”
When two muscular guys jump up from the sofa, growling their offense, Banks puts out a calming hand. “Settle, boys. I want to hear what Blackie has to say.”
I’m aware three men have entered the room behind me. I feel their ready-to-pounce presence. Paulo has moved to stand in front of the door, blocking my exit. Four guys on the sofa have put down their gaming controllers. The situation is escalating. Then again, I’ve never been one to back down from a fight.
“I want to know if you had anything to do with my mother’s murder,” I say in a low, steady tone.
Five guys stand at once, hands curled into fists, but Banks just barks out a laugh. “You’ve got great big elephant balls, Blackie. That hasn’t changed about you one bit.”
Tension fills the room. His men wait for his cue and I’m watching to see if someone is packing. So far I haven’t seen a gun, but the last thing I need is to get shot.
Folding his arms, Banks’ gaze shifts from amusement to slitted anger. “I know you’re the one who stole those electronics I had stored at Brewsky’s. You know how I know? ‘Cause I know every fucking thing that goes on in my neighborhood.”
Fury ripples, tightening my tense muscles. I speak calmly to maintain my focus. “Since you claim to know everything, maybe you can shed some light on how bullets pulled out of my mom’s dead body happen to match a gun used in a crime committed by Parker Johnson? Did you send him in retaliation?”
“I’m not saying shit!” Banks spits.
“And I’m not leaving without an answer. Since Parker’s dead, I’m asking you.”
Banks glares at me, then his expression turns calculating. “Tell you what, Blackie. Show me you haven’t gone soft living the high life—”
“Mr. Moneybags should give us a huge donation—” A knife suddenly embedded in the door next to Paulo cuts him off.
I raise an eyebrow in respect for Banks’ fast reflexes. The thick guy moved faster than I thought he could.
Grunting his annoyance at Paulo, Banks turns his attention back to me. “Show me, Blackie. If you lose, I get that watch you’re flashing. I can get ten grand for it, easy. You win, I’ll answer your question.”
The fact that he wants my watch only pisses me off more. I’ve been wearing the one my father gave me for a while now. “No weapons,” I say in a curt tone as I unbutton my suit jacket and lay it on the TV stand.
Banks nods his agreement.
“Four of your best,” I continue while rolling up my shirtsleeves.
He raises an eyebrow, then counters with a cold smile. “Six.”
Other than SEAL training, height is my second advantage. Only one guy in the crowd is close to mine. Thankfully I have at least thirty percent muscle mass on him. I slowly nod, then hold my hands up in a battle stance as several guys begin to surround me in a wide circle, fists clenched and leers of anticipatory aggression on their faces.
When some five-foot-nothing kid jumps on my back like a tree frog and sucker punches me in the chest, I’m quickly reminded just how dirty Banks’ scrappers fight. Ignoring the pain in my chest, I capture his swinging fist as it flies in for another punch aimed at my jaw.
With a growl of fury, I fling him into three guys, mowing them down like bowling pins, before I pivot toward the other two men rushing at me with blood lust in their eyes.
They never even get a punch in before I lay them flat with two quick jabs, leaving one knocked out cold and the other gasping to regain his breath.
“Did I forget to mention I’m a SEAL?” I say in a casual tone as I face the three who’ve just shoved the little guy off them and are scrambling to their feet, fists raised and ready to rumble.
“As in the fucking military?” Paulo says incredulously, jerking his gaze to Banks to make a judgment.
Banks lets out a belly laugh and waves the rest of his crew into the fray.
When three more guys pound the floor toward me, and I see the flashing metal of brass around their knuckles, for a split second I question my sanity. But adrenaline takes over and deep thinking shuts down as my body goes into survival mode.
Just as the last guy falls and I start to turn to Banks, someone sucker punches me in the jaw, sending my head snapping sideways.
“That’s for thinking you could steal from me, you fucker!” Banks growls as he straightens and rubs his knuckles in his open palm.
Clenching my hands, I jerk a furious gaze back to Banks and see Paulo fanning his fingers underneath his chin in the background, warning me not to retaliate.
I exhale to calm my rage and straighten to my full height. Stepping over the battered guys, I move to stand directly in front of Banks. Even though I’m seething inside, I ask the question that has plagued me with guilt and remorse since I saw my mother murdered before my eyes. “I held up my end. Now it’s your turn. Did you send someone after me because of what I did?”
Banks eyes me for a second as if contemplating not answering, then shrugs. “Nah, I knew why you did it. I’d heard your mother was sick and that she was having trouble paying bills.” Turning away, he helps two of his guys to their feet. “A man came around, asking about you. Wanted to know where you lived.”
Every muscle tenses as I reach for my coat. That’s the last thing I expected to hear. I’d always thought Banks was somehow behind it. Shrugging into my suit jacket, I button it. “Did he say what he wanted?”
Banks shakes his head. “No, and I didn’t give a damn. Told him to fuck off. I don’t rat people out in my hood. Even you, asshole.”
Nodding my reluctant appreciation, I ask, “Do you remember what he looked like?”
“White guy. Looked to be in his late thirties.”
“Anything else? Hair color? Height?”
“Jesus, that was what…twelve or so years ago? I was on the porch. He was on the ground. How the hell should I know how tall he was?” He pauses and rubs his goatee. “The guy looked shifty though. Can’t say about hair color. He was wearing a black knit cap. I remember ‘cause it wasn’t cold enough for one yet.”
That black cap was probably the ski mask the murdering bastard wore that night. Why was he looking for me? Who the hell ratted me out, and how did he get Parker’s gun? “Thanks for the info.”
Nodding, Banks’ gaze locks on my wrist as I straighten my cuff. “You sure you don’t want to donate that watch?”
“Fuck off, Banks,” I grumble and walk out of the house, his booming laughter trailing behind me.
The cab driver steps on the gas the second I close the backdoor. “I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again,” he says with a breath of relief, tugging on the bill of his cap.
I exhale a grunt and rub my sore jaw. “Could’ve gone to hell, that’s for sure.”
Snorting, he turns out of the neighborhood, then holds a piece of paper over his shoulder. “Was told to give you this once we were out of sight of the house.”
I take the folded note and dial the number scratched on the paper.
“Hold a sec,” the guy on the other end says. The sound of a door opening, then closing comes across the line. “That’s not how it went down.”
I’m surprised it’s Paulo. “How’d you know what I came for?”
“Made an educated guess.”
I grip the phone tighter. “Why are you telling me?”
“If you hadn’t punched me, I would’ve continued to defend you back then. I realize now you were trying to protect me from myself.”
“And your way of thanking me is to make sure I had to fight every guy in that room?” I snap, letting my sarcasm flow.
“No, this is. Banks lied. Not about the part where the guy asked if we knew where to find you, that part was true. Banks gave him your address. Then the guy wanted to know where he could buy a gun. Banks told him he didn’t deal in guns. Now you know why Banks didn’t come after you for stealing from him. He figured you were going to get yours soon enough.”
“That guy unloaded half a clip into my mother, Paulo,” I growl. “Do you know how the bastard got Parker’s gun?”
“Parker was in a bad way back then, needing cash to get out from under some debt. He was there when the guy came to Banks asking about you. My guess is he sold his gun to him on the side. One other thing, the man who asked about you…his eyebrows were brown. Means his hair under that cap probably was too, right?”
“It’s a high probability. Thanks for the info.” I end the call, my jaw clenched in fury. Banks, that lying motherfucker. Anger simmering, I dial the number of one of my police contacts who works the Lower East Side. “Hey, Phil. Thought you might want to check out Brewsky’s abandoned warehouse. Might find some stuff of interest there.”